Crimson Idol

Nine

"You know what would be fun?" Harry says across the table from me in a hut diner we discovered last week

"What?" I ask, he plays with his rings and then brushes his cotton candy hair out of his bubblegum face and looks up to me with those gumdrop eyes

"If we went on vacation somewhere" he tells me, and immediately I start thinking of reasons to turn him down "I have a house in LA we could go to"

"You have a house in LA!" I exclaim "What are you an art thief!" to which he chuckles and shakes his head. At this point we don't turn down any speculations the other makes about our jobs or our lives

"I held the Mona Lisa with my very hands" his hands are more of the art than the painting, but I don't say anything

"I don't know, Harry" I begin, trying to keep my gaze anywhere but his face. I know if I look at him and he really asks, there's no way out.

"What? Can't I take my girlfriend on vacation in the house I bought with my art thief money?"

"Girlfriend?" I say lowly, he has never called me his girlfriend before. All in all these past two months have felt too surreal, like I've been living in a dream that I'm bound to wake up from. Everything from our secret café dates to us walking down empty parking lots at 3 a.m has felt like something I made up in one of my poems sitting by the window on another Tuesday night and gazing off so far it almost hurts to snap back into what my life is

"Yeah silly" he chuckles and I raise my nose in the air, his face scrunches up with the lightest smile on his lips as he sends me a confused look

"I'm nobody's girlfriend" I say "you sir, have never officially asked me" I joke with a poker face. His features drop to the ground for a second before he speaks, replacing his smile with a concerned look that steals his dimples

"Leila will you be my girlfriend?" He comes back laughing, the sound of it makes me think there is no music in the world but the sound of his laughter

"No." I say "You're gonna have to do better than that" He pouts and it takes him a moment to get out of his seat across from me, he sneaks a glance my way to see that I am confused at what he's doing. He picks up the silver napkin holder from the table and empties it from the napkin, and then in a swift movement takes his silver rose ring off his middle finger and places it in the napkin holder, sets himself down on one knee, and looks back up at me

"Leila ..." he pauses, thinking "what's your middle name?" this is the kind of stuff we would know about each other if this weren't a dream, but it is. He is not mine to keep. I have made this up in my head.

"Valentina" I say, quickly, breathlessly. He is looking at me, I can never breathe when he is looking at me. His eyes do that thing where they feel like they're sucking the soul out of you – in the most sensual and delight way

"Valentina?" He makes a face at me "sounds like a stripper's name. Leila Valentina, what kind of name is that?"

"My dad's Italian and my mother is Egyptian what do you expect?" I chuckle, and he shakes his head in disapproving laughter

"Alright. Leila Valetina , will you make me the happiest man on earth and be my girlfriend?" He says dramatically, spreading his arm around to gesture the world and resting it on his stomach as if to prove to me that he is nervous

"Yes" I giggle "I'd love to" he gets up off the ground and takes the cold ring from the napkin holder and slides it on my ring finger, which it falls off of because my small hands are no match for his, his giggles echo through the place, he retrieves it and pushes it on my thumb, it stays.

"There!" he exclaims, smiling gently, showing me the dimples etched in his cheeks

"When's the party?" I laugh

"Next month" He says "Come with me to LA"

"That's October" I think "About that, um" I begin "I need to talk to you about something"

"Sure babe what is it?" He's back in his seat with his big green eyes booking through my soul again

"It's about my job" I trail off "I'm a pole dancer" His laugh bursts through the room. I have been meaning to tell him about everything, but it's almost like every single time I try, my heart damn near punches itself unconscious. Everything is so good as we are, he's mine, he's just ordinary Harry with no job and ruffled hair and nobody knows him. If I tell him who I am, he becomes Harry Styles international rock star. I don't want Harry Styles international rock star, I just want Harry. My Harry, the Harry I feel like I've temporarily stolen from the world (I never wanna give him back, this feels like giving him back)

His rose ring is cold against my thumb, its mid-September in London and its freezing cold. Harry says this has been the hottest year so far but I don't think he realizes how sunny it is back home. This is also the longest time I have ever spent in London, I should have left almost three weeks ago, but I convinced Caitlyn to finish the rest of what we had to do here, never mind that I'm going to have to leave for California in two weeks, which means two weeks until the AMAs

Harry never goes to that, right?

Not.

A/N: hi, thank you for reading. thank you for 600 reads. 

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