Golden

30

I walked through the door with you,
The air was cold
But something about it felt like home somehow...

"Good morning."
I turned around from the piano at the voice coming from the corridor, not surprised in the least by my favorite interruption. I was already smiling as my gaze fell on Harry standing in the doorway holding a cup of coffee up to his smirking lips. He leisurely leaned against the frame, crossing one long leg over the other and keeping his green eyed gaze locked on me.
"Morning," I greeted him back warmly over my shoulder, still slightly in awe that he was actually here, that this was real and not just some fantasy, that we were alone together, the only two people for miles and miles.
"Well, this is a familiar sight," Harry noted as he took a step into the room slowly, gripping his coffee cup in his hands. "You at the piano, me quietly watching a master at work from the hallway trying not to make a noise and disturb you."
"I'm hardly a master," I scoffed, twirling the end of my ponytail around my finger, feeling a swarm of butterflies erupt inside of my stomach like I was 16 years old again. "But I'll gladly take the compliment and confident boost."
Harry ventured closer, still sipping his coffee and glancing around at the various candles I had already lit around the tiny space. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a faded, vintage t-shirt, looking well rested with his curly mess of bed head hair framing his face.
"Did I wake you?" I asked worriedly, knowing how exhausted he had been and how sound traveled so quickly and loudly throughout this house. "I know this place is really small, so I tried to be extra quiet this morning. Sorry if–"
Harry shook his head, cutting me off. "Don't apologize. Hearing you play the piano the first thing in the morning is one of my favorite ways to be woken up." He paused and winked. "I won't tell you the others, but I think you might already know them."
I laughed at his racy irreverence, wanting to ask how long he would be staying, wanting to tell him he could wake up every morning to me playing music from now on.
Or I could wake him with his other favorite ways...
But I didn't dare.
Things between us were still raw, still uncertain, still undiscussed. We were both treading lightly, like we were skating on thin ice and the frozen glacier beneath our feet was slowly breaking and cracking underneath the mounting pressure from both of us.
"Did you sleep?" Harry asked, standing just out of reach from me, almost like he was tempting and drawing me closer.
"A bit," I replied with a small shrug. We both knew it was a lie. "How about you?"
"Like a rock," Harry answered earnestly, stretching his arms over his head. "I liked falling asleep under the stars with that skylight. I could get quite used to that too."
I nodded, keeping my mouth shut even though my head was spinning with the endless questions, countless ideas, and overflowing suggestions of how we could spend our time, even if I wasn't sure how long we had left.
I hadn't slept much since Harry's unexpected arrival last night, still fearful that John would suddenly burst through the door at any moment again and my blissful paradise would instantly come crashing down; but this time would be much worse because of Harry. I was tempted to call Simon and secretly ask for John's travel schedule to see if I could better predict his inevitable return, but I didn't want word to get back to John and have him cut his trip short or know I was snooping on his whereabouts. So instead I stayed quiet, stuck in a constant state of uncertainty and terror and it felt all too familiar.
"Have you written much since you've been here?" Harry asked as casually as he could, taking in another mouthful of coffee. His tone was neutral, but his eyes gave away how eager he was to know.
"Yeah, some," I lied again.
I had written nonstop and constantly, at all hours of the day and well into dark of the night, until my eyes were blurry and hands were numb from gripping a pen and running my fingers across the piano for hours and hours. I poured my heart and soul out on paper, leaving imprints of my raw vulnerability in the black ink that filled pages and pages of notebooks and journals and became spread across each of the keys. I had already left countless traces of myself all over this place and I knew it was only a time of time before Harry found every single piece I left behind.
"Can I hear any of it?" Harry's voice was soft, almost like he knew he was asking too much.
"Um," I stammered quickly, my head spinning at his seemingly simple request that actually wasn't simple at all.
"Forget it, sorry," Harry hurriedly backtracked, shaking his head adamantly. "I shouldn't have even asked. I know how private you can be about songs, especially your new ones, and that was a complete overstep on my part and–"
"No, it's fine." My voice was shaking, suddenly feeling exposed and anxious, like the already small room was closing in on me. "I just...they aren't ready." I swallowed hard. "I'm not ready."
