Tryst

Bologna

They, whoever the fuck they are, say you shouldn't mix business with pleasure. This does not seem to be the motto of Helene's new boss.

He's not so new. It's been over a year since they met and he changed her whole life.

It had started as a lark. She had a friend who loved him, had a giant, huge thing for Harry Styles. It was a compulsion, Helene was sure, Chasi, couldn't go a whole conversation without mentioning him. So, when she complained about her concert buddy bailing on the first European date she was going to, Helene decided to use the ticket. She wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Chasi was a smart girl, successful at her job marketing wines to the export market, a good time, and not short on dates. She was more advanced than Helene on paper, she didn't even have to share a room in Paris. Helene, still struggling to support herself on photography, definitely had roommates, and literally slept in with another girl, to make those ends meet. Chasi has her own place, if that was some kind of millennial marker of togetherness, she had 'it'.

Yet, she loved this boy, man she guessed. Helene had liked his single, had enjoyed his album when Chasi had played it during their kick back at her place with friends. Chasi was nothing if not a proselytizer for the church of Styles. Helene would have a good time at the gig, she loved music, especially live, could take a few photos even.

So they rode the train and made a couple days of it. Turned it into a girls weekend and had a blast. Helene was amazed by the energy of the crowd when they arrived. These girl, well, women, were passionate, and they at least professed the adage printed everywhere-'treat people with kindness.' Helene liked that idea, to say the least.

Various flags flew, and everybody was in such high spirits, Helene was buzzed before Harry Styles even took the stage. Chasi was fucking vibrating. The whole place was excited and encouraging, full and engaged-for the opener no less.

It was nearly overwhelming and the wave of emotion of the place was only nearing the shore. The swell had just begun. When the music she vaguely recognized which made Chasi shake her hands like she had palsy started, then the crest rolled in.

The curtain rise brought out a handsome enough young man in a fancy suit with a guitar strapped to him, somewhat awkwardly.

The awkwardness was quickly shrugged off, even for a fledgling fan, like Helene, three bars into the expressive first song and Helene was making her own emotion, not just catching the communicable emotion of her fellow concert goers. She finds herself first swaying side to side, her eyes closing involuntarily. Then she is on the verge of tears, and she is not sure why.

When her eyes open, the performer, Harry, is also closing his eyes. When he opens them, they are neon green, and so vibrant, Helene can only think of that time she snuck to love fest and everybody had glow sticks. His eyes are lit from within and glisten. Like those of everybody near her and her own

Helene is hoisting her camera before she knows it. She gets image after image of this boy. He's seven years younger than her, but is more comfortable on stage as the night progresses than she has ever been anywhere.

He is sexy too. Raw magnetism. But she ignores that at first in favor of his stage presence and music.

Now, she has ignored it for months. Thought it was her default recently.  After he hired her based on a few pictures and took her on the road. Harry changed her life on a whim. He had liked a picture, not just on Instagram, and did something about it. Now, she had a huge client and name recognition. He'd even had to supply a new wardrobe, as she hadn't been home in ages. He seemed to love to do this, foster new talent. And when Harry liked something or someone he wasn't shy about doing what his name could for him. It seemed to be the only thing her was comfortable using his fame for.  Helene loved her time on tour, surreal as it had been.