How stupid am I? I had one job to do as her boyfriend. ONE FUCKING JOB! And I totally fucked it up. We're back at the house, and I'm pacing while she's just sitting on the sofa scrolling through her phone. It rarely takes long for a picture to go viral, and when I hear her soft gasp, I know it's happened.

Quickly I move to her side, sliding my arm around her shoulders. She tenses up immediately, and I start to withdraw, but she grasps my hand, threading her fingers through mine, pulling my arm more tightly around her. Leaning over, I view the screen. My heart plummets. There are two pictures. In the first one, I'm holding the boxes of condoms in my right hand while I reach out to her with my left. Our faces are both clearly visible. Fuck. In the second picture, I'm kissing her. My eyes lock on her face in the pictures. She looks....happy. Content. Pleased. Fucked. Loved. Perfect. The look on her face would rival that of any rom-com heroine as she smiles confidently at me, though she has no makeup on. There is no doubt that she's been recently fucked, and the condoms in my hands just reinforce what we are about to do. In the first picture, her eyes are on me, and she has the slightest prideful smile, as if I'm her most honored possession. In the second photo, her eyes are closed as I kiss her, and it looks so thoroughly natural. We are dressed in our matching hoodies with tousled hair. Under other circumstances, I would be thrilled to own this picture. It would keep me warm throughout touring and promo. Knowing that she looked at me that way. She looks utterly content. It's like we belong together in all spans of our lifetimes and dimensions.

The picture is in marked contrast to the look on her face now, tears overflowing. She doesn't make a sound nor attempt to wipe them away. They just continue to silently fall from her eyelids, running down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and jaw. Silently we stare at the picture, and I realize my own cheeks are wet with tears. Because I know what this means. We both know what this means, and my heart aches thinking about it.

"Maybe they won't find out who you are," I start.

With hope in her eyes, she looks at me, "Really? Do you think that's possible?"

Looking back at the pictures, I want to lie to her. But that's not what we do. We don't lie to each other. Shaking my head, I press her tightly against my chest as she cries, stroking her hair.

Her eyes well up again, and I reach to brush away the tears with my thumbs before kissing her gently. It's a bittersweet kiss, and I taste both of our tears which makes me want to sob harder. We had done so well for nearly three months, living in our little bubble. And in one moment of stupidity, I had forgotten that our bubble was easy to burst.

"I....I.....I promised you..." she starts the words, but is unable to finish. Gulping in air, she takes a deep breath, and I put my finger over her mouth.

"Shhhhh," I whisper, "Maybe we can figure this out. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think." But I know the truth. It will be every bit as bad as she thinks. And I just pray that I haven't ruined her dreams.

Tenderly I lead her up the three flights of stairs to my bedroom.

==========

Harry undresses you first, pulling the Randy's Donuts hoodie over your head. Carefully, he peels your shirt from your waistband and pulls it over your outstretched arms. You're so exhausted from the adrenaline release that you leave your arms raised until Harry pushes them down to your sides. He unbuttons your skinny jeans and peels them down your legs, kneeling for you to step out of them, but he has to tap your calves to remind you to budge. In your nearly catatonic state, all that runs through your brain is that you're going to lose Harry. The words are like lightning bolts to your stomach, stabbing deeper every time your brain repeats them.

Standing in nothing but your panties, you watch as Harry undresses himself silently, folding his clothes and putting them neatly on the chair in the corner.

==========

She's stopped crying at least, but she's still not fully present. Peeling back the duvet, I steer her into the bed, lying on my back and pulling her tightly to me, my arm around her back. We lie this way for several minutes in total silence. Eventually, her fingers start gliding over my chest, slowly tracing my swallows and butterfly and yes, my laurels.

Turning to her, leaning over her, I capture her lips in a kiss, deepening the pressure, trying to meld our lips together, memorizing the taste of her as if this will be the last time. Her hand grasps the back of my neck, and she pulls at me, trying to get even closer. But it's futile. Our mouths, our tongues, our hearts are as intertwined as two people can be. She has become part of me, and I am part of her. Reverently, I ease myself from the kiss, tracing a path with my lips down her neck as she arches to provide greater access. I want to press kisses to every inch of her skin, and I try my best to do so, using my tongue to taste her before each kiss.

At her breasts, her nipples have beaded, and I take one into my mouth, applying gentle suction while I rub the other nipple between my fingers as if it were the most precious pearl in the ocean. She cries out, "Harry!" when I switch between her breasts, and I wish I could record that sound and play it back every night for eternity. Gliding my hands further down her body, I lick and nip and kiss her belly, dipping my tongue inside her belly button briefly, spending extra time on her tattoo, worshiping the permanent mark of our time together. My hands continue to roam over her hips as I move down her body. She's squirming, breathing heavily and grabbing my hair as I move to her thighs, parting them with tender kisses. Tracing lightly down her calves to her ankles, I commit to memory every curve, every nuance, every freckle.

With whisper soft moves, I skim back up her body, pausing to push her legs further apart as I lick her in one broad stroke, straining to taste her just once more. She's so wet already, and when I suck her clit into my mouth, she comes on the spot, pressing herself up into my mouth, and I use my tongue to lap at her juices pouring forth. I cannot get enough, my greedy tongue moving inside and outside as quickly as I can manipulate it until I hear her starting to moan again in that distinctive way she has that lets me know she's close. Her walls contract again, so I move back to sucking her clit as I pump two fingers in and out of her quickly. When she comes this second time, her thighs clench around my face as she bucks her hips. Her hands are fisted in the sheets to either side, and she cries out my name in a keening voice that reminds me of an operatic soprano. And once again I wish I had recorded her passionate cries at some point in the last three months for preservation.

