Treehouses for children are places where they're free from adult reign. Decorate as you wish. Say what you want. Do as you please. As Goldie and Harry awake from their long night of talking, crying, sharing, this feeling of freedom is spread to them as well.

They're visitors in a foreign territory, with an overwhelming sense of freedom but deep anxiety over the irrevocable loss of their self-governance. It's unstoppable. They must face it once they step down from the ladder and plant their feet on the soft Florida soil.

But they hang on, if only for a few more minutes.

"We should get back." The practical side of Goldie comes out, post lust and passion. She slides her pants back on and slips her arms through the arm holes of her vest. Each movement makes her limbs feel like they weigh as much as a bus. Her body's way of rejecting what's to come.

"I know..." Harry agrees. He looks around and admires the decor of their sanctuary. Classic comics line the exposed wood. Spiderman. Batman. All classics he remembers from his own childhood. Out of the many homes he was passed around, there were two in which he actually felt secure. In those two homes, he hung his favorite drawings. They match the guardian vigilantes surrounding him in present day. The juxtaposition is surreal. A tangible metaphor for his life.

They dress in silence. He goes down the ladder first, defining himself as her safety net. He waits to catch any potential fall.

Her small feet — one anklet-clad — carefully steps down the rickety rungs. The dawn appears behind her. Only inches apart, yet she feels so unreachable to him.

In their tired stupor the night before, both had agreed it was best to stifle their growing appreciation for each other. It was a painful realization but they knew it was necessary, like being a child and getting vaccinated. You dread it but know it's inevitable. A required evil in the eyes of a kid.

"Harry?" Goldie scratches at Harry's chest. She watches the tracks of red marks lay into his skin. Trace evidence of the passion that once belonged to them. Secretly but openly.

"Yeah?" Harry places his hand over her's. He, too, admires the crimson lines striking through the black ink across his flesh. He silently wishes to tattoo the proof of his time with her.

"I know how I feel and you know how you feel but we can't continue this in front of everyone now. It's poison for The Orphans. I'd hate myself if I came between what you guys have. It's disruptive."

"What do you mean?" Harry pushes away slightly, his body's automatic reaction to the conversation at hand.

"I'm not saying the guys are right. But they aren't wrong." Goldie rolls on her back and closes her eyes in disbelief of what she's saying. She's always been a practical girl, almost to a fault. "I have a meeting with my editor tomorrow and I haven't even prepped because we've been here all night. And you have the photoshoot tomorrow too."

Harry remains silent. All that can be heard are the crickets and their heaving breaths.

"You're right," he finally speaks up. "I need you to know though — what they said about my past does not apply to you. Please believe that."

There he sits. A concrete statue of a soldier beginning to crack, much like the untouched glass of her skin. He remembers all his flings in the past. How little they meant to him. How they were only for immediate gratification. How they've quite possibly ruined the best thing that's ever come into his life.

"I'm not ready to let you go." Harry grabs the side of Goldie's face. His calloused fingers move down her jawline, caress her neck, and tickle between the exposed part of her breasts. "We don't have to put everything on display but I can't let go of this." He kisses her. The type of kiss that requires all the oxygen from the respective participants. They're lightheaded. Flustered. Confused. Settled.

"You don't have to," Goldie responds. "Let's just agree that from now on, we keep this," she says, pointing back and forth between him and herself, "Between us. I know I messed it up when I kissed you at the venue. I couldn't help myself is all. I felt alive. But I'm so sorry I —"

"Stop," he interrupts. "Me and you. We're gonna be alright, Goldilocks. We'll figure it out."

They exhale simultaneously as both their eyes close. The repercussions of the morning are pushed to the backs of their brains. For now, they sleep as one.

"Ready to head back?" Harry asks, helping her down from the hut in the sky.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

White backdrops sit against the back wall of the studio. The photoshoot for Rolling Stone. It was to be The Orphans' official "coming out" and Goldie's first meeting with her editor. All the moving pieces begin to meld together in one Monet-esque portrait.

"This isn't right!" Harry yells out of frustration. He pulls at the sleeves of his shirt and chugs his mixed drink.

"These pants are crazy, man," Jonesy reiterates Harry's points, tugging at his wide-legged, embroidered jeans.

Keeping to her promise, Goldie bows out gracefully and disappears into an office at the back of the studio to gather her notes for her meeting. Butterflies swarm her stomach like a mass of soldiers released at the edge of battle territory. Papers stacked upon papers. Scribbled quotes. Encased tapes of recorded interviews. In her eyes, everything is put together perfectly. But in reality, nothing is organized.

