Frankly, they didnât start on the best term.
He met Y/N during a photoshoot for a certain famous magazine. She was assigned to grace the cover of said magazine with the photograph of the worldâs most it couple, Harry Styles and the supermodel who gained the universal acclaim for âtaming the baby Mick Jaggerâ.
It was all fun and pretty until Y/N accidentally stepped on the girlfriendâs polished toes.
âFor fuckâs sake!â Harry screamed at Y/N as the supermodel girlfriend suddenly started limping her way to Harry, asking for some sort of first aid.
Y/N couldnât stop muttering sorry, offering ice blocks, even kneeling next to the supermodel girlfriend begging for forgiveness. The creative director, the crew, the editorsâthe whole studio apologized countless times for the tiny slip as the girlfriend pouted, complaining about the unbearable pain, causing Harry to hit the ceiling.
He yelled at Y/N and refused to go on. Y/N, knowing her inferior position in the equation, could only look down as the apologies continuously rolled out of her tongue. To be fair, everyone in the studio (except the lovebirds, obviously) knew it wasnât that big of a deal.
Y/N was capturing Harryâs solo session while the girlfriend fixed the hair and makeup. She was up next for her solo session and then itâs a wrap. Of course the photographer would move around; every supermodel should be aware of the fact that angles were plenty and it took treads to actually find the right ones. Y/N was constantly moving, camera on hand, eyes on the viewfinder, then suddenly the âbig accidentâ occurred.
Y/N was barefooted, she wouldnât even be able to squeeze a hard turd if she ever stepped on one with that wonky heel of hers. There was no way sheâd had caused the girlfriend that much pain. And nobody blamed Y/N as they all witnessed how the girlfriend walked on set with her eyes on the phone, hitting Y/N first. Nobody but the girlfriend and Harry Styles, of course. So they all just watched in silence as Harry cursed and threw a fit on innocent Y/N.
The power couple didnât want to continue unless Y/N was replaced. The crew had to comply no matter how irrational the demand sounded. And on top of that, suddenly Y/N was plastered on the internet as the girl who assaulted the worldâs biggest supermodel and Harry Styles.
She would never forget the overwhelming uneasiness caused by the sudden rave of negative reviews about her, all from people who endorsed and supported her in the first place but decided to be the footnote of the Hollywood sweetheartsâ testimony: âawful to work withâ, ânothing without the connectionâ, âa mediocre photographer who got luckyâ, and âtalentlessâ.
And she still couldnât wrap her mind around that dreaded event. She had heard tremendous chivalry and gentlemanlike attitude when it came to Harry Styles yet somehow, he was nothing but a certified dick who put her job on the line that day. Some friends who remained loyal to her speculated that the girlfriend was the bad influence. Some even were convinced that he was voodooed. She didnât care about either, all she believed was that heâs an absolute wretch with an extraordinarily thick mask. A media trained monkey was the term she occasionally used after a few tequila shots.
âThat witch is his Yoko Ono, I tell ya,â the creative director told her during their final meetingâthe meeting to let her go, of course.
She just shrugged. All she wanted was her old life back. And if Harry Styles and/or that supermodel got into some terrible misery in that comeback, that would definitely be her cherry on top.
She still got a few gigs, just not as much and definitely not with big profiles like she used to. For Peteâs sake, she was deemed a promising photographer by those fashion executives! She was only getting started. She would have never imagined that with just a short answer during a talk showâs truth or dare gameâwhoâs the one person youâd never want to work with ever again?âthe power couple could diminish her entire lifeâs worth of hard work.
Within the next few months, sheâs back to square one. Every morning she tried to contact some old clients who would perhaps still deigned to be affiliated with, according to the worldâs biggest supermodelâs words on that talk show, âthe rudest effinâ bitch Iâve ever seen in the industryâ.
And after countless unsuccessful attempts, she went back to the cafe she used to work at when sheâs still starting her career, not to network like she used to but to pour some coffee for other people again. Sheâs back with the apron and the napkin and she couldnât stop being cynical over some hopeful youngsters who got signed right in front of her eyes, on the table she just wiped.
Her cameras were laid unused on top of her rack and the mini darkroom she built in her apartment became a storage room. Believing she had failed miserably in life, she found herself no longer had hopes on anything. All she knew was to get by the day.
It was a cold December night. Everyone else went home to celebrate the holidays so she decided to do the shift. Sheâd be paid double plus she wouldnât have to face her family, which would go eerie in this state of her life, so it was the better choice.
