(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 40 - Don't Let The Pictures Leave Your Phone)

A minute later, my phone lights up with a call from Jess. I stare at it, letting it ring for a good twenty seconds, before answering it just as it is about to divert to voicemail.

"Hi," I mutter.

"I'm so sorry," she says, without even a hello. "I didn't mean to be thoughtless. Are you really pissed off?"

I was all ready to yell at her, but her apology has thrown me off guard.

"I don't know how I feel," I mumble, staring out of the window into the passing traffic. "I feel too much to put into words."

"Try," she says gently.

"OK," I snap, suddenly furious. "I'm pissed off you weren't there. I'm pissed off you didn't bother to let me know you weren't coming. I feel like a dickhead for thinking that you would, and for looking out for you the whole time, only to discover you didn't. It felt like a massive kick in the teeth. And I feel like a dickhead for wanting you there when you obviously didn't want to be there. I feel stupid and embarrassed and let down. Will that do for starters?"

There is a pause of a couple of seconds. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling better for having got this off my chest.

"Harry, I'm really sorry," she says, fervently. "I honestly had no idea it was this important to you. I should have let you know. I literally only decided I wasn't coming after I finished work, but I should have told you then. I'm so sorry."

"What changed your mind?" 

"I was worried the media would be onto me, so I went online to survey the situation and read the articles from this week, and I saw we were all over the Daily Mail again. It scared me off if I'm honest; I didn't want the attention, not while we're still trying to muddle through all this mess. I'm sorry."

Paps, again. Will they be the downfall of every relationship in my life? This thought unnerves me.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" I ask, moodily. I mean, she could have been upfront with me about it, instead of letting me see her friends sitting in the crowd without her.

"I didn't think you'd realise I wasn't there," she admits, in a small voice. "I chickened out of the conversation with you because I knew you'd try and convince me to come, and I couldn't face the potential row. I'm trying so hard to keep things fun and casual between us. You always want to talk about us, and I can't, not yet."

I resist the urge to growl in frustration.

"Why? What's the big deal?"

"I'm not getting into this right now," she says, and her words are like a red rag to a bull.

"See there you go again, Jess!" I shout, not caring how petulant I sound. "You refuse to talk about it, yet it's the elephant in the room! I don't see how we can move forward when you stay so closed up all the time!" 

She doesn't even attempt to argue, so I barrel on:

"You won't tell me what you're thinking and feeling, and that's not fair! I'm being completely up front with you about everything - about where I'm going, what I'm doing, how I'm feeling! But you're giving me nothing back!"

As the words leave my lips a fear suddenly strikes me that maybe she is putting off breaking up with me for good, and I feel a strange emptiness in my stomach as I wish I could take my harsh words back, in case she decides she has had enough hassle from me and wants a clean break from all of this shit.

"Harry," she says calmly, and my stomach knots tighter, "I feel like we're going in circles with this. I've asked you to give me space, and I've told you not to wait for me. The best I can give you at the moment is friendship. Please stop pushing me for more."

I don't know what this means.

"I just think you must know how you feel," I insist. "I don't understand why you won't be open with me."

"Harry," she begins again, a little curtly, "when did you find out about Nadine's nasty little trick?"

OK, that took an unexpected turn.

"What? I dunno, a couple of weeks after it happened?"

"So, say, end of June?" she asks.

"I dunno, probably," I mutter distractedly. "Why?"

"So you've had three months to get your head around it and get to the stage you're at now," she reasons. "I've had just over four weeks. You're further along in your head with it than I am. And just remember it took you two months of stewing over it before you came and told me the truth, because in your words, it took me a long time to come to terms with what happened that night. I was scared of messing with you even more than I already had."

Did she just mock my accent, and my slow speech?

"I don't sound like that," I pout, frowning at her attempt at a Holmes Chapel accent.

"You do, actually, but that's beside the point," she argues, and I can hear a grin in her voice that makes my mouth turn up at the corners despite my annoyance. "You've had longer to deal with this than I have. Please just remember that."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," I admit, looking down at my nails and feeling abashed.