"Mother fucker!" Harry slams the door of the office, unaware that she's there too. He looks up. They stare at one another, knowing that their agreement from the night before made such an interaction taboo. The room could be filled with the tension between them. "There you are."

The photoshoot is next-to-perfect but frantic thoughts still linger from Goldie and Harry's resolutions and leaves a hole in the pits of their stomachs.

One could visibly see all the stress and pressure fall from his nerve-endings and dissipate into the atmosphere at the sight of her. His savior.

"This is a mess," Harry comments, overly emotional and out of sorts. "I'm in this penguin suit. I feel like I can't breathe. Jonesy is complaining about his outfit. They put Matt's hair in a ponytail? Niall is completely missing in action because they wanted him to take out his piercings. They won't let Mitch wear his hat. It's falling apart out there, Golds."

"Stop. This is all fixable." She removes Harry's blazer. "Take the shirt off."

"What?"

"Take the shirt off and come here." She sits on a bench and pulls out a small satchel of her limited makeup supply.

He obeys and takes off his coat. He then straddles the seat beside her, facing her, unaware of her plans.

She pulls out a small brush and drum of black powder. Dipping the brussels into the eyeshadow, she begins to slowly paint the stoic Mona Lisa in front of her. She defines his eyes even more than before and gives him the look he'd been requesting all along. No one could ever figure him out quite like she could.

"Perfect." Goldie's teeth poke behind her lips as she lets out an endearing giggle. "You got this. One of us has to pull it together."

"One of us?"

"My editor will be here any second and this is all I got." Goldie lifts up papers in each of her hands. "How are they supposed to take me seriously?"

"You've been with us every step of the way, Ophelia." Harry brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cupping the side of her face. He digs through the bag and grabs a rouge color palette. Flipping open the plastic lid, he smears his finger against the vibrant red and rubs it against her plump bottom lip and thin top. She looks at him intently as he places the rose color on the mouth he so desperately wants to kiss. "There we go. Like you sucked on a cherry popsicle."

Unable to hold back any longer, he leans in and pushes his mouth against her's. Their cupid's bows lining perfectly. The kiss is a shot to the heart. This office is their temporary treehouse. A place they long to stay for hours longer than they can spare.

Her mouth is a delicate dahlia flower and his is a frenzied bee, patiently doing its work to pollinate and reap the benefits of what is sowed.

"Let's go fix this," Goldie whispers. With her new found confidence, she steps into the studio and begins direction. "Okay! Listen here, please!" She demands the room politely and points to the workers in wardrobe. "Harry can't wear a shirt like this." She holds up what he was once wearing and places the folded garment to the side. "He's going to wear the leather choker. No shirt. Jonesy would feel so much more comfortable in the torn jeans and a t-shirt. Let's change him into that. You can put whatever you want on Mitch but please just let him wear his hat. And the further in the back he is, the more comfortable he'll be. Take the tie out of Matt's hair. He looks light years better if his curls are shown. And Niall... Niall is a punk through and through. The man needs his piercings and to show off his tattoos. Does that work for everyone?"

Every single person stands silent at the feet of their unconventional leader. The once-timid sunflower has finally blossomed in their very presence. The even more shocking reality — they all listen. Matt's hair is let loose. Niall returns, happy as a clam, bare chested and piercings in tact. Mitch joins the crowd with his hat, ready to be photographed. Jonesy buttons the fly of his favorite pair of Levi's.

Then there's Harry, ready to solidify the moment. "C'mon, guys. Let's do our thing."

The boys link arms and huddle together. Goldie smiles at her work and steps forward to join the band when she's interrupted.

"You must be Goldie," a man says from behind. "Name is Daniel Ben. I'm your editor."

"Goldie! You coming?" Harry asks, leaving a gap between himself and Grimmy for her to join.

"You guys go ahead. I've been waiting to have a much needed discussion with young Goldie here."

Harry steps a few paces behind the huddle and stands on guard as she walks away. A flash of the camera fills the room. The photographer's attempt to catch the frontman in a candid moment.

"First shot and it's already perfect!" the photographer yells. "Let me get one of you all together."

The Orphans link back up with a missing piece in their presence. The shadow of a person that deserves to be there.

Her heels click on the hardwood flooring and the further she separates herself from her friends, the more somber their notes sound. 

* * *

Author's Note: First off, a big happy birthday to our muse, Harry Styles! Second, in chapter 21, there was a really fun discussion about how a couple of us became fans of Harry/1D. So what's your story? We want to know!