Chapter 8.

"You're sure you're okay? Safe? Can get home alright?" I asked as he gathered himself to go. He stood at the doorway once again, it looked familiar, only this time there was daylight surrounding us.

"Yep," He assured, "Don't worry, Darby." It's a little too late for that, I thought. I nearly stuttered but it would've burst out of me if I didn't say it aloud.

"It's a little too late for that, H." I looked directly at him, keeping my head up confidently. My hands stayed wrapped behind my back, I think I adopted that trait from him.

He looked dazed. And he saw me. And he saw everything wrong with me. But he disregarded it. For he knew I was much bigger than what burdened me. I succumbed to blushing before he smoothly turned around and left.

...

I had no idea that that was the day that he wrote it.

But a couple weeks later it was everywhere. Harry had to stop going out in public because of his first new release since the last album. Things got so overwhelming and hectic, I hardly knew how to handle it all.

I couldn't be seen with him anywhere. When I went to his house a couple of times I had to make sure no one was following me, just in case.

I was still allowed to work at the café, but it got busier because he was spotted there just once. It was nice, though my anxiety was up so often. A couple of girls would ask me what his normal order was, the blueberry tarts became very, very popular. A few others asked me what he was like, the only answer I could think of to tell them was 'normal' and 'very kind and respectful'.

I stopped checking social media almost completely, I didn't necessarily enjoy the speculations and such about him. But one benefit, out of all of this chaos--

I got really close to him. He told me everything he experienced in the industry, as I witnessed and experienced it with him. He trusted me, and that was something that meant more than the sunrise, more than the stars to me. Maybe not the stars. But maybe more than even the stars.

(outfit, without jacket, because she wears his later on)

The song itself he showed me the day before releasing it as a single to the whole universe. It was simple, we were sitting in his room and I was looking through his extravagant plethora of clothes. It was titled "Don't Let Me Go".

"Before you play it to me, what is it about." I asked, impatient but trying to be the opposite. "I don't think I can tell you that." He sat with his legs crossed on the bed. I glared at him, partially in a joking matter. He knew very well he could tell me anything, I wasn't tolerating any messing around. But I did smile, I had no control over that.

"You really do just have to... find out." He defended himself. I allowed it, pulling out a green jacket with some little patches on it. I held it out towards him, and he nodded.

I put the jacket on myself, though I was picking out the outfit for him. I had already set aside the striped tee and corduroy trousers, but I crawled to sit next to him on the bed.

"It's called, erm, Don't Let Me Go..." He talked with no surety and I wondered what it was about. It looked like he meant to say something again, but he stuttered and just decided to turn on the song.

I listened to the pretty piano filling the beginning seconds. It was weighted, it felt like a heartfelt burden. My mood deepened. I didn't put myself into my own world when I listened to this song like I usually did. I only watched Harry. I wanted his reaction just as much as he wanted mine.

Now you were standing there, right in front of me. I hold on, it's getting harder to breathe. All of a sudden these lights are blinding me, I never noticed how bright they would be.

I saw in the corner there is a photograph, No doubt in my mind it's a picture of you. It lies there alone in its bed of broken glass. This bed was never made for two.

I'll keep my eyes wide open, I'll keep my arms wide open. Don't let me, Don't let me, Don't let me go, 'Cause I'm tired of feeling alone... Don't let me, Don't let me go. 'Cause I'm tired of sleeping alone... "

"I promised one day that I'd bring you back a star..."

There's a plethora of emotions one goes through when someone's written a song for them. Maybe joy, maybe fear. It's a wide range, yet I didn't think I felt any of that. It was something else.

I didn't know of much else to do to express how I felt. I wanted to kiss him, of course. I didn't. Surprise. I didn't even attempt to speak, not until the song was over.

I hardly knew how to begin to process it. The thought of understanding every word intimidated me.

"I need your words now, Darby. Your best ones. Please." He begged. I searched for them, I really did. Frantically.

They'd come. They always did.

"What do you want me to say?" I mustered. "Something, that you hate it even. Or that you hate me." I could tell he wanted to try and make that a joke. No, he was genuinely concerned.

"Harry I'd never-" I started. I didn't want to assume it was about me, that would be selfish. "Well I'd never hate you. You're my only friend." Ouch. "And I don't wish to assume the meaning of the song but it sounds a lot like it's about m-" "you." He nodded. He was scared. I was scared.

I came closer, almost in his lap, and he welcomed me with open arms.. It was comfortable, I felt the same safe feeling that I'd always adored. I cuddled close into his chest, "I swear to you Harry, in the best way possible, I'm here for you. I'm so sorry I get these anxiety episodes and they're so restricting and I never let you know how I'm feeling. I want to. It's hard." I was pretty sure I was mumbling, it was nearly inaudible.

But I'll keep my arms wide open.

