Personal Assistant ➵ H.S.

10

Harry wrote his first entry in his new journal as soon as you left. He hadn't written lyrics in years, other than helping Niall with the odd word for his songs, but the instant frustration he felt at not having kissed you had sparked up an idea. He thought your little surprise cupcake on his birthday was more than enough, that alone surpassed his expectations, but tonight had been something else. Quite frankly, he'd been floored by the effort you had put in for him, from inviting his favourite people to buying him such a thoughtful present - it made his heart burst every time he thought about it. And then that dance; your body fit to his like a glove to his hand and now he had a taste of that he never wanted to give it up.

But he'd messed it up at the final moment, and right now he needed music to be his outlet.

Music had always been prominent in Harry's life; he had dabbled with instruments for years, and even sung a little bit too. He had been in a band during his teen years with a few friends and wrote most of the songs they sang whenever they got the odd church hall gig back in Cheshire.

It felt nice to write again, he always forgot how relaxed it made him feel and made a mental note to try and make more time for it when his schedule died down.

Harry fell asleep that night, still fully clothed, with his journal laid open next to him on the bed, in the place you had slept all those weeks ago.

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A text chimed from his phone, waking him up. He stretched his arm out to grab his phone, and was initially surprised at still being in his shirt from the night before which then quickly melted away when he remembered falling asleep while writing.

When his eyes focused from blinking at the harsh light from the device, he sat up quickly when he saw who the text was from.

Forgot to say - check the back page of the journal, C x

Scrambling around the ruffled bed sheets for the journal, he finally located it on the floor where it must've fallen off. Grabbing it greedily and flicking to the back of the journal, fingers fumbling over the pages at how quickly he was turning them, he found a little handwritten message.

'Happy Birthday Harry

Love from Cecelia (the best assistant you've ever had) x'

Harry's face lit up in a massive smile at your little personal touch, thumb stroking softly over the loopy letters. After gazing at the writing for who knows how long, he tapped back a reply.

Very funny. Thank you always. H x

Harry had never felt so in over his head when it came to a girl; usually, he was the one who was cool and mysterious and didn't get flustered easily. Not with you though. Maybe it was because he hadn't allowed his heart to let anyone in since the last dating fiasco he had. She was a model, and Harry had put his all into her; whether that was with his money, his heart or even his connections. But when she had made Harry chose between her or his career he knew their relationship could go no further. The whole thing had really hurt him; she'd taken a lot from him both personally and materialistically and when he ended things she went straight to the press, branding him as a player, a liar and everything in between. It had really affected his confidence, as he hated being branded that way, as well as now being left to feel like girls were only interested in him because of what he could provide for them, rather than him as a person. But when he realised there was nothing he could do to change it; he started to play up to the stereotype, as much as he sometimes just wanted to be left alone. If he was being honest with himself, looking back, he should've listened to his Mum because when they met she instantly knew something wasn't right.