Harry paces in his hotel room, the ice in his nearly-empty glass of whiskey clinks on the side of the hotel glassware. The cheap, tightly woven fibers of the carpet irritate the arches of his feet. A cube slides into his mouth and his teeth chomp into the frozen morsel. A release of anxiety.

His fellow band members watch each step of the short mental journey, wondering if it's time to step in. Wondering if they should give their sage words of wisdom.

"We have the meeting tomorrow," Matt says. "Pretty rad that Rolling Stone wants to do another piece on us. What did they say exactly?"

The moon rises high in the night sky as The Orphans settle in for the night. They spent the day exploring New York again. Their worn-down shoes stomped on the pavement up and down the city streets. They say in several meetings, explaining the importance of their upcoming album. Explaining the case of why another tour was necessary. They ended the night in a nearby bar. All an attempt to distract their melancholy frontman.

Their hotel rooms are nicer than the ones they've been in before. They finally started to receive the recognition they longed for and the praise they knew they deserved.

They took Harry out to distract him from the phone conversation a few days before. They essentially bottle fed him whiskey and vodka as though they were headed into the next era of prohibition.

"We gotta order some room service!" Niall yells. "It's not on our dime, right?" He grabs the hotel menu and scans the options. "OH! CINNAMON ROLLS!"

"What are you doing?" she asks him.

"Fiddling with some melodies," Harry responds. He wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her shirt up. He places a soft kiss on her stomach. He nibbles on the flesh below her belly button. He could live in this moment forever. "Go on. Do what you were doing. Don't mind me."

"Okay," she says with a smile as she goes back to ice the cinnamon rolls she baked. "You all worked so hard yesterday in the studio. Gonna surprise the boys with breakfast."

Harry can't help but smile at the angel in front of him. He continues to strum on his guitar, each note a reflection of her movement. She grabs a butter knife and continues spreading a thin layer of sugar, milk and butter over the pastries.

"I really like what you're playing," she says. "What is that?"

"Oh, nothin'," he says. "Just playing with a new sound."

What she didn't know was the sound was an embodiment of each of her movements. That the sound was metaphorical music for her warmth and sweetness. She's the delicious icing, melting over each roll. She's the sun peaking through the cracked blinds. The welcomed warmth he didn't know he needed in a time when he didn't even know he was cold.

His calloused fingers pick at the strings as he watches her long legs walk from the fridge, to the counter, and back to the stove. Never did he think he could watch one human repeat the same movement and be so enamored. The simple gesture of her scratching her right calf with the top of her left foot is something that could inspire albums upon albums. Her pushing her hair behind her ear is something that could start and end wars.

"This is my mom's recipe, I don't want to mess it up. Even called Jimmy to make sure I got it right. Does this taste okay?" She walks over to him, a dollop of icing on her finger and places it on his tongue. Even without the confectioners sugar, he knows she'd taste just as sweet. Each of his taste buds envelope each sensation — the softness of her finger, the smell of her morning skin, the sight of her eager eyes awaiting his approval — and he wishes it was a permanent flavor.

"It's perfect."

"We have a meeting tomorrow, Matt," Grimmy replies to the question. "And... um... Goldie's going to write it. She's gonna be with us for at least three months. Possibly longer."

"What?" Harry perks up. "What did you just say?"

"Goldie. She accepted the offer to write it." Grimmy pours himself a drink of his own and watches his friend's expression at the corner of his eye. He scours through the fridge of the suite, trying to be nonchalant about the situation.

Mitch stands up from an armchair in the corner, an irresistible smile plastered across his face. "YES! I was hoping they'd give it to her."

"Fuck yeah!" Matt yells.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Niall says, looking over to a passed out Jonesy. Niall nudges him. "Did you hear that?"

"What the fuck, man," Jonesy replies, half asleep.

"We gotta get ready... What am I gonna wear..." Harry chugs another glass full of whiskey and rummages through his suitcases.

The Orphans watch as he frantically goes from drawer, to suitcase, to closet. He trips over his guitar case at the center of the room and stumbles.

"Okay, okay. Let's get this boy to bed." Grimmy picks Harry up off the floor and lays him down on the soft sheets and comforter in the main bedroom. "Goodnight, sweet prince." He laughs as he tucks him in.

"I gotta talk to her, right?!" Harry yells as his band members begin to leave the room. "We have to make sure she's okay! Don't you guys miss her too?"

"We miss her, Harry," the band says in unison. "But you gotta go to bed, dude. We'll talk to you in the morning."

Harry shifts from left to right. The room spins in his drunken stupor. He rubs his brow, confused about the world.

"Cinnamon rolls... Fuckin' cinnamon rolls..." Harry says, peeved. He scratches his chest and moves it down between his legs. He rubs for a moment, but is interrupted by the ringing of his hotel room phone. He rolls to his side and picks up. "What the fuck do you want?!"