"It's fine," she says, casually. "I don't want to argue about it any longer. But I need you to know I really am sorry I let you down today. I didn't do it intentionally to hurt you, and I'm so sorry that I did. I don't think either of us deserves any more hurt than we've already dealt with, do you?"

Amen to that.

"It's OK, I agree with that," I acknowledge, trying not to sigh audibly, my mind racing for a way to change the conversation into something more positive. "So, um, what do you want to do about Sunday? I understand if you don't want to see me."

"We're friends, Harry. Of course I want to see you. As long as we're both on the same page with it, and we keep it platonic, then I'm cool with it."

We are so not on the same page, but what choice do I have? She's made it clear that if I push her too hard, I risk losing her for good. For now, at least, I have to play by her rules. It just means my hand is getting all the action for the foreseeable future.

"Friends," I muse. "OK. I can do friends."

"I'm not taking any of this lightly," she adds, softly. "Please believe that. I'm going about this in the best way I can. And I'm sorry, again, for tonight."

If Jess wants friends, then that's exactly what she'll get.

"It's OK," I reply, as her words finally sink in and I realise that as soon as I give her what she thinks she wants, she'll change her mind again. Let's see how she likes being friendzoned. "I'll see you Sunday, then."

I'm about to become the most irresistible friend she ever had. 

