Matilda | Harry Styles

TWENTY-SEVEN

I'd always dreamed of going to New York.

Grace and I had always sworn that one day, if we ever made enough money between us, we'd blow it all on a single trip to New York City. It was a silly sort of pact we'd made; I'd never thought that I'd ever actually be there. And if, somehow, I was, then it would never have been without Grace there, too.

But that's where I was headed. I'd promised to take a photo of just about everything in sight, and to call her even more than I had in every other city, but it still made me a little sad; a little wistful, even. I knew she'd have been furious at me to know that I was wasting a single moment yearning for her presence, but I couldn't really help it. As happy as I was; as much as I enjoyed the company of the people I was surrounded by - she was my best friend, and there was a strange sort of emptiness in reaching big milestones whilst being so far apart from her.

There were five shows due to take place in New York - consecutively. Back to back, five nights at Madison Square Garden. Wednesday to Sunday, and in the midst of all of this, after the second show; Harry's new song would be released at midnight, on Friday. That meant, today, when they'd post the announcement of the new song to his social media accounts, that the media frenzy would begin. He'd have his first interview, virtually, the moment we were due to arrive back at the hotel, and then, I doubted I'd see much of him at all outside of the shows for the next five days.

Again, I wasn't sure how he was going to do it all without a word of complaint, but I didn't push. For, now, I understood its importance; he'd told it all to me. He'd do whatever he felt that it took, whatever everybody told him that it took, not to lose what he had - if that meant sleepless nights; relentless performance, then he'd do it.

I'd fallen asleep against his shoulder, my knees pulled into his lap as we waited to board the plane. His arm was draped over my thighs, my arms practically clinging to his as I slept. When I'd woken up in the hotel that morning, I wasn't sure when I'd last slept that well. It felt like each night that I slept beside Harry, it seemed to get better and better. I'd never have known the comfort that could come from somebody's arm wound around my body, or being able to bury my face into their neck, if it weren't for him.

It struck me that I could stop being so alert, and just fall asleep in his presence. It was yet another thing that just seemed to come with him that I couldn't quite fathom - I felt so at ease, that it almost made me feel the opposite. I'd slept for over twelve hours the night before - I didn't even feel especially tired; it felt, instead, almost like a comfort thing. Like I could just stop when he was there.

"Do you want to write it?" was the first thing I heard, breaking me from my sleep. I lifted my head from his shoulder, seeing that Ally had appeared to stand in front of where Harry and I were sitting. She sent me a small smile as I looked up, bleary eyes, and I felt Harry tap his hand lightly against my thigh in the gentlest of acknowledgements. My eyes shifted from Ally, to notice Stella standing beside her, somehow looking so perfectly made-up, despite being about to embark on a day of travelling. Her hand was outstretched, offering a phone to Harry.

"Yes," he returned, taking it from her, "I'll do it now. I'm posting it now, too?"

"Well, I'll obviously need to check it," Stella returned, her eyes flickering between both Harry and me, beside him. I hated the way my body turned cold at her eyes on me, instead choosing to focus on the touch of Harry beside me.

I looked up at him, catching him as he narrowed his eyes. "It's a tweet for a single, Stella, I'm not planning on going rogue and posting a nude. I'm posting two sentences, at most," he said, and as he brought the phone to his lap, I noticed the icon in the corner. It wasn't his phone, but it was logged into his Twitter account. I knew he had access to them himself, but it only struck me, then, that there was likely a whole team of people behind each statement he'd make on social media.