More than Friends | HARRY STYLES FIC

Chapter 15

The heavy security lining the path between our chauffeur-driven Bentley and the arched doorway of the Mahiki club in London was daunting, but necessary nonetheless. The word had clearly gotten out about Ed's highly exclusive birthday party, as passersby had eagerly gathered to catch a brief glimpse of the stars. I suppose they'll be disappointed to find out Harry Styles is being accompanied by a teaching assistant with not a penny to her name.

"Just breathe," Harry says in a hushed tone. The warm touch of his hand finds my arm, easing the nerves that consume me. "If you're not up to this, we can go back home, put on our pyjamas, order an extra large pizza and watch every rom-com on Netflix."

A smile erases my downcast appearance. Sometimes I think Harry knows me better than I know myself. There's nothing I want more than to curl up in a blanket and mope, as I have since I arrived, but tonight isn't about me; it's about Harry. For the next five hours, I'll pretend my worries don't exist. 

"That sounds like the perfect follow up to a night filled with hard liquor," I respond with a fake grin. I'm going to have to ply myself with booze to lift this mood. 

"Now that's the spirit." Harry's child-like smile dances across his face between his dimples, and, for a second, all the static in my mind falls silent. 

I nod and take a deep breath, as the chauffeur opens the door. Harry steps out, his cool black blouse unbuttoned just enough to reveal the top of his butterfly tattoo. He neatens his curly mop before extending a hand to help me out. As I emerge from the car, the shouting gets louder, the lights brighter and my thoughts in disarray. 

"Who're you wearing?" a reporter asks me, shoving a microphone in my face. 

I look down at my outfit. I'm not sure who the designers are. Harry had his stylist Julie meet me at his house with some items she had pulled in my size while he was picking his shirt up from the tailor's. After trying on different prints, fabrics and styles, we came to agree on a short, black silk slip dress. I wasn't comfortable going sans bra, but she insisted it couldn't be worn any other way. She paired it with black thigh-high boots and a matching choker. To finish the look, Julie ironed my hair pin-straight, applied smoked out liner and false lashes, and deep red lipstick.

"We're both wearing Saint Laurent," Harry pipes up, putting his arm around my lower back to guide me into the venue. 

The booming bass rocks my ear drums as we walk beneath orange and pink mood lighting. Eyes stare in our direction, some of them familiar to me from magazines. They all look as posh in person as they do in those gloss covered pages. Harry isn't phased by them, but a hundred famous faces is more than enough to make me feel insecure. 

"Harry," a voice shouts from behind us, while we stand at a cocktail table waiting to be served.

Harry smiles brightly and turns around. "Happy birthday, mate." When I look to my left, I see Ed Sheeran and Harry wrapped in an embrace. Both of them are grinning from ear to ear like old friends.

Ed's hair is every bit as red and messy in person. His clothes are simple: a hunter green plaid shirt, some black jeans and a pair converse. The normalcy of his appearance brings me comfort in an otherwise stuffy crowd.

"Thanks, mate. Glad you could make it," Ed responds, while sipping on rose.  He raises an eyebrow in my direction.

 "This is my plus one, Laura," Harry replies, conscious of Ed's not-so-subtle body language.

"Happy birthday," I add quickly, embarrassed I hadn't said it sooner. I prepare to shake his hand, but he pulls me in and gives me a big, liquor scented kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks," Ed says, while grabbing two glasses of bourbon on the rocks off a waitresses tray as she walks by. He hands them to Harry and I. 

"Thanks for having us," Harry says, while I pretend not to be in disbelief that the man who has written four of my top five favourite songs is standing in front of me.

"It's my pleasure." Ed lifts his cup in my way. "Besides, I think you might be the biggest celebrity in this place."

Harry and I both stare at him confused. 

"What do you mean?" Harry asks.

"Well, the press is just flipping out about Harry's fit mystery girl," he responds with a laugh and a pat on Harry's shoulder. "Get some booze in you," he exclaims clinking our glasses before walking off.

Harry throws his drink back and I copy, hiding my disfavour for the taste. He takes both of our glasses and places them on the table. 

"Come on, I see some people you might know," Harry says, placing his palm on my lower back. 