Harry nodded somberly. "I understand." He smirked, somewhat half heartedly, though still looking defeated. "It's...it's how you first were with me whenever I asked to hear your music. So..." he cleared his throat. "I get it. I'm just not used to it anymore."
"None of them are really finished," I lied again, hoping he wasn't taking my resistance personally, even though it definitely was. "Still a lot of early stage stuff that needs a lot more time."
"What were you working on just now when I walked in?" Harry asked me pointedly, unblinking.
"A new one." This was the truth. "Very new, just a few opening lyrics actually. I...I don't know where it's going quite yet or if it'll even materialize into something more." I felt my cheeks burn. "I'm still working through it myself."
"Is it about last night?" Harry's voice didn't waver. He wanted answers. And he wanted them now.
"Uh, I mean...just...there's a lot...there's some other things and..." I was flailing nervously, trying to figure out what exactly to say that wouldn't completely expose me, even though I was sure it was useless to try and defend myself at this point. Harry could see right through any made up excuse I tried to tell him. "There's a lot of inspiration I've been kind of floating around...not necessarily one thing or one person or..."
Harry was grinning when I glanced back up at him. He sipped his coffee again, his gaze glimmering with piquing interest. "I see."
"Where are those photo albums of yours?" I asked abruptly, turning the attention around on him. "Let's see those."
Harry laughed, throwing his head back. "Well I wouldn't want to distract you from writing..."
I stood up off the piano bench immediately, like it was suddenly burning me. "I'm done for now." I didn't care how desperate or overly eager I seemed, this was a welcomed distraction for me. "It's a perfect time for photos."
Harry kept smiling, seeing right through my diversion tactic, but thankfully he was playing along with me. "Alright. Follow me."
We walked to the kitchen together and Harry opened up his bag that was still sitting on the floor by the door. He crouched down, unzipped it and slowly pulled out a gigantic album that was overflowing with photos. My eyes grew wide as he cradled the heavy binder in his hands.
"This isn't even the majority of the photos my mom has," Harry told me as he gently placed the enormous book on the kitchen countertop. "I swear she takes more photos than all of the paparazzi in New York and LA combined. They could probably learn a thing or two from her."
Harry carefully opened the cover slowly, very mindful of the delicate pictures and how they were barely hanging onto and sticking to the pages. I scooted closer to them, not wanting to miss a single image as I glanced down, taking them all in one at a time.
"Oh my God. Is that you?" I asked incredulously as I pointed at a picture of a young boy in a dark turtleneck giving an enthusiastic thumbs up to the camera wearing oversized sunglasses.
"The one and only." Harry laughed loudly, running his thumb across the photo gently. "I think I was about four here. Those glasses were my favorite. I hardly ever took them off."
"Is that you as Elvis?" I leaned down, scanning the images individually. He was a small boy, dressed in sparkling rhinestones and a black wig in the same dark glasses, dancing and singing in front of his classmates in some kind of production.
"It was for a play in school," Harry explained with another smile, picking up the picture for a closer look. "I was always a showman, I guess."
"You mean a show off." I nudged him with my elbow, feeling a wild spark explode in my bloodstream the moment we touched. "What sport did you play?"
"Soccer. God, I was awful at it." Harry examined the photo I was referring to. He was wearing a red team jacket over a bright yellow goalie jersey, grinning broadly and proudly in the front row of his teammates. "I'm still awful at it. I once scored on our own team because I forgot which goal was ours halfway through the match." He shook his head, laughing in spite of himself. "I would rather pick flowers in the field than chase after a ball anyway."
"Oh, I like this one." I pointed at a black and white photo of him as a child hugging a teddy bear. "You still look...mischievous though."
Harry snickered. "I didn't outgrow that. If anything, it's gotten worse."
"That damn charm," I sighed under my breath before I could stop myself. I shook my head, trying to center myself and pointed at another picture. "Nice shirt."
Harry's cheeks turned red, looking down at the image of him in his childhood bedroom holding a gold action figure. "Hey, Goofy was cool."
"Is that Gemma?" I asked as Harry turned the page that was now filled with photos of a slightly older Harry and a girl with brown hair and big eyes who bore a striking resemblance to him.
