Written

Chapter 7

Moments later, I am still standing alone. I shake my head. I suddenly feel exhausted again. What just happened? My brain won't even let me process the conversation yet. I need to go home and be by myself and just think. Thinking is dangerous sometimes. I bury my face in my hands and shake my head. I need to be alone.

"You look a little overwhelmed," Harry's voice sounds next to me. I hadn't even noticed him come around the corner.

"A little?" I laugh.

"I take it you and Paul discussed 'Operation Atlanta's Sweetheart' then?"

"Operation what?" I ask incredulously.

"That's what they were calling it, their plan to get you on tour."

I cringe. "Just for the record, I hate that nickname," I tell him. He laughs.

"We won't call you that, then, when you come on tour with us."

I let out an involuntary groan. "Talk about something else."

"Let's do something." What?

"Something like what?" I ask.

"You tell me, this is your city." A smirk plays on his face and despite my earlier wish to be alone, I now want to be alone with Harry. "We could go sightseeing," he suggests.

"There are no sights to see, it's Atlanta," I snort. "There's nothing special." In my head I backtrack, I love this city. There are a lot of things to do, but all of them are tourist-y and annoying. Add to it the fact that it's eleven o'clock at night and our options are severely limited.

"Show me Atlanta, then. Show me your Atlanta."
For a moment, I am incredulous. This extremely tall, handsome, famous boy with tattoos is asking me to show him my city. And I want to.
After I agree to show him "My Atlanta," Harry goes to grab security and tell someone where he is going. The thought of needing security makes me nervous, especially considering the fact that I haven't decided where I'm taking him yet. We don't even need a car, the arena is in the heart of the city. We will just walk.

Harry returns with two men, two of the largest men I have ever seen. He rejects the use of the term "bodyguard."
After I tell Harry that we can just walk from the arena, he leads me through the passageways and tunnels and out a side door. I wonder how he knows where he is going, are all arenas built the same? We come out at the side of the arena, no one is around.
I am momentarily worried about straggling fans who are waiting for something like this to happen, for one of the boys to come out. I am suddenly glad for the protective detail. I lead the way down the street, making sure to stick to the path less traveled. Harry and I walk in front, the two men behind us. They are quiet and seem to pay us no mind as we walk, I find it easy to ignore them.
We walk for a few moments in comfortable silence before I realize I need to take the opportunity to ask him questions.

"So...the tour," I begin. I expect him to let me ask questions, but he cuts me off.

"The tour can wait," he says. "We want you on board, but let's just forget it for now, okay? Let's just be...normal."

"Okay," I say simply. We walk a few blocks and I point out things to him. My favorite grocery store, favorite Italian restaurant, favorite place to get coffee. Of course everything is closed.
All we've done so far is walk, without a goal in mind. We talk about light things, mostly he just asks questions about me. My life, my job, my family. I find myself desperate to ask him questions, but his life is entirely compromised of people asking questions and I don't want to pull him into business mode.
I feel like I am talking to the real Harry Styles, not the one that everyone thinks they know. I'd like to keep talking to him this way.

I haven't shown him much of anything at all, but it's almost midnight and there is a chill in the air and I know he has another show tomorrow. "We should head back," I tell him. We set our path around the closest building and circle back towards the arena.
Harry asks me about Ryan, and I tell him the gist of Ryan's cancer story. He looks saddened by it, the kind of genuine emotion that cancer stories bring out in people. He doesn't say anything though, and I am glad for it. Suffering tends to make people say things that they don't mean out of pity.
I shiver involuntarily, chilly in my sleeveless shirt. Wordlessly he slides his jacket off his shoulders and hands it to me.

"What about your family?" I ask, forgetting that I had promised myself I wouldn't ask questions.

"My family is in England, obviously," he says.

"Do you miss them?" I ask.

"I do. Sometimes I feel like..." he trails off, as if questioning whether or not he wants to continue. "Sometimes I feel like because of all this," he gestures around him, "I'm not really a part of them anymore. Like we're so disconnected all the time."

"Oh." I don't know what else to say. I want to tell him that I understand, it makes sense to feel that way. I want to tell him though that he is wrong, that families don't break apart because of distance. For a moment I say nothing, not wanting to cross a line. But then I reconsider; if he told me something so personal, he probably won't mind a personal response. "I think you're wrong," I say. His head snaps up.

"What?"

"I don't think family works like that. Just because you're away doesn't mean that they don't think about you. You think of them, don't you? You're no less a part of a family because you're not always physically present. I mean, family ties aren't physical things anyway. It's just...love."

For a few moments, he doesn't respond. He nudges my arm with his. "Thanks," he mumbles.
The small smile on his face when he meets my eyes makes my heart swell. I look away, suddenly feeling shy. He's so charming. I know I promised myself I wouldn't entertain these thoughts, but it doesn't seem like Harry Styles, popstar. It's Harry Styles, friendly (very attractive) guy, who has a short history of telling me how he is really feeling.
Also, I've already broken enough promises that I've made to myself today.

"How do you do that?" He asks?

"Do what?"

"You make me tell you things," he laughs.

"I don't make you do anything!" I tell him.

"You just make me comfortable," he explains. "I don't really talk to people about...emotional things. Like ever. But you, like bring it out of me."

"Well, I do talk for a living," I say. "I'm paid for it."

"Yeah, but's it's not even talking. It's listening. You listen. Like a friend."

"Yeah. Because we're friends," I say, feeling myself start to smile.

"We're friends," he repeats, nodding. "I'm glad we're friends."

"Me, too."

When we get back to the arena we go in the same door that we exited from. There are fewer people backstage, fewer people around in general. "I should probably go home," I say to Harry.

"You can come back tomorrow," he suggests. "We're playing here for one more night."

"Maybe I will," I smile. I probably won't though, I need to think about everything and being in this atmosphere clouds my head.

"Hayley!" I hear him call as I start walking away.

"Yeah?"

"I'll...I'll see soon, yeah?"

"Sure," I smile.