She gifts me a journal, and I look at her questioningly. "I have a journal, kitten," I remind her, "I write all of my music and lyric options in it."

Nodding, she leans forward, "Yes, I know. But I've found journaling to be a powerful way to clear my mind, and I want you to be able to clear your mind while you're out and about, especially on your upcoming tour."

I'm touched at how well she knows me, and how she thinks about me. She's a psychologist, so I think that she would want me to tell her everything, but she knows that my thoughts are my own. At that moment, thumbing through the pages of the journal, I vow to share my story with her on these pages, writing out my thoughts from the moment I met her. Selfishly, I want a record of my growing feelings for her in this relationship, especially since I know that it's like a time bomb ticking. I fear that one day she will wake up and realize that she is too deeply embedded in my life, and she will run away again. This time she might actually tell me that she's leaving, but it won't change the fact that she will once again run away, or that this next time I won't be able to get her back.

At least I can record our story and reread it later in my life when I want to recall how perfect our time together has been. While we listen to some soft rock, we both write in our respective journals, and I capture my thoughts from the first time we met and the first time I got to touch her. As I write, I find my eyes fill with tears and my heart swells. Leaning forward at the end of one sentence, I capture her lips with my own as we sit facing each other on either side of the sofa. She removes her reading glasses to mesh her lips with mine, and then neither of us writes another word as we make sweet love on the floor of the family room. Yes. I said it. Sweet love. And I don't regret it.

==========

"Mmmmm, Harry. Whatcha' doing?"

But as soon as you sleepily ask the question, you feel silly because it's obvious what he's doing. With the morning sun beginning to break over the horizon, Harry has managed to remove your silk panties and is, even now, suckling your clit. You sigh, parting your legs as your hand roams down to grasp Harry's hair as you purr under his skillful movements. Your interior walls were wet before you woke up, and you gasp as he uses his tongue to stimulate your clit, edging it back and forth.

Moaning, you buck your hips up and arch your back, lifting yourself on your heels, pushing into his tongue, wanting to feel it deep inside you. "Oooooohhhhhhhhoooooo," you cry out, pulling his hair so that his face is firmly smashed into your nether regions.

It's the nicest alarm clock you've ever had.

==========

"Just a little tattoo? It will be fun!" I'm trying to convince her, but I can tell she's not going for it. We've been dating for a while now, and I want us to have permanent reminders of each other. For me, that's a tattoo. I've borrowed the equipment I bought for Ed, and he's reviewed with me how to use it appropriately.

"Tattoos hurt!" she pouts, hands on her hips, "You, sir, may have a pain kink, but I don't even like getting my eyebrows waxed." I'm relieved that she trusts me, and that her waffling is about the pain.

"I'll kiss it and make it better," I smirk, holding up the drawing I've made of each of our initials inside a heart.

"You're dead set on this, aren't you?" she's starting to waver. I can tell, so I decide to drive home my point.

Clearing my throat, I put on my innocent look, "Well.....we did agree that we each had to try what the other person wanted to do on their date."

When she rolls her eyes, I know I've got her. "Where?" she asks, uneasy.

Like a trooper, she holds still while I tattoo her front hip with the gun, watching her wince occasionally. It's over quickly because the heart is no bigger than it needs to be to have my H inside it. When she looks at it, her eyes widen.

"I love it, Harry. It's perfect. Now I get to do yours, right?"

And her devilish grin should have been a warning.

==========

"You said we each had to try what the other wanted," you stalk him with the facial mask.

Harry is scrambling away from you. "How do I know that's not sheep placenta?"

You laugh gleefully, tossing him the jar. "Read the ingredients. No placenta of any kind."

Once Harry sees that the jar comes from Adore Cosmetics, he's impressed. "Golden Touch Magnetic Face Mask," he reads from the jar, "I've heard of this. How did you afford this? It's expensive!"

"Well," you look down sheepishly at the floor, "I kind of borrowed your credit card and ordered it online." Harry is proud that you've taken the initiative, knowing that he would have bought the very best face mask for himself too instead of some drugstore sale item.

When he realizes you've taken his credit card, he raises an eyebrow, "What other shopping sprees did you go on?" he inquires, curious.

You giggle, "Nothing that wasn't for you, Harry!"

Covered in face masks, you put cucumber slices on your eyes and relax in Harry's backyard, listening to the birds flying overhead and the cars moving out front. Occasionally you hear voices of what you assume are fans:

"That's his house."