Having had just finished cleaning the whole cafe, she put on her coat. She was ready to come home to⊠nothing. Her mind raced back to this time last year, where she was fully booked and couldnât wait to come home so she could recharge herself for an exciting tomorrow. Her life had become exceptionally dull and it was painful to go on.
An abrupt banging on the door halted her train of desperate thoughts.
âWeâre closed. Canât you see the time?! Itâs almost midnight!â she snarked, back facing the intruder.
âS- Sorry, loveâŠâ the hoarse voice is paused with a couple of hiccups. ââm just completely devastatedâŠâ
She rolled her eyes as she turned around and she almost had a heart attack. There stood the man who destroyed her life, terribly wasted out of his mind. He could barely stand straight without holding onto the doorknob.
âAre you fucking kidding me?â she rolled her eyes, asking some deity entity if there was ever one.
âHey! I know yehâŠâ Harry tried to get to her but his legs just gave up.
Falling face first, Y/N really wanted to leave him on the street. But of course she had that little voice of reason inside her that constantly screamed, âIf you abandon him, youâre nothing better than him!â She was a decent person and she really hated it this time.
âCome on up,â she pulled Harry up and lingered his arm around her shoulder to help him walk. âWhere do you live?â
âI donât k- know,â he giggled. âI canât remember, loveâŠâ
âTry,â she slapped his arm when he almost fell off yet again.
The snow was pouring down and they stood by the empty crossroad. Harry wouldnât even remember his own name by now and she didnât know how to get to his house. There was no other choice than to bring him home to her place.
It was nothing short of hard work to carry a man twice her size to her house on foot since there was not even a single cab around. It was even harder to hear him tell a story about his first imaginary friend during that wobbly trip where he tumbled more than five times and she had to pick him up every time. But it was the hardest when she had to take off his shoes so it wouldnât mess with her couchâhe didnât want to take it off, nagging her with numerous âGo away, Mum!âs.
When she finally got to lay on her bed, she was too tired to even think of what just happened. She literally did some cardio workout bringing Harry home safe so unlike her usual nights, she fell asleep quite fast this time.
It was around four in the morning when she felt a body of weight sunk into her side. She turned around to face his uninvited guest sound asleep, legs tangled over hers like a knot. She quietly removed her legs and tried to get up. She needed to move to the couch, or anywhere far away from this invader.
This is my fucking house, why am I the one sleeping outside, she thought to herself. Anger boiling at the top of her head as her movement was stopped by his strong hand.
âStay hereâŠâ he slurs.
He didnât seem conscious to her. Maybe he mistook her as his girlfriend.
âI know,â he cut her off while still sleeping. âJust stay here for a while. Itâs cold out there.â
She sighed and laid back down. Stiff and uncomfortable, but obviously exhausted, she closed her eyes as Harryâs arm pulled her closer to him. She could only hope the night would soon end or better yet, this was all not real.
When Harry woke up, he found a sticky note on his forehead.
âYou were hammered last night, didnât know where you live so I took you home. Nothing happened, you just sorta burst into where I work around midnight so I kind of had to not abandon you. Donât make yourself at home because this is my home.â
He couldnât remember anything. He remembered getting blind drunk after gulping those spirit shots but what happened after that was redacted. His surrounding was unfamiliar and there was no other sign of life other than him that morning.
After splashing his face with cold water, he looked around the apartment. It was modest but very personal. There were random film rolls hung by the ceiling as Harry made his way to the living room. He put on his shoes by the couch as he observed the vinyl shelf at the corner of the room. It was filled with 60s-70s biggest musicians, from Jimi Hendrix to Van Morrisonâwhich grew his curiosity of the owner. There were books that he also read, and the series of psychedelic photographs framed by the doorway was the biggest tic that made him wonder: how did he end up in this hippieâs safe haven, one that he actually wanted to live in when he was young? Did he get so hammered that he traveled back in time? His head hurt too bad to even think of the possibilities, all he knew was there was something about the owner that felt familiar and he ought to know them. He had to.
Harry rushed to shower at his home and got some aspirin. After running some overdue errands, he immediately went back to the apartment. He knocked on the door a few times to no avail so he decided to wait by his car outside.
Y/N was relieved when there was no sign of Harry when she got home that night. She would be lying if she wasnât a tad bit worried of him considering he could absolutely die that night if he went to the wrong place, but then again he was the guy who ended her career so she couldnât care less.
She picked Nick Drakeâs Pink Moon from her vinyl collection and put it on the turntable. Relaxing by the couch that still reeked of alcohol and him, she ignored the constant knock on the door. It was usually her crazy neighbor looking for his nonexistent cat.
It was the sixth track that she finally got up and opened the door, hoping to end the annoyance of her peaceful evening.
