Matilda | Harry Styles

TWENTY-NINE

The third show in New York City was just as electric as the first two had been. It felt like these crowds were somehow even louder than the others, and paired with the iconic nature of the venue, everything felt so amplified. All of that; paired with the new addition to the setlist, 'Complicated Freak'.

I knew the first time I'd get to see him perform it would feel so surreal. He'd written songs about me before, but since those, the dynamic between us had completely shifted. This time, I got to feel every little thing that I'd been secretly aching to feel the first two times I'd heard him perform songs relating to our relationship. Now, I got to actually live in the moment; I didn't have to yearn for him to close his mouth, in that I didn't want to confront how I felt for him. Though there was still so much unsaid between us; so much that I feared would fester; that I feared he was beginning to sense - it was no longer our feelings for one another that were masked.

I got to watch him prancing around, singing so joyfully, without hating myself for picking up on all of his intricate movements. I got to watch him perform, and yearn to kiss him without feeling guilty about it - I could kiss him the moment he was offstage in front of me; I got to go back to a hotel room that I shared with him, and spend the night beside him.

I supposed, this is what it was like to date a songwriter. A tantalisingly clever one, at that; one who knew just how to compose and perform a song with enough ambiguity that it was just a well-constructed song; but with enough detail that him and I both knew exactly what it related to. I remembered how he'd told me, once, that to write a song about somebody, there had to be a lot of feeling there. And, no doubt, there was.

We were dating, weren't we? I wasn't sure how to categorise it; somehow, even sharing a bed with him every night, and with the existing romantic dynamic between us, I still feared making an assumption. We'd said no labels, from the beginning, and though it felt like that was the best way to accommodate both of our hesitations, it did create a grey area. I supposed we were dating... though I'd have been lying to say I knew what to even associate with that.

I'd 'dated' people in the past, but nobody like Harry. I'd had relationships, but nothing like this one. Nobody had ever made me feel like he had, and so if I was to categorise those previous relationships as 'dating', or a 'boyfriend', too, then it felt sort of wrong to categorise him the same way, because he was nothing like them.

"Is Stella your most recent ex?"

I asked him the question, rather suddenly, as he was packing the last of his things into his duffel bag, that he'd been bringing from the hotel to the show. We were in his dressing room, less than an hour after the show had ended, and he'd already showered and changed, for us to go and meet up with the others and get some dinner.

Harry looked up at me, a briefly puzzled look on his features as he zipped up his bag. "Uh," he paused, pursing his lips as if actually considering it, "I guess so? I've been in PR relationships since then, but those obviously don't count."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "You guess so? You don't know?"

"I mean," he continued, "we dated for, like, three months, years ago. I don't know if I'd even call it 'dating', now."

"Why not?"

He scrunched his nose up, "I don't know. I just didn't feel for her the way you're supposed to feel when you're dating somebody."

My knees were brought to my chest as he placed his phone down on the table, beside his bag, and brought his eyes fully to me. I bit my lip, hesitating to ask my next question. "How are you supposed to feel?"

His eyes drew over me, for a moment, before he walked across the room to where I sat on the couch. He let out a quiet exhale, as he sat beside me, his eyes meeting my own, again. "It's kind of like this warm feeling, I don't know..." he said, then, a lazy sort of smile on his lips as he seemed to compose his next sentence in his head, "Iz, it's like - when I look at you, I don't even have words for it. That's what it's supposed to feel like." My heart was thumping as he spoke, watching the glassy look in his eyes as he stared at me, now, a grin pulling on his lips.