"Oh. My. God. He lives there!"

"Harry Styles vit dans cette maison."

==========

It's late at night, and we've been going at it like rabbits for two rounds when we both find ourselves absolutely sober.

"What do you mean 'we have no condoms left'?" she demands, hands on her naked waist, the flare of her nostrils matching the flare of her hips.

I honestly don't know what happened to all of the condoms. Last time I went out, I bought them in bulk so there should have been enough to last us at least another week. But I guess we've been missing each other too much while I've been on the press junket for Dunkirk. Every time I'm in town, we tend to go at each other multiple times a night. Don't get me wrong. It's not just sex. We connect on a deep level, too. I enjoy talking to her so much, and we have had so much fun laughing and playing games and cooking in our little bubble. The sex -- as amazing as it is -- is only icing on the cake. Nevertheless, we must have done an excessive amount of fucking to be out of condoms so quickly.

I search my pants pockets -- on every pair I've worn in the last month -- to no avail while she's busy searching her purse and gym bag.

Finally, we stand and stare at each other, naked, panting --- not a condom in sight.

"Well?" she sighs, "Do we just sleep and skip another round of sex?"

I waggle my eyebrows, which is one of my many talents, "Or maybe we go bare?"

"Fuck me," she breathes, and I am more than willing to comply. But as I move towards her, she puts her arms out to stop me. "Nope. I meant that metaphorically. Not literally."

Frustrated, we look at each other for at least 45 seconds before we're both scrambling for clothes, "I'll drive," I declare, jumping around as I try to get into my jeans.

"I'll buy," she announces, zipping her own jeans and tucking in her shirt, skipping the bra.

We both grab our matching hoodies from Randy's Donuts as we head out the door.

I park as she climbs out of the Range Rover to head into Tesco. My fingers are tapping on the steering wheel as I listen to the radio playing. Glancing at the clock, I see it's 1:18 a.m., and I cannot believe that we are out buying condoms at this time of night. But I seriously just want to bury myself in her again and again. After being in America for a week with only Facetime and sexting to help us out, I need to feel her dripping on my balls as I drive into her. I need to feel her walls convulse around me as she comes all over me.

Looking at the clock on the Range Rover, I cannot believe it's taking her this long. It's not like there's anyone in the store. There are only about five cars in the lot, and most likely all of them are employees. When my phone buzzes, I glance at her text. "Don't have the usual brand. Don't know what to buy."

Turning off the car, I climb out, slamming the door behind me. Texting as I walk, I respond, "On my way."

==========

When he arrives next to you, you take a minute to breathe in and out. Fuck. He looks so good with his hair all tousled from where your hands have run through it. Grinning at him, you want to pull him forward by the strings of his hoodie and just snog him senseless. But you have a purpose here, and you point to the relevant problem. There are no more of your usual condoms, and you're unsure which ones to get. Lubricated? Ribbed? XXL? Tantric? Ultra-thin? Flavored? Glow in the Dark?

Harry grabs a box off the shelf, then reaches back for a second box, grabbing your hand and pulling you behind him as he heads to the Chip and Pin self-checkout line. Without dropping your hand, he scans both boxes, holding them in one large hand. Removing his wallet, he releases your hand to pay with his credit card, but you've already got yours out, inserting your credit card into the chip reader. As the transaction is approved, you reach to remove your card. Harry turns to you, whispering "teamwork makes the dream work" before capturing your lips in a kiss just as the flashes start going off.

Stunned, you look up to see a fan with her cell phone out. Harry's eyebrows draw down, his anger apparent, and he makes a move towards her. The girl, a panicked look on her face, stuffs her phone in her purse as she backs away with both hands up. As Harry starts to take a step in her direction, she turns and runs. You put your hand on Harry's arm to stop him even though the panic is rising in you.

"Don't scare her, Harry," you caution, "it won't make any difference." You marvel at the calm you feel in this moment. Shouldn't you be freaking out? Harry pulls his hoodie up around his face, stuffing the condoms in his pocket before he pulls your hoodie over your hair too.

"It's a bit like closing the barn door after the horse has already escaped, isn't it, Harry?" You murmur as he takes your hand again, dragging you to follow on his way to the Range Rover. He's worried that someone else will take pictures of the two of you, plus he's angry at himself for putting you in this position.