Her eyes bugged out when she saw the figure by her door. It was him again.
Harry, with his furrowed eyebrows and lanky feet, looked just as surprised as she was. He clearly remembered who she was and somehow, not even Nick Drakeâs soothing voice could calm her down. Filled with rage, she slammed the door right in front of his face.
Harry was shocked to see her. Heâd never thought in a million years that heâd ever meet her again, moreover lodged by her. He wanted to thank her but he knew sheâd probably throw a glass of water to his face. But he could not just leave.
So he did the tackiest trick in the book. When the track from behind the closed door hit Free Ride, one of his favourites, he began singing along as loud as possible. Some neighbors shushed him, some even scolded him but he didnât stop.
She heard him loud and clear. She ignored him at first, but then she received a noise complaint call from the super. Upset, she thumped her way towards the door.
âStop it!â she gritted her teeth as she opened it.
He stopped. âMay I come in?â
âWhat do you want?â she barked.
âJust wanted to say thanks,â he muttered low.
âYouâre welcome. There,â she slammed the door again.
There was nothing he could do so he decided to leave for now.
He came again the next day, this time saying there was something he needed to give back to her.
âWhat now?â she wasnât as upset as the day before, but was still unfriendly as they just stood by the door leaf.
Harry handed her the sticky note she left on his forehead the day before.
âYou can keep it,â she said as she closed the door.
No slamming door. A progress, Harry thought.
He came back again two days after that, carrying a limited release Fleetwood Mac record signed by Stevie Nicks herself.
âGot Stevie to sign it. They donât have this at the stores anymore,â he presented it as if he was doing some product placement scene.
âLook, Harry Styles,â she crossed her arms. âI donât even know what the hell do you want from me but I really donât want to have anything to do with you anymore. Youâve done enough.â
âYes, about thatâŠâ Harry scratched his forehead. ââm sorry.â
âWhatever,â she pushed the door but Harry was quick to hold it open.
âIâd help you make things right again,â his green eyes were desperate for her answer.
She let out a heavy sigh and moved aside as if cuing him to enter her little bubble. Harry entered immediately, not wanting to waste any more time in the outside world.
She was listening to Neil Youngâs Harvest Moon, to which Harry sang along gently. She could hate him all she wanted but he really sounded divine especially within close proximity.
âShouldnât you be somewhere else, anyway?â she sat on the far end of the couch.
He put the record on the coffee table. âWhere, exactly?â
âI donât know,â she shrugged. âSome talk show to say some shit about me with the girlfriend perhaps?â
âLook âm really sorry, I truly am,â he sighed. âAnd âm not with her anymoreâŠâ
He then explained everything. How he fell in love for the first time in his life with the supermodel who was perfect, beautiful, smart, and everything heâd ever dreamed of. How he was so sure of her but she didnât feel the same so he tried to show it with everything heâs gotâgrand romantic gestures, going public (which was personally hard for him since he was a very private person), and siding with her on every kind of problem even if it meant hauling over an innocent photographerâs coals. He also explained how he felt awful most of the time since heâd changed so much for a person who didnât even love him back and he began to feel lost. It all then culminated a couple nights ago when she decided that it was all still not enough and broke up with him over a phone call. Thatâs when he went crazy with the liquor and ended up wandering around.
She felt sorry for him and although she knew he could be lying, she could understand his pain. So, she decided to accept his apology. She knew it wouldnât change anything for her but at least she wouldnât have to carry around so much hatred in her life and he could also move on with his life, not haunted by the guilt.
He promised to help her gain her reputation back. The two planned to make some exclusive photoshoot of Harry himself.
They began meeting every now and then. At first, they would talk about all things professional and did photoshoots. She started receiving positive feedbacks especially after Harry gave her the shoutoutsâit didnât take a split second for his loyal fans to swarm her online profiles. With her raising popularity she started getting bigger gigs again, even bigger than her old gigs. She quit working at the cafe and her darkroom was occupied yet again.
Then, they would spend even more time together. He would make up excuses to meet with her, like he needed to see how she developed her rolls or coming by with a batch of eggs saying he was worried she ran out of eggs. Y/N knew Harry was just feeling lonely after the breakup so she always let him in. Nobody wants to hurt alone, she always thought.
He soon didnât need any more excuses as he had become an extended roommate of hers. He always said he wanted to live in the 70s and her apartment was like a dream home for him. She just brushed it off, saying itâs because of her hidden interior designing talent. And with each passing day, as they grew closer, her hatred dissipated and was replaced with something strange yet pleasant inside her heart.
She learned the depths of him that no one else knew and it all became the little things only she understood. She felt privileged to gain the limited access.