"Hello? Harry?" The familiar voice says on the other end.

He readjusts himself. "Belle? Is that you?"

"Hey, you..."

"Is this a dream?" Harry leans back and relaxes his forearm against his forehead in disbelief.

"I don't know. Maybe." She takes a deep breath and continues. "I — I — I thought about you all night. And I get to see you tomorrow. And you know, I got drunk with Jimmy tonight!"

"You got drunk with Jimmy?" Harry laughs, his abdomen starts to relax at the sound of her voice. "How was that? How's Jimmy?"

"He's good. He met a lady tonight." She starts to laugh at the memory when small sniffles can be heard at the other end. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss you..."

Harry takes a deep breath before his response. "I miss you so fucking much." He slurs his words. "I remembered the cinnamon rolls tonight. Do you remember the cinnamon rolls? At the studio?"

"Holy fuck, yes! They were a big hit. Especially with Niall." She chuckles and tries to find what to say next. "You were so upset because your shirt was so itchy. It was that new one from the boutique the label wanted you to wear. You hated it so much. And then later, you cut it up with scissors. Oh my god! And remember how Matt cut up his shirt too?! And Niall kept begging for a turkey sandwich. I'm sorry... I'm going off topic. I'm pretty drunk."

"I can listen to you drunkenly ramble forever." His smile widens with each second of her drivel. "Where are you right now?"

"In my bed at my apartment..." she replies.

"Really? Fuck..." he whispers.

"Mmmhmmm," she replies suggestively.

His hand manages to find its way back to his crotch. "Belle?"

"Yes?" She breathes hard into the phone.

"What are you wearing right now?"

"The Ramones shirt. I swear it still smells like you." She moves her hand between her legs. "What are you wearing?"

"I'm wearing nothing. Wait. Are you serious?" Harry frantically peels off his shirt and pants and briefs till he's nude. "I'm naked. Are you really just wearing The Ramones shirt? Fuck... no panties?" He starts to massage his growing erection. He remembers her sitting back on the counter, welcoming him.

"That's it," she answers back. "Fuck, I miss you so much."

"I miss you too." He runs his fingers through his hair.

Harry grabs the bottom of her ass and places her on the kitchen counter. He spreads her legs and eagerly places his face between her thighs. He places each hand on either hand of either side of her panties and pulls them down to her ankles until they delicately fall to the linoleum below them.

The cold tile is a stark contrast to their warm bodies. He shoves his face between her eager legs and does what he feels is the most natural of movements. She throws her head back in ecstasy. She accepts each stroke. Each lick. She's never felt this way and she wishes she could feel this way forever. She's only ever felt this way with him.

"Do you remember that time in the kitchen at our apartment?" He strokes himself harder.

She remembers. She remembers how his tongue felt pressed against her core. How she'd be okay with dying right then and there. How the sensation was something that everyone and anyone needed to be present for. It was a spiritual experience. He knew what he was doing.

"How could I forget?" She continues rubbing herself. Her moans begin to build. The memories of him were incredible. How could only memories of someone induce so many feelings? Sensations.

"If there was a heaven, that would be it for me. Just me, between your legs, forever. Tasting you for eternity." Cum starts to peer through his tip as the moment builds.

"What are you doing right now?" She asks.

"I'm touching myself... Are you?"

"Yes," she says breathily.

"I miss you so much." He gets closer to the precipice.

"Harry... I — I — Oh my god... Harry..." Her moans reverberate off her walls. She covers her mouth with her hand and continues as she starts to orgrasm.

"Belle. I — I — I love you. FUCK. I love you so fucking much. I need you." Cum starts to pour out the tip of his cock. He feels a release like he's never felt before. His muscles relax. His bones find a place of solace. His eyelids slowly close as everything relaxes. Each vertebrae of his spine collapses onto the hotel mattress. His chest heaves with pleasure.

"Fuck... I love you too, Harry. I love you so much..."

There's a sudden bang on his wall behind his head. "We can hear you over here, dude!" Jonesy's half-baked voice rings through the thin layers of plaster as Harry cums.

"Shit..." she says, breathing heavily. "Oh my god, was that Jonesy?" She starts to embarrassingly giggle.

He drunkenly laughs at the comments at his friend from the other side of the wall.

"It's fine. Don't think about it." Harry says. "Can we please remember this forever? I haven't felt this good in so long. Shit, Belle. What is this hold you have over me?"

"What?" She wipes sweat off her brow. "Harry... What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean..." Harry stops. He sits up and takes a sip of water from the glass Grimmy left for him. The room continues to spin, a combination of coming down from his high as well as the whiskey he indulged in. "I'll see you tomorrow. We can't forget this. Don't forget this happened, okay? Please?"

"I promise. I won't."