Harry nodded, smiling at the photos of them with their arms wrapped firmly around each other in a tight embrace. "People say we look alike, but I don't see it." He glanced up at me. "She's way prettier."
"Agreed."
Harry gasped, feigning hurt. "I guess my charm doesn't last that long with you..."
"You'd be surprised." I smirked at him.
We flipped through countless pages and photos, pausing only once to open a bottle of wine as Harry explained his childhood in great detail, from his parents' divorce when he was seven to growing up in Holmes Chapel with his mom and sister to forming his first band with some of his school friends when he realized he might want to be a singer. He recounted his time on X Factor and the early days with One Direction and how equally thrilling and exhausting his life was at such a young age.
"I don't regret it," Harry told me seriously, licking his lips as he started on his third glass of wine. "I mean...I was traveling the world with my best mates, playing to sold out stadiums all over the world, staying in the best hotels and meeting all these famous faces that I had been adoring for years and years. It was what people dream of doing." His face suddenly went stony. "But it was so much attention and scrutiny during a time in your life when you're supposed to be messing up and making stupid decisions and dumb mistakes, figuring out who you are and who you want to be." He exhaled deeply, catching his breath. "It was just...a lot of pressure, you know?"
I nodded solemnly. "I don't know what I would do if I had all of that stress at 16..." I shuddered just thinking about it. I hardly was able to handle stress now; so I couldn't imagine being a teenager and having to deal with the dark side of fame and being in the public eye at the same time.
"What were you doing at 16?" Harry asked curiously, tilting his head at me.
"Definitely not on X Factor." I ran a delicate finger across the rim of my wineglass. "Nowhere close."
"Were you in New York?" Harry prodded lightly.
I shook my head. "No, not yet. I was in high school, probably doing the same things you were doing except without the whole world knowing about it." I smirked. "I also wasn't being chased and hounded by swarms of adoring fans at that age either, so..."
"You're so secretive about everything." Harry rolled his eyes, swallowing another mouthful of wine with a wry smile. "I'm showing you everything about my past and not to mention – you can Google all of this stuff if you really wanted to. And all you can say about being 16 is that you were in high school?"
He had a point, if I was being honest.
"Okay." I gave in, mulling over exactly what to tell him. Admittedly there wasn't much in my childhood or teen years that I thought he would find remotely interesting. But nonetheless, Harry leaned in closer, waiting anxiously for me to continue.
"I grew up in a small town in Massachusetts," I offered simply. "You know I have an older sister and that my parents are still together and they've lived in the same house we grew up in since, well, probably forever." I made a face, feeling foolish. "I...I don't know. My childhood was just ordinary, I guess. I did gymnastics and tennis and chorus and learned guitar and piano." I raised my shoulders. "Nothing too wild like becoming a major, international pop star before I could legally drive..."
"Who was your first kiss with?" Harry asked unexpectedly, wriggling his eyebrows at me.
I laughed, sipping more of my wine. "Really?"
Harry chuckled at my reaction. "Yeah, who and when and how old were you?"
"His name was Dan," I replied, my mind traveling back to my childhood that felt like lifetimes ago. "We were 8. It was in a park near our house during flashlight tag with all the neighborhood kids. We ran off behind the jungle gym to hide together on top of the covered slide and...that was that." I smirked at the distant memory. I hadn't thought about that moment in a long time. "I remember he was the tallest kid in our class and his grandparents lived a few streets over from me, so we took the same bus to school because his parents worked so much. We would sit next to each other every morning and afternoon and he would always bring me Hershey kisses from his grandma's candy dish." I giggled, blushing. "They would always be melted from his pockets."
"A true gentleman," Harry chimed in. "Or he tried to be anyway."
"I thought we were going to fall madly in love when we were older and get married and buy my parents' house and have tons of kids that would grow up and play on the same swing set in the park that we did." I shook my head, laughing under my breath at my wild fantasy I concocted in my head when I was little. "But he moved away to Tennessee in fifth grade when his Dad started his own law firm, so that dream was over with pretty quickly."
"Have you seen him since?" Harry asked, somewhat concerned, which I found secretly hilarious.
