Personal Assistant ➵ H.S.

9

It was the beginning of March by the time you finally found a date that suited everyone for Harry's birthday dinner. The work for Niall's new album had really started to come to a crescendo; the launch party was less than a month away and you and Harry had been working late more than usual. Because of this, when Saturday rolled around, you were very thankful for the social event as you could both use a chance to relax and enjoy some good company. Several of the friends you shared were attending, including Niall and Emmy of course.

You felt uncharacteristically nervous as you slipped into your silk dress. You thought maybe it was because you had bought Harry a late birthday gift and was worried he wouldn't like it, but deep down you knew it was something else. Butterflies had been developing in your stomach all day; it reminded you of how it felt when you woke up for school and knew you'd be seeing your crush that day so made sure your hair was extra pretty. But that didn't make much sense, you and Harry were good friends now, why did you care how you looked around him?

As you sat in the cab on your way to Harry's apartment you tried to remember what it was like. Unfortunately, since you'd arrived drunk and horny and left hungover and very quickly, nothing of much use sprang to mind from your first visit. You remembered his soft white sheets and how his body heat engulfed you in the most comforting way, a quick glimpse of the soft shades and wood colours that made up his living room and kitchen, the marble floors in the entryway which meant you didn't put your heels back on until out in the corridor in fear of waking him.

A text buzzed through on your phone breaking you out of your trip down memory lane.

Text me when you're almost here. I'll meet you in the lobby. H x

Okay, I'm 5 mins away x

See you then x

Your heels made a satisfying tap as you walked through into the lobby; the mix of cream tiles, dark woods and peacock blue accents bathed in a warm light was very aesthetically pleasing. Harry spotted you before you spotted him. He watched you devotedly as you took in the details of the lobby, mouth slightly agape at how pretty you looked. Your dress hugged every curve perfectly, the deep red bringing out the colour in your rosy cheeks and lips, hair swaying in sync with your steps; you looked more like a model than any actual models Harry had ever seen. Unlike previous times, he prepared himself before you reached him, hoping to avoid any flustered comments about your appearance. He hoped the couple of glasses of wine he had drunk to help calm his uncharacteristic nervous would also help in this instance. Waving enthusiastically at you as your eyes landed on him, he took a deep breath - he was not gonna balls this up.

"Hey, Harry," and all it took was one beam of your smile for his mini preparation to completely fly out of the window.

"Y-you look stunning, Cecelia, I mean - sorry - hello, let me take that from you. Where are my manners," the nervous chuckle that followed melted your heart as he took the bag of ingredients you had bought with you, placing a swift kiss on your cheek in greeting.

Smiling shyly and tucking your hair behind your ear you responded, "Thank you, there's a bottle of red wine in their for you as well,"

"Oo, thanks, 'm sure that'll go down a very well tonight,"

You told Harry about the meal you were planning on cooking, a tomato and mozzarella risotto which was a recipe you had learnt from your mum - simple, but incredibly tasty - as you rode up in the elevator. This was one part of his building you hadn't forgotten; the way he had pushed you against the wall, wrists raised in one of his big hands as he kept your bodies achingly close. The exact same memory was pounding through Harry's mind. You were definitely both glad the conversation stayed on risotto.