Heat - Harry Styles

twenty-six

Harry was pacing around the kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear. I was sitting on the couch in the living room, sipping the cold brew that had started this whole debacle. It was blisteringly hot outside, but cold in Harry's house, so curled up with a blanket as I waited for him to get off his call.

"I asked for a security team four days ago. She can't stay locked up in this house forever and I don't want anyone figuring out where either of us live. That's the last thing we need."

There was a pause as he listened to the person on the other end of the line.

"It's a safety issue, Seb. I'm not going to have something happen to Sloane because of me. I'm just not going to let that happen. Get a team here by the end of the day tomorrow. This is important to me."

He hung up and ran a hand over his face. Grabbing a glass of water, he came over to join me on the couch. Once he was seated, he placed a hand on my leg, rubbing gentle circles on my thigh. I leaned into his touch subconsciously, intertwining our fingers to still his nervous fidgeting.

"It's not a big deal, Harry."

"Yes it is," he replied. "It was just photographers this time, but what if it's a crazy fan next time?"

"Next time I'll have you with me," I began, "or a security team. I'm going to be fine. It was a little bit jarring, but it's nothing I can't handle."

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek. As he pulled away, thunder boomed outside, rattling the old window frames of the house. I jumped slightly, squeezing Harry's hand in the process.

"Who's worried now?" he laughed.

"Shut up," I grumbled, snuggling in closer to him. He wrapped his arms around me tightly and kissed the top of my head lovingly. I allowed myself to melt into him completely. No matter what was going on in the outside world, I wanted to believe that Harry and I were capable of surviving it. So far, we've gotten over every hurdle with ease. This was just one more obstacle we would have to tackle together.

___

We spent the rest of the morning tangled up on the couch watching a movie. Harry loved romantic comedies just as much as I did, so we ended up watching You've Got Mail. When the credits rolled, reality came knocking. He said he'd been under some pressure to deliver fresh music to his label, so he needed to lock himself away for a while to write. I understood that work needed to come first sometimes, but it didn't make me any less sad when he got up from the couch.

I watched TV for a while before mindlessly padding through the kitchen, searching for snacks that I knew Harry probably wouldn't have. Although he'd lived here for weeks now, the empty pantry and barren cabinets served as a reminder that his life was transient. His time in Charleston would always be temporary. Bigger things in bigger cities were calling.

I was startled out of my thoughts, almost dropping a near empty bag of pretzels, when my phone rang. I rushed back over to the couch to get it, assuming that my mom or dad was calling. When I saw my best friend's name written across the top of my screen, I couldn't help but grin.

"Hey stranger," I answered.

"Stranger's right," she laughed. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"I think it's been a week."

"More like two," she corrected. "Anyways, you're coming out with me tonight. Danny's holding two bar seats for us at The Drunken Duck."

"Charlotte," I groaned, "you know I can't."

"I know no such thing."

"There are men with cameras who are following me around now, Char."

"So just look hot," she problem-solved. "Besides, who's going to come looking for you at some hole-in-the-wall dive bar?"

I chewed on my cheek. On one hand, I was nervous about doing something stupid and publicly embarrassing myself. On the other, I had a craving for some normalcy after the day I'd had.

"Fine," I agreed. "Come over to Harry's to meet me for a drink around 7:30. You're going to have to convince him this is a good idea."

"Done and done," she agreed. "See you at 7:30."

It was almost 7:30 and Harry hadn't so much as peaked out of the door to his music room. I could hear the strum of his guitar, the tap of his foot, and–of course–the sound of his angelic voice through the walls. I wasn't exactly eager to tell him my plans for the night, so I didn't interrupt his session. I showered, blew out my hair, and did my makeup. I slipped on a little silk and lace tank top, a pair of black jeans, and my paint-splattered converse that were perfect for a place like The Drunken Duck.

Just as I was tying my laces, I heard a knock on the front door. As I rounded the corner, Harry was exiting his lair. He looked me up and down, shamelessly raking up my body, lingering on my chest before meeting my eyes.

"Where are you going?"

"Out with Charlotte," I glanced away, already knowing the reaction I'd get from him.

"Sloane," he drew out.

"I want to go," I stopped him.

"I know, babe," he stepped forward and placed his hands on my hips, "but something could happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen." I was trying to convince myself just as much as I was trying to convince him.

"You don't know that. Who's going to make sure you're safe?"

"You could come with us."

"That would just make things worse," he sighed.

I knew he was right. I knew that the two of us out in public would create even more of a spectacle than one of us going out alone. I still enjoyed a reasonable level of autonomy. I could fly under the radar if I was thoughtful enough.

"I need to feel normal. I need to believe that Charleston can still feel like Charleston."

He looked down and shook his head. He was about to say something, but we were interrupted by another loud knock on the front door. I scratched the hair at the nape of his neck gently.

"Come have a drink with us before we leave," I urged.

Harry followed me wordlessly into the kitchen and took out some wine glasses while I went to let Charlotte inside.

"Finally," she groaned as she stepped inside. "It's humid out here, you know?"

"You've got your work cut out for you," I whispered as we walked back into the kitchen.

"Hey Mr. Styles," Charlotte drew out nonchalantly as she waltzed into the kitchen. "Thanks for letting me borrow your girlfriend for the night."

"Are you guys at least going somewhere nice?" he questioned, displeasure apparent on his face.

Charlotte and I quickly made eye contact, a million conversations happening between us at once. "Uh... yeah," we said in unison.

We were lying.