I felt like crying, but I didn't. I didn't even have that in me. He just held me there.

He whispered caringly, "It's alright if I release it tomorrow?" I nodded, of course it was.

Afterglow by Taylor Swift

I knew we were both walking the line between fear and feeling open. I admired Harry's ability to be as open as he was. His heart was golden, he never deserved to be fearful. I decided for him that I'd sacrifice what was left of my bravery.

I picked up my own head, tears threatened to run across my cheeks, and I had long succumbed to them. My hair was ruffled. My eyes felt tired and red and puffed up. Nothing about me was inherently beautiful, but I felt radiant in the moment. My tears had not one ounce of pain left in them, for they had completely drained of those kind.

His eyes followed me and me only, and I knew of nothing anymore. No knowledge, no words, no mercy, no hurt. No anxiety.

He moved my damp hair from my face, gliding his hand from my hair to behind my head.

I'm a writer. And I knew I always would be. Here's my attempt at putting it into words. Love is a complete mystery to writers. No one can have the capacity to capture it, and I always believed that. They can come close, so close that those who love and those who don't are fulfilled by its imagery. Of all my knowledge, they were all wrong. But Janet Loxley Lewis was brought to my head, and I believe that she is the one to have done it.

"Tears not in anguish shed, The pulse's gentler motion, Words spoken, phrases read, The careful hand's devotion, Above the dreaming head...

"And guard the restless heart; Visit with peace, discerning-- O love more wise than art--"

And then my own inexperienced words came. I trusted in them and here they were. They just showed up in my head as if it weren't even me who created them.

And he showed me the beginning of a light. And it felt ethereal. It felt like a storm, a lightning storm. But I was at peace. And it tasted so sweet, of every bit of good in the world. It was simple, a simple answer. And my author dreams were fulfilled. And my golden heart felt at home.

And I loved on in secret no more. The words never slipped away from my lips, but he tasted them there.

He left my lips and my fears behind, but the air stayed electrically silent.

...

"What am I supposed to say after that." he smiled, repeating what I had said only a couple of minutes ago in his usual cheesy ways. He held his head close to mine for a couple of lingering seconds, grinning like a fool. Which he was. As was I.

I decided to be cocky, feeding off of a mix of adrenaline and whatever the feeling it was that made me do it in the first place. "Hmm, maybe say that you're in love with me and that I have pretty eyes and that you think i'm unbearably attractive and-" He cut me off, repeating exactly that to me as he chased me down the halls, though I noticed that he skipped over confessing his love, even jokingly, and I do believe it made me unbearably happy that he wasn't the kind to throw around those words.

I laughed and laughed, butterflies fueling every bit of it, "Shut up stupid." I pushed him away, and though I knew it was a joke, I saved the memory into my thoughts.

...

"Hey, guys!" Sarah waved us down from the massive living room in their place.

"We're going to go to the coast tomorrow and take a boat out for the day. Go swimming and such. You down?"

"Absolutely." Harry answered for the both of us. I nodded my head, thinking of every possibility as I always did, but this time they all turned out to be positive.

Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac

Later that day I told Anna that I had to take the day off tomorrow, I told her all about it when she asked why. She was perfectly willing and it was the sweetest thing. A couple of girls around our age came into the café today, definitely in search of Harry. I recognized honestly in their style alone, but the sunglasses were the real giveaway.

He had just come in the back door to grab his usual, calling my name unknowingly. The girls were a little shocked, but I prayed that wasn't enough to start any rumors. Nothing in me desired the attention that the world would hand to me. I wasn't avidly against it, I just didn't want people to start disrespecting him because of me.

The world had other ideas. Harry walked out from the back room that led to behind the counter, and he immediately, yet still smoothly, changed his disposition. I honestly don't think anyone else noticed it. I did.

"Hi girls." He said, they chorused back a load of hello's and he went to talk to them for a little bit. I stayed behind the counter, not attracting any attention to myself.

"That is my friend," He paused, looking at me to ask if I wanted them to know my name. I figured it would be fine, and I smiled at him to let him know that it was no big deal. It really wasn't a big deal. I had no need to worry, I was nearly never on social media anyways. That stuff didn't matter to me. My mum taught me that.

"Darby." He told them. They giggled.

"It was nice talking to you! Thank you!" He said, waving goodbye. He turned to me, and I smiled. "I'm okay, you don't have to ask." I said as he opened his mouth to ask those exact words. "I am too." He cheesed.

"I didn't think you were coming in today." I said to him, it had only been a couple of hours since I had seen him last. "Just wanted a blueberry pastry, obviously. Actually, which one is your favorite?" He asked. "Lemon." I answered.

He ordered the lemon cream pastry and then left, blowing cheesy kisses from his hands to Anna. She expressed her love for him right there, and I couldn't help but laugh.