FINE LINE | HARRY STYLES

THIRTY-SIX.

OCTOBER, 2019. CONT.

Okay, I'll admit it. We didn't go our separate ways. And no, we weren't miserable. Not one bit. In fact, we had never been more on fire. It's like that month and a half in Paris was something we both needed.

When he asked to join me, of course I said yes. Hell, I didn't even say yes, I just grabbed his pretty little face and kissed him so hard he could barely form a sentence. We were making out practically the whole plane ride.

The second we got to the hotel, every single article of clothing we had on was off before we could even reach the bed. Frankly, for the first round we didn't even make it to the bed.

For the first few days, all we did was: wake up, fuck, shower (which sometimes included hot shower sex), eat room service in bed, fuck again, watch a movie (which I could barely pay attention to because his head was constantly between my thighs), and then go back to sleep when the day was done.

Once we had gotten over the insane need to tear each other's clothes off every five seconds, we started going out. Dressing up in coordinating clothes and running around the streets of Paris, hand in hand like old times. He'd pull me aside and kiss me and I'd grab his face and call him pretty as we sat on a park bench.

We'd end up back in the hotel room to fuck, though.

It was heaven. Just me and him.

But I will also admit, there was a big fight. It doesn't end in sorrow, though. In fact, we needed it.

We realized this whole honeymoon period was bound to end when the time comes. Though, I knew deep down the gooey feeling I get when I look at him has and never will go away. And he knew he'd never get tired of looking at my face even when it's bare and tired and puffy.

He promised to kiss me anyway.

The fight started when we realized all of this. So, we decided to have "the talk." You know, the one after you spend a few weeks with someone in bliss and then it finally hits you guys that you never made it clear where you stood in each other's lives.

But here's the thing:

We're way past the talk. It wasn't just a few weeks, it was a few years. So, knowing this we suddenly felt
really pressured. That if we make the jump, there's no going back.

That's also when it hit us:

Why are we panicking? We've gone through this before. We almost got married for fuck's sake!

Which then brought up the topic of Fiona and the hotel room. I claimed I never forgave him for that and he freaked out thinking I never would.

It was calm at first. Civil. But then he realized he's dating me and it wouldn't end that way. Which left us sitting on the floor half naked (there were a few breaks), surrounded by a heap of our clothes and broken glass, everywhere.

I may have thrown a few things across the room. Never toward him, though. I'd never put him in harm's way.

And that's when we agreed:

Tell no one.

The best way we can truly build our relationship is if we do it on our own. Just the two of us. No pressure of our families assuming we'd get married the second we got back together (exhibit A being the whole ass party my family threw thinking we were back together) or the pressure of the fans wanting Harry to put a baby in me (although he already did) and marry me.

We agreed we just needed it to be us. And when we're ready, we'd announce it to everyone. Frankly, we don't know when that will be. Honestly if we play our cards right, we could wait until we're actually, properly engaged to tell them so we can avoid the whole "when's the engagement?" questions.