People I might know? I follow behind him anxiously. There's a lot of people I know here, they just don't know me. Nonetheless, it would definitely make me feel much more at ease if I were surrounded by people who at least knew my name. 

We head up a small flight of stairs, Harry holding my hand like a gentleman the entire way. At the top, there is a balcony with a half-moon, gold-tinted booth. Red curtains hang at either side, pulled across just enough to make only a sliver of the discrete seating visible. Harry slides the drapery out of the way and throws his arms up. 

"Lads," he exclaims, eyes glowing. "Hiding are we?"

Niall, Louis and Zayn are slouched into the booth. There's a tray with luxury booze bottles on ice sitting in the centre of the mahogany table and a line of ornate glasses. The beautiful midnight haired girl perched next to Niall reaches forward to pour herself a glass of the finest liquor. I've never seen her before, but I can tell by the white gold, diamond and emerald panther Cartier ring she's not a "commoner."

"Laura! How are you, love?" Louis' boyish voice chips in. I look in his direction to find he's moved over to make room for Harry and I.

"I'm much better now that I've found the three of you," I say with a grin. And that is the truth. I am feeling more relaxed.  

I take the seat next to Louis and Harry follows. Zayn pours the two glasses of bourbon and slides them across the table.

"So, Harry, the lads and I ran into a couple of your exes on our way up here," Niall pipes up, leaning forward on the table with his elbows. His face is painted with a playful tight-lipped smile, as he waits for Harry's reaction.

Harry huffs and lets out an unimpressed smirk. I don't know what's come over me, but I'm itching to know who they are, how long they dated for and how things ended. I could just picture them in my head; long-legged, glowing tanned skin and voluminous lips, both visions of unattainable beauty. If my face hadn't already been cloaked in envy, then surely it is now. 

"Who?" I ask, doing my best to act like it doesn't bother me. In my heart I know it's already too late for that.

"It's just Lily and Amelia," Harry replies, rolling his eyes. He runs his fingers through his hair the same way he always does, and, as usual, it makes swoon.

Just as I thought. Two beautiful and talented models that I will never compare – enough, Laura. Why are you making a comparison when you and Harry aren't together? I wet my lips with bourbon and try to keep my thoughts in line. There's nothing between Harry and I, besides a few temporary lapses in judgement aided by an attention void in mine and Jared's relationship, after all.

"Don't look now, but I think they might be talking shit about you to one another," Zayn remarks, his striking amber eyes peering out from under his lashes.

Harry being Harry, disregards what Zayn says and looks over, catching them whispering and chuckling whilst glancing his way. His face becomes flush with annoyance.

"Don't let them bother you," I breathe, placing a hand on his forearm. "It only fuels them if you show you're upset."

"It's not that it upsets me, though," Harry responds, facing me now. "It's just getting old and irritating. Especially because it doesn't matter if I ignore them or not, they just carry on with it." He throws his hands up in defeat. 

I raise the glass of bourbon and pour it down my throat in one quick swoosh. Grabbing Harry by the hand, I rise to my feet. 

"Come on, let's go dance." Harry looks at me, surprised by my spontaneity. "I'm not taking no for an answer," I add, putting on my best pouty face while pulling his hand. 

The smile lines appear around his eyes as he stands up and follows me down the stairs to the dance floor. We're not the only ones grooving to the reggae-influenced pop song blaring through the club's speakers; crowds of people have gathered on the bamboo wood floor. We push through the crowd until we find a small clearing in the centre. My inhibitions begin to slip away as the alcohol kicks in, and my hips begin to sway. 

"Come closer," I order, taking control of the situation.

"What?" Harry asks, eyes wide as he moves towards me.

"There's no better way to shut up a jealous ex, or, in your case two, than to show them you've moved on," I respond. 

Without another word slipping from his red lips, Harry positions himself in from of me, taking a hold of one of my hands while placing the other loosely on my side. That not-so-serious grin is painted on his face as he begins swaying to Prince's classic Kiss. His body language immediately softens and I see that familiar innocent goofiness return to him. And that's refreshing; he never feels embarrassed or awkward having fun. He playfully pivots on his feet, doing his best Michael Jackson impression.