(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 38 - Just Like How It Used To Be)

I push open the front door of the building and let it shut behind me with a bang as I begin to ascend the steps to Jess's flat. My heart is hammering, and I adjust my bag on my shoulder, wiping first one hand and then the other on the leg of my jeans.

I reach her door, take a deep breath, and knock softly. Fuck, I didn't spray any deodorant in the car! I completely forgot, and I've just stepped off a twelve hour flight. I take a discreet sniff of my armpit, and am relieved to discover I don't smell. 

I jump as the door opens in front of me, and rearrange my features into what I hope resembles a relaxed, nonchalant expression. My insides are dancing.

She's wearing a long vest top and a pair of black leggings and her hair is soft and wavy as it cascades over her shoulders and down her back. She literally takes my breath away, without even trying. How can she be so effortlessly perfect? If my heart was pounding before, it was nothing compared to what it's doing now. It feels like it's about to jump out of my chest.

Her eyes are on the floor, and she flicks them slowly up my body before meeting my gaze.

"Hi," she says, casually. 

"Hey," I reply, and my voice sounds like it's only just broken. 

I discreetly clear my throat as she moves aside to let me in, and as she shuts the door behind me she says, "Planning on staying a while?"

I turn around and she nods her head at the bag on my shoulder. She's teasing me, judging by the grin on her face, and I can't help grinning back.

"If you'll have me," I quip.

As I walk down the hallway the smell of homecooking hits me, and I pause, hesitating between the lounge and the kitchen. In our previous life, I would have plonked myself down in the kitchen and made some sexist joke about her having my dinner on the table, but the boundaries are a little unclear now, and I don't know what to do. I'm fucking starving, though.

Thankfully she seems to sense my uncertainty, but indicates towards the lounge. "Go on through. Do you want a cup of tea or anything?"

"Yeah, tea would be great, thanks," I accept, followed by, "What's cooking?"

I can't even waste the energy being embarrassed by my lack of restraint. It smells amazing, and my stomach is quietly growling in anticipation. I hope she can't hear it.

"It's lasagne," she's saying. "I wasn't sure if you'd be hungry, or if you'd want to get off home, or..." She looks embarrassed, and my heart soars.

"Is it for me?" I ask hopefully.

"Well, yeah, if you want it," she says shyly.

"I'm starving," I confess.

"OK, well, it'll be ready in about fifteen minutes," she says, exhaling. "Why don't you, um, take your boots off and make yourself comfortable, or something."

"Would you mind if I get changed?" I ask awkwardly. "I'm feeling a bit gross. It was a long flight."

"Do you want a shower?" she offers, with a hint of hesitation.

I hesitate too. There is nothing I would like more than a hot shower, and to change into the pair of joggers that I know are in my holdall. But what if she's only saying this because she feels she has to?

"You've got plenty of time before dinner," she adds, as though she has read my mind. "I can turn the oven down. Take your time."

"If you're sure you don't mind...?" I begin. "I don't want it to be weird or anything."

I'm going to be naked, only a few feet away from her. I'd rather be naked next to her.

Only if she was naked too, I mean. Not just on my own while she's fully clothed. That really would be weird.

"It's not like you've never had a shower here before," she reasons, snapping me out of my idiotic thoughts. "Towels are in the airing cupboard. Help yourself."

"OK, thanks," I reply gratefully. She smiles at me, making my stomach jolt, and I walk into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Then I quickly unlock it again, just in case by some miracle she decides she can't resist me and wants to join me. I can dream.

I undress, switch the shower on and step in. I physically relax as the warm water rolls down my body, and breathe out a sigh of satisfaction. There is nothing better than a hot shower after a long haul flight. I try not to take too long, but I borrow some of Jess's coconut shampoo to wash my hair, and I'm hit with a pang of longing at the familiar scent. I have missed this so much. I allow myself a minute of pretending that things never went wrong between us, and that I have flown back after touring the US to spend every waking minute with her because she has missed me as much as I miss her. 

I switch the shower off with a sigh. I need to stop torturing myself like this.

I squeeze the water out of my hair, wrap a warm, clean towel around my waist and quickly dry myself off. I have nothing to tie my hair back with, so I rub it vigorously with the towel, brush it through to detangle it, then mess it up again with my hands so it isn't flat to my head. When I finally venture out of the bathroom, dressed in an old pair of joggers and a tshirt (not attractive) I am hungrier than ever. I'm greeted by the sight of Jess setting two plates of lasagne on the table, and I take a seat as she makes some remark about my hair being long. I smile self-consciously and quickly thank her for the shower, to change the subject.

She pours us a glass of water each and I pick up my fork and dive in. 

Heavenly. It's the only word for it.

"So how have you been?" she asks.

