//all you had to do was stay//

Chapter 4

few months later

His eyes float over the reception room, its golden carpets and wine red wallpaper is a far cry from the modern simplicity that he prefers in hotels, but it will do for a couple of days. He is tired from riding in a car all day and can't wait to have a shower, some food.

"What's holding up?" He asks, grabbing his hand luggage impatiently.

As much as he hates to admit it, he has grown used to the gold treatment over the years, and wonders why this establishment isn't welcoming him with open arms.

Thom, the manager of his entourage and a long-time friend, turns around in a strange manor. Everything about him suddenly breathes apprehension. "We are going to stay somewhere else." He says, reaching for his bag, a leather duffle

The receptionist presses her lips together apologetically.

"Wait, what?"

He is not a diva, he won't demand a room. But this whole thing is driving him up the wall, the next hotel with good security measures is miles away, and he can't think of anything worse than lugging all these bags back to the car and then spending another good hour on the road.
"We can take whatever is available," he says "it doesn't have to be first class, so long as there is a bed I'm happy."

The girl looks at Thom, as if waiting for him to decide on the matter. Thom shakes his head firmly.

"Damn man," Harry laughs in bewilderment "You're the one that doesn't want to stay?" He shakes his head "Come on, we're all tired."

"No, it's not a good idea."

This time Harry ignores him. "We're staying, Miss. I'm sorry for the confusion."

Thom still has a steady grip on his duffle bag, but the other hand is quickly brought up to serve as a barrier between Harry and the desk.
"We are not staying here." He says, pushing Harry back a little bit. "Trust me on this one. There's a good place not very far from here."

"This place suits us just fine, what is going on? "

"Taylor Swift is staying here, Mr Styles." The girl who has been quietly observing their quarrel, clears her throat and finally speaks up.

Nothing moves after that. Time stops for a painful second. He feels like a naked fool who just got hit by light.

"How big are the odds?" Thom tries to say, "Let's get the fuck out of here."

But Harry can't. He isn't used to feeling like a vulnerable boy at thirty. The shame of still being affected by her runs over him like tidal waves and the only way he can get out of this deep, this shaky deep of his own making, is to stand up and prove a point.

"I don't understand all the hoopla," He tells the girl. "We're not sharing a room with her, are we Thom?" He swallows what feels like a ping pong ball stuck in his throat.

"We are staying."

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He doesn't sleep very well that night. In the midst of darkness his frustrated mind rewinds to the moment he decided to stay, and then wishes he could take it back.

The bed is unbelievably comfortable, and big enough to fit three people. The view is soothing and endlessly dark green. He closes his eyes and wonders if all the suits look the same. He opens them again and looks at the red roses on the bedsit next to his bed, does she have the same flowers in her room? He wonders if the same gold framed paintings, slashes of black and white, hang on her wall. He wonders if he will run into her tomorrow. How will she react then? Will she think that he looks old?

He groans and turns around, lays flat on his stomach with his face pressed tightly against the pillow. All these thoughts are much to exiting and scary, he has no chance of relaxing and drifting off to sleep. Instead he lays awake, thinking and analysing and beating himself up for hours, until his body finally relents and gives into exhaustion.

***
The next morning he wakes up before the alarm goes off. He orders poached eggs on salmon, and eats in his room. It's a beautiful day, the sun shines in through the open balcony door and invites him out for a little while. He looks at the city, sprawled out beneath him. He's in the outskirts of Las Vegas, where the blaring casino lights can't reach him, and nature is still around. He wanted it this way, for peace.

Peace. He thinks to himself, and starts to get back inside. He closes the big doors. There's no way he will get any peace now. He spends a little longer than usual getting ready, he inspects himself. He shaves, carefully. He combs his curly hair back, uses a coin sized amount of gel to get it to stay in place. He flashes a stupid smile to his own reflection, and says, how have you been?

When he is satisfied, he grabs his jacket and heads out carefully. He doesn't look around himself and walks straight towards the elevators. t takes a long time for them to arrive to his floor, it feels like he has stood there for an eternity. When they finally do arrive, his heart skips a beat. The doors open slowly. She's not behind them.

This is how he spends the whole day, expecting to see her around every corner. He clears his throat for what turns out to be a stranger, makes sure his hair is in place for somebody that has long blonde hair but... brown eyes, he stands up straight for, well, oh, never mind. And eventually the fear of running into her turns into disappointment that he hasn't.

He grows tired of not being able to focus and goes back to his room with a curious frown.
Maybe this is for the best.

His face meekly falls as he eyes the long empty hallway.