About (Harry Styles)

35.

The Heart Wants What It Wants - Selena Gomez

"The bed's getting cold and you're not here..."

It's strange. How I can open up so much about myself to someone like Harry Styles. Somehow, he was no longer the Harry Styles.  He's just become...Harry. 

I've opened up about the little thing about myself - my irrational fear of clowns, my atheistic beliefs, but most importantly - almost every detail concerning my past. It's not easy to open up about yourself but with Harry, it just came so naturally.

I've never grown so comfortable with someone so quickly. He has a quality; one that makes me feel protected, and cared for, one that has been absent in my life for a long time.

Being around him is exciting and there's never a dull moment with him. It's nerve-wrecking, thrilling, and without a doubt, being around him makes me incredibly vulnerable. And I didn't want to be vulnerable, it was a state in which I never wanted to be in again, but this heart of mine is telling me to give him a chance. It tells me that he's wholeheartedly sincere about this and that maybe something good might come out of this, whatever this is.

We had so much food the past few days, I haven't even thought about the payments that would come along with it. Harry offered to pay but I dismissed his generous suggestion, offering to pay half. Though I'm pretty sure he wasn't going to let me pay a dime. Because that's just how he is.

He's a natural gentleman.

I hate when others pay for my things because I feel that I owe them a debt, but I bury the sensation away from my conscience, letting my avarice win the fight.

The last night of the cruise, my mother texts me, hinting that I should spend more time with Harry, and make sure that I run into him on accident. Little does she know that I run into him on accident more times than I can count.

"Who was that?" Harry asks, taking a sip of the wine he had poured himself.

"Just someone," I vaguely reply, placing my phone back on the stand beside the bed. He nods, pouting his bottom lip, setting aside his glass.

He warned me to only have one glass since he's more than aware of my tolerance of alcohol.

But I don't like being told what to do. As humans, we do the opposite of what we're actually told.

But it is the smart thing to do. Alcohol and boys just don't mix for me. I've learned that the hard way.

But since I am human, I disobeyed and indulged myself a few more glasses. Obviously, behind Harry's back.

"You know," he starts, walking over to the bed, the mattress wavering underneath us as he carefully plops himself beside me. "You haven't given me your number."

"You haven't asked," I point out.

"Touché," he grins, suddenly laying his head on my shoulder, finding a comfortable spot as his smooth curls slightly graze along the skin of my cheek. 

"I can't get any work done with you around here," he says, nudging his head slightly closer to me. "Speaking of work," he starts. "What are your plans for the future, employment-wise?"

I tell him that I wanted to pursue photography but changed my career path due to other influences like my mother and now am currently pursuing a Theatre major, hoping to find some kind of gig somewhere in New York, and he nods, acting intrigued with my choice of career.

"I still think you should do photography," He says as he lifts his head to look at me, and I shrug.

"Some things just don't go as planned."