Matilda | Harry Styles

THIRTY-TWO

I wasn't sure it was possible to ever grow tired of the sound of Harry's voice.

I'd lost count of how many times I'd watched him perform on stage, now, but watching him sing off stage felt like a whole other thing to uncover the intricacies of. It was almost disorientating sometimes, to see them come together; Harry Styles, and the Harry I knew. The celebrity, with a name known by millions of people, and the person I got to share a bed with every night - sometimes it was hard to actually see the overlap between who he was, privately, and who he was, performatively. It was a time like this, watching him sing into a studio microphone, surrounded by what was likely tens of thousands of dollars worth of recording equipment, that would serve as a reminder.

It was weirdly intriguing; sort of funny. When Harry was singing, he was clad in the most extravagant outfits I'd ever seen; he was larger than life, as he pranced about the stage with a wide grin on his lips, catering to the pleasures of thousands of people. Now, he was singing just the same - the very same passion in his expression when he closed his eyes, with the gentle crease forming between his eyebrows when he was lost, concentrating - but instead, he wore a baggy pair of jeans, with an equally baggy cardigan drawn over a white t-shirt, and a pair of headphones brought over his curls. There was the same purse of his lips as he seemed to grow lost in thought from singing one line, waiting to sing the next; there was the same, gentle, subtle nod of his head in time with the music - but he wasn't performing at all. This was real, and this was intimate; this was him, and his music. This was him and everything he loved.

I bit my nail, mindlessly, unable to do much of anything other than watch him, fascinated. We must've been in the studio, downtown in New York, as he'd planned a few days ago, for no longer than an hour or two, but he'd spent a while plotting with Pauli and Mitch, and a producer and engineer that I'd been introduced to upon our arrival.

It was also in times like these that I wasn't sure how I was supposed to be with Harry - not that I'd had any plans to climb all over him, but it was among other individuals that I didn't know, myself, or their proximity to Harry, that I wasn't sure what was allowed. I knew a huge priority, of equal importance to us both, was that our relationship didn't leave our close tour circle. Even at new venues, it was rare to interact with anybody who wasn't a permanent member of Harry's team; the odd security guard, or venue staff, yes, but everybody else travelled as part of the crew - and each of them, Harry had explained to me, had signed a confidentiality agreement, just as I had. That meant that Harry and I didn't have to fear any of them disclosing anything about us.

I hadn't paid it much mind since Harry and I's first conversation about potentially dating. I'd been preoccupied with a lot more - plus, it was so easy to forget it all sometimes. I was a worrier, without a doubt, but being with Harry made it feel like we were the only two people in the world. Being his photographer meant it wasn't weird if we were seen together; but we were never out in public, sparing one or two occasions, without a whole other group with us - and with touring, there appeared to be some kind of protocol that took place far above my head. These hotels that hosted us; the staff that transferred us from place to place - nobody seemed to bat an eyelid at us, and I supposed that was their job.

It was only ever if we'd stepped outside of the group, in public, that Harry would have to drop my hand from his, or I'd have to unwind my arm from his own. And I'd have been lying to say it didn't make my chest ache, but I knew it was the right thing. I could barely cope with my own head, with how things were; with my own opinions, and inabilities to rationalise our situation - if I had to deal with a million other people finding out who I was, and that Harry and I were together, I wasn't sure how I'd survive it in the slightest. It felt like my worst nightmare, and at first, I'd feared it was something I'd have to battle with, in only a matter of time - but it wasn't, and I hadn't. It hadn't felt as difficult as I'd envisioned it being, because with every aspect of our lives on tour being intertwined, it meant that Harry and I could spend so much time together, undisturbed, with him only torn away from me for a day, or a random evening at most, because we'd always end up coming together for the show, regardless.