When she's finally relaxed from her orgasm, I slide up her body, pressing kisses to her warm skin until I can look her in the eyes, my face next to hers as I'm poised above her. Silently, I entreat her to allow me to enter her bare. She knows what I'm trying wordlessly to say, as she reaches between our bodies, pumping my cock with her hand thrice before steering me, unsheathed, into her wet pussy. Once there, I settle in, relishing the feel of her walls around my bareness. I don't want to move from this spot. This is where I want to camp and make my home for the rest of my life. Tabloids and fans be damned. Forever I want to be buried inside her just like this.

==========

You feel everything so deeply at this moment. His kisses on your skin and your clit are like brands burnt into your soul. That full feeling of his cock inside you -- the one that reminds you of what it is like to be sated after a Thanksgiving meal back in California -- makes you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to keep him there until time has no meaning. For the first time without latex, you feel every vein, every bend and curve and swell of his manhood filling you up. With a groan, you arch your back. Without wanting him to move, you need him to shift. You need those ridges sliding on your clit, bringing you closer to the consequent orgasm. Because you know that's what this will be. The ultimate.

Slowly, Harry pulls out of you until just his tip is inside. With a plunge forward, you feel him on parts of you that have never been touched. And again he stays still for moments, kissing your neck until once more he repeats his previous gesture, speeding up, but still at a pace that is patient and....your brain skitters away from the word, but then comes back to it again -- loving. It's the right word for this moment. This isn't sex. What's happening right now is as far removed from sex as Pluto is from the sun. This. THIS. This is what it feels like to make love.

You dig your nails into his back as he thrusts forward, marking him, wishing it were permanent. As your orgasm starts to build, you do your best to stave it off -- to make this moment last an eternity. Harry is staring into your eyes with every movement of his hips, and a tear slips from the corner of your eye, falling down into your hair by your ear. Wordlessly, Harry brushes away the second tear, bringing his lips down to cover yours as he pumps just as patiently in and out of you, both of you becoming breathless between the kiss and the exertion needed to prolong your lovemaking. Unbidden, you feel the quivering start, the muscles contracting and expanding as the wave builds. From deep inside you, Harry feels the trembling start, and he freezes in an attempt to maintain control of himself, hoping that your orgasm doesn't trigger his because he's not ready. He's just not ready.

Reaching up to touch his face sweetly, maintaining eye contact, you whisper, "Come with me, my love." And he's lost, plunging into you and spilling his seed inside you as he cries out your name in a groan.

==========

I hold on until she calls me "my love", and then I just can't anymore. I know it will be the last time. Neither of us had said the words, but we know. As soon as I'm empty, I kiss her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, whispering "I love you" with each press of my lips. I've been careful to not put all of my weight on her, but she clutches me until I can do nothing but collapse on top of her, still embedded inside.

Lying there, joined, I wish that things were different. I want to rail at the stars and the moon. I want to curse the fans and the tabloids and the insanity of my chosen career. But without those trappings, I would not be able to do what I love: write and perform music. And now this amazing woman whom I have come to love unconditionally is in danger of losing out on the career she so richly wants. All because of my stupidity.

After a few minutes, I wrap my arms around her and spin us so that we are on our sides, and somehow I've managed to not dislodge from her. She wraps her legs more tightly around me to hold me inside, and I can feel her muscles clenching as I start to slip out of her. Once more, she cries, burying her head in my chest, sobbing until she falls asleep as I stroke her hair.

==========

When you stir, it's not yet dawn. Harry has fallen asleep and relaxed his hold on you, which allows you to wiggle out of the bed without awakening him from his slumber. Looking around, you find and put on your clothes from the previous night, throwing item after item into your bag. Roaming through Harry's closet, you seek his dirty clothes hamper, and there on top is his Rolling Stones t-shirt. It has so many rips that he really shouldn't wear it anymore anyway. With a sniff, you find that his scent clings to the shirt, and without hesitation, you stuff it into your bag.

With a quick wash of your face, you vow no more tears will be shed today. Your gaze roams around his room, looking for items you may have missed. Seeing none, you start to exit the room. Halting, you reconsider. Gazing at his relaxed face, your own softens as you contemplate the time that has passed and what you have meant to each other. But you've witnessed the aftermath of publicity too many times, and it's not what you want for yourself -- subjugating your life goals to another has never been in your plans.

==========

Upon waking, I know instantly that she is gone – which is what I expected. The bed is cold. I miss her already. Scrubbing a palm over my face, I sit up when I spot it on the bedside table. Her journal. Reaching out, I open it with trepidation. It falls open to the last page which reads, "Harry. I promised you I would not run away again, so this is me telling you that it's time for us to go our separate ways. I wish you nothing but the best in the future. All my love -- me. P.S. I am keeping your Rolling Stones shirt."

I smile sadly at her words, and then I go back to the beginning of her journal and start reading. It's our story. The story of us, and I find myself crying as I read through it. This time, it's a cleansing cry, though. We were doomed from the start, and she knew it, so she kept a careful record of our time together. Just as I did.

When I turn on the radio, the first thing I hear is "Will we never learn, we've been here before." As the song ends, the announcer says, "That was the new Harry Styles' solo song. Say, did you hear he was photographed in the middle of the night buying condoms with a girl?"

I turn off the radio, plodding to the shower. I need some steam to cleanse my soul.