Red [h. styles]

Four

4

Jena stepped into her new apartment, surveying the room. It was small, one bedroom, one bathroom, a cramped kitchen, and a small living room. It had a window, though it faced a brick wall. It was all she could afford in an expensive city like New York City, and with a bit of sprucing up, it should serve her well. With luck, in a few years she should have saved up enough money to buy a better place, in a better part of town. But the apartment was near a bus route that would stop at her workplace, and that was all she really needed.

Jena started unpacking boxes, smooth jazz floating around the apartment as she did so. There was no furniture, that would come later, so she would be sleeping on the floor that night.

Just as she was settling down, listening to the sounds of the street at night, her phone rang.

Jena pushed grabbed her phone from the space on the floor next to her, looking at the caller ID. Boyband.

Jena sighed, picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Jena! Hello! How are you?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I'm doing pretty well. You?" Jena answered obligingly.

"I'm okay, Red. I was hoping you'd give me some advice, though." Harry said awkwardly.

"Shoot." Jena said, adjusting herself on the blanket.

"I'm thinking of getting another tattoo, but I'm not sure if it's a good idea. I've already gotten a lot of crap about getting tattoos, and I know if I get another one it will only get worse." He admitted.

"Does the tattoo mean something to you?" Jena inquired.

"Yes, yes it does. It-it's a handshake. It symbolizes equality, in a way. That you can shake the hand of anyone, that everyone deserves the respect of a proper greeting. That's something that was impressed upon me pretty fiercely when I was young." Harry said softly.

"Then get it," Jena assured him. "No matter how much shit the media gives you, you can look down at you tattoo and remember your family and the things they taught you. That's worth more than the paparazzi's opinion of you."

"Thanks, Jen. And hey, I've covered up some tattoos before, I can do it again." Harry laughed.

"Really now?" Jena goaded. "What did you cover up?"

"I had a tattoo right above my hand. It said: 'I can't change'." Harry said delicately.

"An explanation, please?" Jen pressed.

"At first, all I thought about was the pressure of society, and how everyone was always wanting me to change. So I got the tattoo, to say that I was going to stay true to myself. But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that I do change. I've kept my values, yes, but people have changed me for the better, refining my traits and the like. So I decided that the tattoo had to go."

"See?" Jena soothed, "I'm not judging you at all. The tattoo meant something to you once, and then later it lost that meaning. That's a perfectly respectable decision."

"Thanks." Harry said, and she could practically hear his smile through the phone. "So, what's up with you?"

"In the middle of the moving process," she sighed.

"Where are you now?" Harry asked.

"Technically? On the floor. Broader scale? New York. Finally." Jena deadpanned, smiling when Harry's laughter came through the phone.

"Why are you on the floor, love?"

The slightest hint of confusion flitted across Jena's face at the pet name, but she let it slide. "My bed isn't here yet. So it's just me and my quilt on the floor."

"Sounds like a steamy affair," Harry joked, "but if you want a bed, I have a guest room."

"Are you asking me to stay the night?" Jena asked, teasingly but with a trace of fear.

"I guess I am." Harry stated.

Jena thought for a moment, considering her options. Go to Harry's place and run the risk of the paparazzi seeing her with him, or stay on the hard floor for the night.

"Text me your address."