Tunes | Harry Styles

I Love You

Louisa

My eyes settled upon my reflection on the vanity mirror, the frown visible from my lips and eyes as dark as my hair. I remained seated on the chair, my eyes falling to my red lipstick, tinted across my lips.

Will they be smudged tonight, stained on wine glasses, marks upon a table napkin, painted on someone's neck, erased upon someone else's mouth?

The night approached quickly than an uninvited guest, Harry's small gathering to celebrate for his album just an hour away. I was happy for him, we all were. Soon, he will be heard. Soon, he'll make a difference again.

"Are you ready?"

I looked over my shoulder, Harry by the door, wearing a beige slacks and a buttoned up white shirt. "Yes, just help me zip this up, will you?" I stand from the chair, adjusting my dress. I lift up my hair, hearing his footsteps inching closer to me, the air from his movements sending shivers of slumber down my spine and to my toes.

His fingers tug the zipper gently from my dress, zipping up. I look at the mirror, catching his gaze. He gives me a small smile, finishing my dress. "May I say something?" He says, inching away. I did not hesitate to turn and face him, awaiting for what he has to say to me.

"I just wanted to thank you for working on this album with me. You did the most and I'm just taking every credit of it."

I did help him write, I did help him with tunes, I did suggest things that would sound better. But that's all him, I'm just a help. "It's all you, Harry." I lightly shrug, smiling at him. "It's all me but without you, it wouldn't be."

"Come on, let's go and have fun tonight." I interrupt, taking my coat.

We set in the car, the night alive with lights beaming through the windows, passing by and disappearing. I listen to the light roaring of his car. My eyes were all around me, watching the busy streets of London.

"Why don't you invite Paris?" He breaks the comfortable silence.

My stare settles on his side profile, lamppost lights beaming over his eyes and tugged lips. For a second, I wondered why he'd ask me. But then, maybe he'd be occupied and I'll need  a company?

"I'm starting to think you're forcing me to invite him." I chuckle, resting my temple on my knuckles, shifting my gaze at the stop light. "I told you, I wanna meet him. And I think it'll be nice. Drinks on me."

I thought for a moment, glancing at him once again for reassurance. He meets my eyes for a second, giving me a nod. "Go on, call him." He says. I hesitate a breath, taking my phone after I release the air built up in my throat. I see Paris's contact, debating still whether to call him or not. At this moment, I was worried. What if Harry won't like him? What if Paris won't like Harry? How should I have two friends then who despises one another.

But then, I call him - pressing my phone against my ear, eyes glued on my fidgeting fingers, scraping off my chapped nail polish. I listen to the dialing tone, and I feel Harry's repeat gaze on me — waiting as I am.

He was as eager.

"Louisa." I wish it were Harry who have called my name, but it wasn't. It was Paris. "Paris, hi." I greeted, twirling my fingers over a loose fabric. "Hi," I could hear the smile in his tone. "Listen, I'm going to this dinner. And my friend, Harry, would love you to be there."

"Only Harry? You wouldn't love it if I was there?"

I softly laugh at his response, the sudden embarrassment hitting me. "Of course I'd love it if you were there."