"OK," I answer with a shrug. "The US schedule was gruelling. I was flying back to my house in LA whenever we had a couple of days' break, and now I'm exhausted. The flights alone are exhausting, never mind the shows."

"How are the others?" she asks, nodding. "The other boys, I mean? Are they glad to be back home now?"

I have to pause before I answer, thanks to my mouthful of food. I'm not attempting to swallow it before I'm ready, though. Memories of that horrendous dinner and subsequent indigestion at Jess's parents' house flit through my mind, and I bite back a smile.

"I think so. We've got a busy few weeks ahead. Everyone seems to be looking towards the end of the tour, but in reality we've still got a lot of commitments to come. We're back in the US again in November for a few weeks, and then our last performance is the X Factor final in the middle of December."

"Last performance," she repeats, slowly, staring down at the table. "That's going to be emotional."

"For who, you?" The words are out of my mouth before I have time to think, and I can't help grinning at her indignant frown.

"Don't tell me you won't feel a shred of emotion after five and a half years," she fires back.

"Maybe," I nod. "But I bet you a tenner you'll be wailing by the end."

The look on her face only makes me laugh harder, and she points her fork at me as she chews her mouthful.

"Don't piss me off, Harry."

"You can't stay cross with me for long," I point out, but then the laughter dies in my throat as I remember she has been furious with me for months, thanks to me shagging someone else behind her back, lying about taking drugs and... well, you know the story by now.

We sit in silence for a minute, the only sound the chinking of our cutlery against the plates as we devour the lasagne.

"So how come you're working back in London again?" I ask, remembering her previous text.

"I was missing home," she says with a sigh. "And they wanted me to make a decision about the position. They needed someone permanent, and while it was a great opportunity, I couldn't honestly see myself relocating to Cardiff. My life is here in London." She pauses, and my heart accelerates. "All my friends are here, my flat is here, and my family is only an hour's drive away. Cardiff was too far away. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to come back. I took that job as a knee-jerk reaction to everything that had happened. I was just running away. But it served its purpose, and I'm glad I went for the time I did."

"What do you mean, it served its purpose?" I ask, and she looks away and hesitates before she answers. My stomach twists again nervously.

"I just needed to get out of London for a bit, and clear my head," she says tentatively, and I know what she is referring to: the shit I put her through with my stupid stunt in New York. "That job came up at just the right time. It meant I could run away from everything and gain career experience in the process. But I knew, deep down I think, that I didn't want it permanently. I was so lonely living in a hotel all the time, far away from everyone I knew. The staff in the other office were great, but I missed home. I wanted my own bed, in my own flat, near my friends."

Well, I can definitely relate to that last part.

"I understand how you feel," I mutter, feeling sick that I made her so unhappy that she had to leave her home, her friends and her whole life, just to get over me.

"I bet," she says gently, and I look up to see her smiling softly at me. I know she understands that what she just said is basically my life on a daily basis. But this isn't about me. 

"So you're back in London for good?" I ask.

"Well, for the foreseeable future, unless someone whisks me off into the sunset," she replies.

I feel another wave of nausea at the idea of some swish, uncomplicated man (inexplicably wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase) standing next to an Audi convertible, holding the door open for her with a smug expression on his face while she slips into the passenger seat wearing a pair of white 1960s sunglasses, red high heels and a polka dot headscarf, like something out of Thelma and Louise. I need to get out more.

"What about you - what are you going to be doing next year on your break?" she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"I haven't decided fully yet," I answer, honestly. "I've been writing songs while we've been touring, but not just for our next album. Some of them I want to keep for myself, and either record them officially with my own vocal or give them to other artists. Jeff's dad wants to manage me once I'm out of my contract with Modest, but we've yet to discuss it properly."

"When is your contract up?" 

"Early next year. So I'll be looking to finalise my new management towards the end of this year."

"Wait a minute," she says suddenly, staring at me. "If you sign with Jeff's dad, does that mean you'll be living in LA permanently?"

My heart thuds at the expression on her face. Is that dismay I see in her eyes?

"Not necessarily," I answer, carefully. "But if that's the route I choose to go I'll definitely be spending more time over there."

"Oh," she says, in a small voice, and looks down at her plate. 

It strikes me that she probably hadn't bargained on this, and had more than likely assumed I would be living in London once the tour is over. Mum's words come back to me from a few weeks ago: Let her miss you a little bit. That won't do her any harm. Sometimes it's good to let her wonder about you for a change.

I smile to myself, and lean back in my chair as I set my knife and fork down on my now-empty plate.

"That was amazing," I sigh, contentedly, and she looks up at me and smiles, looking pleased.

"I'm glad you liked it. I was worried it would be a bit full-on. I didn't want to make a big deal out of this."

