Here We Stand [H.S]

122.*

I looked out of the window, gazing at the word "Slaters" that was emblazoned at the front of the store.

"We're here." Harry announced, pulling up into a spot that was apparently reserved for him at the back of the store.

Before we got here, Harry was going to park normally like everyone else, but Des had called him beforehand and explained that the owner had saved one of the parking spaces for him so he wouldn't be ambushed.

Harry really wasn't bothered, but he was grateful either way and I think, he was thinking of me mostly seeing as this was our first proper public appearance together since losing Oscar.

I smiled back in response, hearing him cut off the engine as my eyes were firmly glued on the store that held the suit that he was going to wear at his father's wedding.

And the thought made me giddy with excitement.

Since being with Harry, I had grown to fall in love with his sense of style and especially his love of a good suit when needed.

I hadn't been in a position where I had to be with him while he was dressed up yet, and in a way I was grateful because Harry being in suits was my weakness- he was wearing one when we first met after all.

I smiled, reminding myself of that very night and how he turned up rocking the joint in his half open shirt, silk tie and hair down passed his shoulders.

He didn't have the attitude, he was far too kind and gentle for that; but his style made up for it and his sense of fashion was the epitome of rock and roll, and as a lover of rock and roll music- I was in my element with him.

I just couldn't help but wonder if he was going to be wearing a half opened shirt at his dad's wedding... I mean, I know he did so at Louis' mum wedding, but he was just a guest then.

He was a best man now, and that was a huge difference.

I wanted him to be comfortable more than anything, but I knew in my heart of hearts that some people in the general public would condemn him either way- and that made me sad.

What was wrong with expressing yourself through your clothes?

He wasn't hurting or killing anybody, and who said that showing your chest at a wedding was disrespectful anyway?

Like, who made you the Queen of England and decide that you had to wear a buttoned up shirt?

"You're thinking too much." Harry said suddenly, "I can see it in your face, are you okay?"

I nodded, "Yeah, just thinking."

"About what?" He asked, removing the keys from the ignition, "Home?"

"No, you actually."

"Me?"

"Yeah... will you just promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Don't ever change, Harry."

He gave me a look, a slight frown appearing on his face while the corner of his right eye crinkled a little.

"I mean, people are so quick to jump on you because of what you wear... but fuck them. You've come so far to what you were like before, and your confidence now is second to none. So when you go into that store and you try these suits on, don't think about anything else but you- if you want your shirt undone then have it undone. Nobody has a right to tell you what you should be doing, Harry."

He paused, stretching his arm to relax behind the headrest of my seat.

"That's what you were thinking of?" He asked quietly, "Me and my undone shirts?" He smirked at me, his fingers now playing with my hair.