FINE LINE | HARRY STYLES

TWENTY-TWO.

FEBRUARY, 2019.

Three days after his 25th birthday, he came home. He wasn't supposed to come back to LA, but he really wanted to see me.

So, we made plans to meet up at one of my favorite cafes. To have breakfast and coffee and just talk. Catch up.

Whatever people like us do in situations like these.

I was nervous. I'll admit that. I had no reason to be nervous, but I couldn't help it.

I think anyone would be nervous to see him. Someone like him. He's just the type of person to make anyone fidget.

I don't know why I'm getting so dressed up. I think that to myself as I pull on my jeans, paired with a revealing shirt.

This isn't something I should be wearing.

I feel bad. I know I shouldn't because we're just having a friendly birthday brunch. But, I do.

Because I'm putting his favorite shade of lipstick on.

"Mm, tastes like strawberries." He had said to me after kissing me deeply in some random hotel room before heading to whatever venue we had to be at.

Since then it had been his favorite. Always begged me to wear it so he could use it as an excuse to kiss me over and over.

I'm putting it on to show him what he missed out on. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less.

River isn't home when I leave. He's out having brunch with his own friends.

When I get there, I already see his car. My stomach lurches. I could faint right now.

He's sitting at a table in the corner.

My favorite table.

How he knew that is beyond me, but I was glad. It's a secluded table, one I sit at to get work done or read lines in peace.

No one finds me there. So surely, no one would find us.

He dressed up too.

He hadn't worn a single button up in Japan the entirety of his stay. But, the moment he's here, he switched out the hoodies and joggers for a silky white button up, opened just enough to expose the tattoos on his chest, tucked into loose purple pants.

He looks different. Dare I say, tanner? And he's glowing. His lips are pinker. And his eyes are deeper and brighter.

He stands up as soon as he notices me. He sends me a wide grin, reaching out to hug me.

I hug him back. It feels so right. I feel so...relieved.

We sit down across from each other. It was awkward. I'm pretty sure we didn't know what to say to each other.

I mean, how do you start a conversation when my last words to him were "fuck you" and his were "with love"?

Texting was easier.

"So, this is fucking weird." I speak up, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Harry laughs, and it makes me laugh. And then we're just laughing. Like it was nothing.

Like we didn't hurt each other. Like I didn't want him dead over a year ago.

"Someone had to say it." He says, stirring his coffee.

"So, um...how've you been?"

"I've been...okay. Took a break. But I'm back into music again. Like I said over text, I wanted an album out this year."