"Out of what?" I frown.

"This," she replies, gesturing back and forth between us. "Any of it. I didn't want to put any pressure on us. On anything. I was worried it might be too intense... I dunno..."

She looks away at the wall and I grin to myself over how much we both overthink everything. 

"You know I overthink everything," she mutters, and I chuckle at the irony.

"You?" I tease. "Never."

Good job she can't see inside my head these days.

"Alright," she snaps, but I can tell she's only joking. "We both know I'm a loser. No need to admit it so quickly."

I can't stop myself from grinning. My heart is soaring every time we take the piss out of each other, because it just feels so familiar and right, just like how it used to be.

"Do you want that cup of tea now?" she offers, standing up from the kitchen table and reaching over to pick up my plate.

"Yeah, I was wondering when that was going to materialise," I tease, standing up too.

"You had water with your dinner!" she protests. "What did you expect - a plate of lasagne and a brew?"

I shrug casually. "Hey, I'm just saying you offered me tea and it never arrived."

"Go and sit in the lounge," she huffs, rolling her eyes at me in exasperation (it's one of my favourite moods of hers.) "I'll be in in a minute."

"As long as I get the One Direction mug," I call over my shoulder as I follow her instruction and head into the lounge.

"I don't have a One Direction mug," she calls back.

"Fibber," I retort, half under my breath, knowing she can hear me and fully intending her to.

"Actually, I'm not," she says from the doorway, and I look up, surprised to see her there, standing awkwardly with her arms folded. "I binned it all after..."

My stomach drops to my shoes and I quickly look away, staring down at the cross tattoo on my hand, wondering if this elephant will ever leave the room. 

I hear her footsteps retreat after a moment of awkward silence, and I look up to check she is no longer watching me before I let my head flop back on the sofa with a frustrated sigh. Has she really binned all her One Direction merchandise? By her own admission she was a huge fan - it must have taken a lot for her to throw everything away. 

Something like lies, drugs and infidelity, perhaps. 

Did she really need to purge herself of everything connected to me? Was it that painful for her? Of course, I know the answer to this already: yes, it was. But somehow hearing the lengths she went to to erase me from her life makes this even harder.

She returns a couple of minutes later with two mugs of tea, and sits down next to me.

"Sorry," I apologise, sadly. I can't quite bring myself to meet her gaze. 

"For what?" 

"For cheating on you, and hurting you, and ruining our relationship to the point where you binned everything connected to One Direction," I sigh. No point beating around the bush.

"Harry," she says uncomfortably. "Let's not talk about that stuff now."

"I think we need to," I mumble.

"Maybe, one day," she concedes. "But not today. Not for a while. I don't want to bring that up yet. Let's just keep tonight casual. Fun, even."

I look up at her, feeling a smile breaking on my face. "You're actually having fun with me?"

"Yeah," she smiles back. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I didn't want to get my hopes up," I admit.

Woah, loser alert. Where did that come from? That's what happens when I let my guard down in front of her. No filter, jeez.

"Harry," she says softly, and I look away as I recognise her gentle tone. It's the one she uses when she knows that I'm not going to like what she's about to say. "Harry, I don't want to lead you on with this. I meant what I said in Cardiff, and over text. I don't want you hanging around waiting for me, hoping we're going to get back together. I may be being terribly presumptuous in saying that, because for all I know you've moved on and you're with someone else now-"

"I'm not," I interject, bluntly. How can that even enter her head?! Is that really where she thinks I am right now?

"Well if the chance comes up and you like someone, don't hold back because of me," she says, with equal bluntness but softer delivery. "I don't want to bring up all this again right now, except to say nothing's changed."

"OK," I mutter. "I get it."

I don't want to hear this. I don't want to hear her talk about me with someone else, like she would be fine with it. It breaks my heart that she would be fine with it. I don't want her to move on from me. I certainly can't move on from her.

OK," she echoes, tentatively, and I can sense her watching me as I stare unseeingly at the TV while I try to rationalise what she has just said.

Wait, is she trying to let me down gently? Is she already seeing someone else?! The thought makes me want to be sick.

"Are you with someone else?" I demand, turning my head to look at her in horror.

"No, of course not," she says calmly. "The whole point of us staying apart is for me to take some time to breathe, and sort my life out on my own. I'm not interested in being with anyone at the moment."

I take a moment to appreciate this, and to be thankful for her level-headed approach to her own heartbreak. It's one of the many reasons I love her. 

"Did you really bin all your merchandise?" I ask after a moment, attempting to soften my tone, and running my hand over my still-wet hair.

"Yeah - well, Callie binned it for me."

I snap my head up at this piece of information.