Sometimes heâd show her the sneak peak of his newest song and she would give notes as she watered the many plants around her place. Sometimes they would play board games while discussing the possibility of living on Mars. Some other times, Harry would lay his head on her legs, not saying a word while Karen Daltonâs magnificent voice filled the air.
Her favourite moment with him had to be when they did the impromptu picnic under the stars. With a bottle of cheap wine, portable turntable, and shared blanket, they laid by the garden as they talked about their fears and desires. That was the first time in such a long time she could open up to someone and he said that made him feel so special.
Of course he was special to her. Thatâs why she still tiptoed around him from time to time, avoiding conversations like her love life because she didnât want him to think that sheâd like him when actually the growing feelings inside her heart had begun to suffocate her.
The way he spontaneously baked for her (and snobbishly told the infamous âI was a bakerâ story), the way he laughed at her jokes, the way his eyes sparked when they were dancing around, the way he snored a little when heâs sleeping, the way he called her nameâshe wanted to just sink herself into his warmth and never let go.
Yet she couldnât help but wonder whether he felt the same way too. The frequency of the supermodelâs name mentioned in their conversations has since reduced to almost never, but she still felt a sting in her heart as she knew she could never replace her. She was, after all, his first love. And donât get her started on the physical prowess which she obviously lacked in compared to the supermodel. She didnât dare to ask Harry whether heâs really forgotten about her, afraid that heâd find out her true feelings for him. So she remained the same. At least, he would be still by her side.
At least, there would never be any rejections.
The city was already blossoming when she realized that Harry had left traces of himself on every corner of her place. The hung film rolls were filled with his silly expressions, so was the polaroid collections stuck on her walls. He had installed a pile of pants by the corner of her living room so that he didnât have to bring any change. And of course her bathroom now had a pair of tooth brushes. It rocketed her hopes but still, her doubts crept inside her mind every so often.
That lazy Saturday night, she went home from grocery shopping to find Harry asleep on her couch. He looked so soft and warm and she couldnât help but to run her fingers through his smooth hair. She nervously came closer to his face and pressed a tender kiss on his forehead.
She got up immediately, afraid to wake him up. To her surprise, he suddenly grabbed her arm.
âWhat was that for, love?â he asked.
He didnât even have the bed face he usually had, which led her to believe that he wasnât really asleep.
âWere you pretending to be asleep?â she pulled away.
Harry stood up just as fast and within seconds, he wrapped her in his hug. He placed a kiss on top of her head and slowly traveled down to her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. His lips roamed over hers as he slowly pressed them. It wasnât heated and full of lust but rather deep and passionate as if he was taking his time.
It didnât take long before they made their way to the bedroom and undressed each other with no rush. There was no spoken words, no roughness, just two people tangled up in heated infatuation.
When she woke up, he was still there. And it was beautiful.
It was still beautiful the next few months when they became a couple. He was her world and everything else was just background noise. He made her feel like the only person that mattered, as if everything that happened before âthemâ was unreal. That this was the only real thing and it was all too good to be true.
Y/N should know better though, that life came just like a full circle. She just didnât expect to actually be put back into the circle so soon.
They were invited to an afterparty of a fashion line Harry was strongly tied to and Y/N was more than proud to be by his side when he was introduced to be the muse that season. He was having the time of his life and so was she. The two held hands the entire time as they talked to everyone.
The belle of the ball, Harry himself seemed overwhelmed with the amount of love he received. He occasionally pressed her hand a little tighter when he was nervous, to which sheâd respond with stroking his hand with her thumb. The simplest gestures that theyâd developed overtime as they grew accustomed to each otherâs idiosyncrasies or as Harry said, the good stuff about you.
That was until he saw a glimpse of her in the middle of the crowd that he suddenly let go of Y/Nâs hand as if he was afraid that she would see him with Y/N. It would have been a little over a year since she last saw the supermodel and almost a year since Harry last met her.
All this time, Harry constantly convinced her that her insecurities over his love was nothing, that he only wanted her. And yet, he never even said those three words to her.
She knew now why he never did.
All this time, it wasnât doubt that kept haunting her. It was a hunch.
The music was blasting but for Y/N, everything was silence. It only took a few seconds before she realized the look in Harryâs eyes. As if it was never truly her his eyes set on. That she was just a company to pass time. That she was the one he wanted just never loved.
She tried to grab his hand before heâd be gone for good, and could only let out a faint âPlease, donât.â
But he could only mutter a little âSorry.â as he let go of her grasp and made his way through the crowd, trying to get to her, while leaving Y/N drowning in the sea of human who celebrated the man that she loved.
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