Heat - Harry Styles

twenty-four

I've been staring at my phone all morning. Sitting on the nightstand with the harsh morning sunlight beaming off the screen like it's daring me to pick it up. I've been bundled up under the covers for what seems like hours while Harry has already worked out and locked himself in his music room to make some work calls. I, however, have no plan of pulling myself out of bed anytime soon. After all the eyes on me last night, I don't want to be perceived today... maybe ever again.

I don't have to pick up my phone to know that it's full of texts from Louisa and Charlotte, likely linking me to all of the articles written about me or zoomed in screenshots of unflattering pictures they found on twitter. I could hide from whatever was out there for a little longer.

Harry's voice carried down the old hallways of his rented home. I could hear his voice–strained and frustrated–but I couldn't quite make out the words he was saying. I had a sinking feeling that it had something to do with me. I always did. I couldn't shake the feeling that the two of us didn't make much sense together, no matter how right it felt.

With a sigh, I finally decided to brave the digital aftermath of our date. I scooped up my phone and scrolled through the messages from Louisa and Charlotte. They'd sent me a few links to some kind tweets. Those from strangers who were kind and complimentary. Their hearts were in the right place, but I wish they'd never sent me anything. Once I opened one tweet, there were hundreds more beneath it–almost all of them with something negative to say about me. it was evident that the world had dissected every moment of our evening. Unflattering screenshots and speculative articles painted a picture of me and Harry that felt alien and intrusive. I couldn't escape the realization that, in the blink of a camera flash, my private world had become a public spectacle.

One article even referred to me as a struggling artist. I certainly wasn't struggling, but at least they'd gotten the artist part right. I wonder how they'd figured that out so quickly. Maybe one of the little galleries I sold through had posted my work on their website–but how had anyone figured out my name in the first place? I shuddered at the thought. It was bad enough that my appearance and character was up for public debate. I wasn't ready for my art to enter that discussion.

Summoning the courage to leave the comforting cocoon of the bed, I headed towards the source of Harry's muffled conversations. As I got closer, his words became more and more clear.

"I don't want it getting out. If there's anything we can do to stop it..." he paused. He must've been listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. "Let's at least try to slow it down. And I'm going to need a security team here. A good one."

The strained notes in his voice echoed through the old hallways, creating an atmosphere charged with tension. It was as if the world outside had seeped into the sanctuary of Harry's home. I hesitated for a moment before knocking gently on the door, uncertain of what awaited me on the other side.

When Harry opened the door, his expression mirrored the frustration I heard in his voice. He still had his phone pressed against his ear, but his eyes scanned my face thoughtfully. I offered a small smile even though all I could think about was a tweet I read moments before–the one that called me a talentless leech. When Harry looked at me, what did he see?

"Listen Seb, I've got to go. I'd like to be in the know on this one, so keep me in the loop, okay?...Yeah that sounds good. Yeah, talk to you later... bye."

He hung up the phone and set it down on his desk. He looked back at me and grinned, all signs of stress melting away from his face. "Good morning, sleepy head. How'd you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well," I replied as I ambled towards him. Leaning forward, I placed my hands on his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "What about you? You were up awfully early."

"Yeah," he hummed. "I didn't sleep the best, to be honest. Lots on my mind."

"Anything I can help with?" I asked, intertwining our fingers.

"Not exactly. But I do need to talk to you about something not so fun."

My stomach sinks, and I suddenly have the urge to pull Harry closer, to hold his hand tight enough to ensure he won't leave me. "Is it about what people are saying?"

He furrowed his brow. "Yes, what have you seen?"

"Just a few tweets," I shrugged.

"I thought you didn't have social media," his eyes filled with worry as they scanned my face.

"I don't, but Lou and Charlotte sent me some links this morning. They meant well, because the ones they sent me were so nice, but then I got to scrolling, and well... it probably wasn't the most ideal way to spend my morning."

"Please don't scroll anymore," he sighed, wrapping his arms around me and pulling my body into his. "I don't want you exposed to anything negative. People can be so ruthless when they're hiding behind a screen."

Without saying a word, he pulled me into an embrace, a silent acknowledgment that we were in this together. As we navigated the challenges of fame and public scrutiny, it became clear that our connection, though seemingly mismatched to outsiders, held a depth that transcended the superficial judgments of the world. Together, we faced the day, determined to find a balance between our private selves and the public personas that threatened to define us.

____

We spent the rest of the day pretending the outside world didn't exist. I set up my easel and painted in the backyard while I sipped on a glass of sweet tea. The sun was blazing hot as ever, and errant drops of sweat tumbled down my neck with every passing minute.

Harry sat a few yards to my left, humming and strumming his guitar. Every once in a while, when it got silent, I'd glance over and catch his face scrunched up as he jotted words down in his notebook. I'd only ever seen him write music once before. It was always fun to take a peek into this part of his life.

"It's about you, you know?" I said when he caught me staring.

My stomach fluttered, and I didn't even try to keep a cool face. "It would be okay if it wasn't... but is it actually about me?"

"Don't act like you're not the jealous type," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He set the guitar aside, his fingers still tapping a rhythm against his thigh. "Of course it's about you."

I dipped my paintbrush into the palette, deciding on the shade of blue for the sky. "Jealous? Me?" I scoffed, but my smile betrayed the feigned nonchalance. "I'm not jealous. I'm just... artistically curious."

Harry chuckled, his laughter a melodic accompaniment to the birdsong overhead. "Artistically curious, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?"

I shot him a playful glare. "Well, I have to make sure the lyrics do justice to my incredible beauty and charm," I teased.

Harry rolled his eyes, a fondness in the gesture. "You're something else, you know that?"

We fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of the city, and the occasional creak of Harry's notebook as he flipped its pages. The sun finally began its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over everything. I stole a glance at Harry, his profile bathed in the soft glow, and couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for these quiet moments away from the chaos of the outside world.

I could only hope there would be more of them.