"I didn't have the strength to do it myself at the time, but I knew I needed it gone," she explains.

I stare at her, my heart pounding yet again, as I process this. She didn't bin her 1D stuff herself - she asked Callie to do it. While I'm sure Callie will have relished the opportunity to destroy anything related to me (her attitude towards me at The Big Weekend, and at Libertine, left me under no illusion of the extent of her loathing of me) a little part of me hopes she didn't actually chuck it in the bin, and maybe she kept it in case Jess changed her mind one day. 

I have a sudden vision of retrieving it all, and once we have worked past our problems, maybe giving it back to her and making her happy again... I feel so guilty that I took that part of her life away from her. 

This is immediately replaced with the image of Callie wearing a floaty white dress and a flowery headband, dancing around a metal bin while all Jess' One Direction merchandise burns inside, sending hundreds of orange embers and spirals of smoke curling into the air. I think I'm losing the plot.

"What have you got planned for the next few days, before your next show?" she asks, changing the subject.

"I've got a party at Loulou tomorrow," I tell her. "It's hosted by Love Magazine, as part of London Fashion Week. One of my exes, Cara, will most likely be there, just so you know," I add casually, relieved I have remembered to drop this in to cover my back. The last thing I need is some stupid article on the front page of the Daily Mail, making a big thing out of me and Cara attending the same event.

"You don't have to warn me about stuff like that," she says, diplomatically.

"Just being open and honest with you," I explain, knowing full well she would flip her lid if any more rumours were started about me. 

And then I remember we're not together, and I actually don't know if she would flip her lid, or if she would just accept it and move on with her life. It's an uncomfortable realisation. I change the subject again.

"And then we're playing the Roundhouse in Camden, for the Apple Music Festival - Gemma's coming to that, with a date, apparently." I can't help screwing up my nose at this idea.

"A date?" Jess repeats. "Who with?"

"Some guy she's just started seeing."

Michal. I push my hair out of my face.

"Don't you like him?" 

"I haven't met him yet," I admit. "I just always worry that the guys Gemma dates aren't genuine, y'know? Like they've got an ulterior motive, because of me. I know that makes me sound unbelievably arrogant, and I don't think for one minute that Gemma isn't capable of attracting a guy on her own merits, but...." 

"I get it. You're just looking out for her," Jess nods. "It's what brothers do."

I can't help smirking at this reference to brotherly protectiveness, as I recall Calvin's psychotic, menacing stare. I look up to see Jess is smirking too.

"I'm just paranoid one of them will turn out to be using her or something, and she'll end up getting hurt," I continue, and her smirk leaves her face as she contemplates this for a moment.

"I don't blame you for thinking like that," she concedes. "It could happen. You're right to be wary, and I'm sure she understands that."

I love how she understands me. I love how I don't need to explain myself to her; she just accepts me for who I am. I love her.

"I knew you'd get it," I say gruffly, running my hand through my hair. It's still damp and cold, and it's making the back of my tshirt wet. It's uncomfortable. I should have brought a band to tie it up with.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the news without really paying attention. I'm not sure if I'm welcome to stay for the evening, or if she wants me to go, and I don't know how to ask the question to get an honest answer.

"Do you want to watch a film or something?" she offers, almost shyly. "Unless... you've got to get back home..."

"A film would be great," I answer immediately, barely disguising my relief. The last thing I want to do is go home to an empty house. I just want to cuddle up with this girl and forget everything else. I reach forward for my cup of tea, and a strand of wet hair slaps me in the face. I'm going to have to ask her for a band or something. How fucking embarrassing.

"Jess... Can I ask you something I have never asked you before in my life?"

"Um, OK," she says uncertainly, and I want to laugh at how terrified she looks. What does she think I'm going to say?!

"Do you have a spare elastic hair band thingy I could borrow?" 

She gives a sharp of intake of breath and presses her lips together in a useless attempt at hiding her smirk. I meet her eyes and she snorts, which sets us both off laughing uncontrollably. 

"I haven't got any in this bag," I gasp, but this only makes us laugh harder, and it's a good few minutes before we're able to get our hysteria under control. Jess lends me a pink hair band and I hastily pull my hair back off my face as she scrolls through the tv channels looking for a film. I take advantage of the shift in atmosphere, and lean across to her, resting my head on her arm. I half expect her to pull away, but instead she rolls over so she's lying flat on her back, making a perfect space for me to rest my head on her stomach. I stifle a yawn as she gently strokes my hair, scratching my scalp gently and sending a shiver of contentment down my spine. 

It's so comfy lying here like this with her, and I close my eyes as her fingers trace delicate circles across my forehead and temples. I haven't slept properly in weeks, so I don't need to worry about nodding off here. I mean, that would just be fucking embarrassing.