What happens after the red string pulls tight and brings you to each other? Is it strong enough to withstand anything? Or is the red string vulnerable to being severed?
The towncar pulls up in front of the gallery and it's a much different sight than last night. Large tents have been erected outside and a red carpet has been placed beneath, complete with a photo wall. Harry is early though, and he can see people scrambling around and putting last minute touches on the setup. His security, Tom, follows him and they make their way towards the entrance. Harry is glad no one seems to mind him strolling through, a perk of both his celebrity and handsome face. He doesn't see her in the main room of the gallery but as he peeks his head around the corner he can hear her voice coming down the hallway. Sounds like a melody that's written on his heart. Permanently etched there.
He watches her walk with her head down towards him, looking at her phone, and then, as if some sonar went off in her brain, she pauses and her eyes look up and catch his. The smile that spreads across her face could keep him warm all winter.
"Baby!" she says excitedly, before she does a half-run, as quickly as her heels allow, towards him, wrapping her arms around his middle. "Did you just get here?"
Before answering, he pecks her lips. Once. Twice. Three times. He can't help himself. He's so happy that she's finally his again.
"Just walked in," he finally answers.
"You didn't have to come so early. You could have come with everyone else," she says, holding her arms around his waist as she looks up at him.
"I missed you," he says, gently running his hands down her hair.
"I only left your place an hour ago," she giggles but appreciates his sentiment.
"Yeah, and as soon as you left I regretted not going with you," he kisses the top of her head, before pulling her closer to his chest. "You look incredible."
Amy is wearing a deep olive colored velvet jumpsuit with elbow length sleeves and wide legs. A matching belt cinches her waist and Harry plays with the ends of the belt as he looks at her.
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"You look dapper yourself, Mr.Styles," she says, placing her hand on the lapel of his suit jacket.
Harry smirks to himself before saying, "You know, I'm wearing something very similar to this—" he runs one finger down her bare front "—next Saturday at SNL. It's very comfortable."
Amy laughs, sweetly, at the way he pronounces each syllable of 'comfortable.'
"'Com-for-table' You're very British and I find it extremely adorable," she swoons over his enunciation.
He gives her a side-eye for teasing him but she sees the side of his mouth lift up and his dimple start to pop. Eventually, he can't hide it anymore and it's a full blown smile and Amy feels herself swooning again.
"Is there anything I can help with?" Harry says gesturing around.
"One thing," Amy says, before taking his hand and pulling him back down the hallway.