"I saw him once when I was in college and he was visiting his grandparents and I was home for Christmas break," I replied evenly, reminiscing about how we had run into each other out of the blue on the icy sidewalk in front of my parents' driveway. We ended up walking around my childhood neighborhood with each other as the snow fell gently from the night sky above us, covering everything in a blanket of soft white. Even though it was freezing out on that frigid December night, I still remembered finding myself being so warm as we strolled through the deserted streets, talking like no time had passed at all.
"He still looked the same," I recalled faintly. "He had the same dimples and crooked smile and he was still so much taller than me."
"That's not that hard." Harry jibbed lightly. "You're only like 5 feet on your tiptoes."
"I'm 5 foot 3 actually," I corrected him squarely as I pointed my finger at his chest. "He was 6'4" with light brown hair and his eyes were even more green than I had remembered from all those years ago."
"Green eyes, eh?" Harry took another sip of wine, making a face at me. "Sounds like you might have a type."
I rolled my eyes, but he was partially right.
Although I didn't tell Harry that his eyes were my favorite and meant even more to me than the first person I kissed and imagined falling in love with as a young girl.
"But we fell out of touch," I concluded with a small shrug of my shoulders, gripping my wine glass a little tighter. "Last I knew he was married to this beautiful blonde and living in Georgia as an accountant."
I felt a strange pang of sadness jolt within my bones.
That could have been me, I thought grimly. That could have been my life. I could've have that peaceful, simple, quiet life...
"You okay?" Harry asked me abruptly, concerned. He scanned my pale face, wondering what I was thinking, what I wasn't telling him, what was shaking me to my core.
"Fine." I blinked vacantly, holding back tears stinging my eyes. "I'm fine."
I didn't even know why I was feeling so sad, longing desperately for another time, another life, one that wasn't even mine to begin with.
But what if I stayed on that little town street that I grew up on? What if I never left my hometown and instead met a certain someone special at the check out line at local grocery store? What if we fell in love and built an uncomplicated, easy life in a small house with a flower garden surrounded by a white picket fence and a tire swing hanging from a branch of an old oak tree in the front yard? What if we sat on the porch on warm summer nights, laughing as our children ran around barefoot in the grass, catching fireflies as dusk settled and the street lamps began to flicker to life? What if we grew old together, falling more in love as the years passed as we watched our family expand, our own happiness growing with each new addition?
What if I had already missed the chance for that kind of life? What if I already missed the chance for any sort of stable life? What if I was too late for me? What if–
"Lucy?"
I jumped, pulled instantly from my spiraling thoughts and thrust roughly back to reality. I shook the mental image from my head of the alternate universe where my life was still on my childhood street: easy, effortless, comfortable.
"Just...life is funny."
Harry nodded, seemingly understanding, even if I didn't vocalize what I was actually grappling with inside.
I hadn't noticed how dark it was in the kitchen now. A slow burning candle on the stove and the dim refrigerator lights were the only things illuminating the entire room. I felt so cold suddenly, casting my gaze to the floor, feeling an empty sensation infiltrate my chest as my mind kept wandering.
But before my thoughts could travel too far, Harry quickly sprang up from the kitchen stool, grabbed my hand and he pulled me to my feet.
I yelped in surprise as Harry suddenly pressed me against his chest and intertwined his fingers with mine. He straightened up, raising his head high and placing my hands on his shoulders as his grip dropped to my waistline.
"What are you–" I began, but he cut me off.
"Dancing with you," he interrupted breezily, as if I should have already known. "Refrigerator lights are the best lights to dance under."
Harry pulled me in closer, wrapping his arms securely around my hips. I looked up into his eyes, which were dancing along with us. We swayed back and forth silently for a few moments before Harry breathed, "What?"
"Nothing." I rested my head against his chest, sighing deeply, listening to his steady heartbeat, my favorite sound.
Harry raised my arm in the air, carefully spinning me around. I threw my head back and laughed as Harry dipped me, holding me tighter. He pulled me back up and pressed his cheek against mine, dancing slower and closer than before. The only sound was the creaking of the floorboards underneath our bare feet, but Harry and I were in perfect step with one another.
Harry leaned back, peering down at me and smirking, his cheeks flushed.
"What?" I asked this time.
He just kept smiling. "Nothing."
We didn't have to say anything more.
We both knew. We both felt it.
It wasn't nothing. It was everything.