I hope.

~~~~~

By the following day I have gone from feeling excited about my plan to be the friend she thinks she wants, to stressed and fed up because I know I can't keep up a façade in front of her for more than five minutes - she knows me too well. How am I going to pull this off? Manipulation has never been my style, and this feels uncomfortably like game-playing. I think back to Mum's comments about letting Jess wonder about me for a change, and concede that even though I am hoping that being friends will make Jess fall back in love with me again, I am still technically doing as she has asked. She doesn't have to know how desperately I miss her, unless I tell her. And I don't plan on telling her. Not for a while, at least. Fun and casual - no heavy stuff. 

My other plan of retrieving Jess's One Direction memorabilia has already hit a stumbling block: I don't have Callie's number, and I can't ask Jess for it because she will want to know why I want it. I rack my brains for a way to get in touch with her, and in the end resort to texting Grimmy, as I recall the night they were all in a bar together: the night Jess drunk dialled me and told me to stop calling her after the Taylor Swift misunderstanding; the night I thought she had ended up in bed with some bartender called Adam. Grimmy is my only hope.

I explain the situation briefly over text, and he responds immediately with, Leave it with me.

Two hours later, he comes up trumps. Here's Callie's number. You now owe me two blowies. I can collect payment whenever you're free?

I laugh out loud and send him a heartfelt thanks in return, before taking half an hour to compose a text to Callie:

Hi Callie, it's Harry here. Hope you're good. I'm planning a surprise for Jess, and I'm hoping you might be able to help me out with it. Would you be able to spare me half an hour anytime soon so I can explain please? 

I have barely set my phone down backstage before soundcheck at the O2 in London when her reply comes through.

Ha! You've got a nerve. Hell would freeze over before I would have anything to do with you. Fuck off and find someone else to do your bidding.

Well, I wasn't expecting to be invited round for dinner, but I can't help thinking that was a little harsh. I don't have time to dwell on it however, as we are called to the stage to test the sound ready for tonight's show, and we are kept busy with meet and greets and pre-concert preparations so I am unable to find time to think up an appropriate response.

---

I accidentally sleep in on Sunday morning, waking up only forty five minutes before Jess is due to arrive. I spend half an hour flapping around the house getting ready and making sure I look my best, and by the time she is due I am feeling giddy and mischievous at the thought of hanging out with her "as friends." I hear the front gates opening, right on time, and her car enters the driveway and stops on the parking deck. A minute later the doorbell rings. I check my reflection in the hall mirror one last time, making sure I don't have anything stuck in my teeth, and open the door just enough to stand in the gap.

"Hey," I grin.

"Hi," she returns, and looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to allow her entry but I remain where I am, trying not to smirk.

"Can I help you?" I ask, and she rolls her eyes at me.

"You're not funny."

I can see the corners of her mouth twitching. This encourages me.

"Are you selling something?" I enquire, disdainfully. "I specifically put a note on the gate about door-to-door salesmen."

"What did it say?" she retorts. "'Please only knock if you have half an hour spare to listen to terrible jokes'?"

"My jokes aren't terrible!" I protest, and she takes advantage of my distraction to push past me into the hallway. "Hey! That's forced entry!"

"So sue me," she challenges, with a cocky look over her shoulder. "Or call the police."

"Sassy little thing today, aren't you?" I remark, and I walk past her, leading her through to the kitchen.

"You need putting in your place," she shrugs. "How was the show last night?"

"Good," I tell her. "I'm glad to be off today, though. I almost slept in - I slept right through my alarm."

She leans close to me, peering at my face, and the gesture gives me butterflies in my stomach. I'm officially a loser.

"You do look tired," she says, with a look of concern that makes me want to take her in my arms and kiss her. I want her to care about me like this - I want her to love me. 

NO - fuck - friends! We're being just friends. How is it this difficult already?

"I am tired," I nod, as she perches gracefully on her usual stool at the breakfast bar. "Not just from last night. I'm tired in general. Now we know the break is on the horizon, it's all we can think about. We're all ready to drop."

"I hope you're looking after yourself properly," she says, her brow still creased.

"You sound like my mum," I tease, and she smiles self-consciously.

"Sorry. I'm just concerned."

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself grinning at her words, and after a quick discussion we decide to go for a walk on the heath for some much needed fresh air. I slip on a pair of sunglasses, which enables me to stare at her undetected at every opportunity, and we saunter along in the sunshine, chatting about family, friends and the upcoming last shows of the tour. We have both relaxed, and our conversation flows naturally and easily, and it's fucking awesome. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe taking things slowly is a good way to repair our fragile relationship. Don't get me wrong, if she decided right here and now she wanted us to get back together I would drag her into the nearest bush and give her a good time she would never forget, but I know that isn't on the cards. And to be honest, I'm just really happy being in her company and having her undivided attention, even if I almost reach for her hand a couple of times by mistake. It's ok though - I manage to disguise it both times and resort to shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them under control.

Although neither of us have said as much, it is going to be a while before we can synchronise our diaries to see each other again, due to my busy tour schedule over the next couple of weeks and her Monday to Friday working hours. As we seem to be getting on so well, I take the plunge and invite her up to Mum's next weekend, where I will be staying for the Manchester shows, and even offer her tickets to one or both of the concerts.

"I don't know about the shows," she says uncertainly, twisting her fingers together, and I realise this is the first time she has looked nervous or uncomfortable since she arrived. "I still don't want to be pictured there."

"Yeah, that's cool," I agree, quickly. "So come up Saturday, and then hang out with Gemma while I'm at the show? She'd love to see you, and she hasn't got a life."

She pushes my arm at my dig at Gemma.

"Don't be mean!"

"Well she doesn't!" I protest, laughing at the look on Jess's face. "She's a crazy cat lady!"

"Her snapchats tell a different story," she mutters.

"You're on snapchat?" I demand, almost stopping in my tracks.

"Yes," she says resignedly. "As are you."

How does she know I am? I have the tightest privacy settings, and make sure I only have my close friends on there. I'm not really an avid user, but it has its advantages sometimes.

"How do you know?" I ask her, and she raises an eyebrow at me questioningly.

"You love mysterious photos, and obscure captions. It's one of the few social media platforms that you don't have to share with the rest of the world. Of course you're on snapchat."

I can't help grinning in delight.

"I love how well you know me."

"That's just general observation," she says nonchalantly, but she's fooling no one. She knows me inside out, and she can't deny it.

"So are you going to give me your username?" 

"Or you could just add me from your contacts," she remarks, looking across the heath towards the pond, and I scroll through my contacts list on snapchat until I find her name. I can't believe I've never thought of this before. I add her, and then look up impatiently.

"Well - add me back, then."

She grins and pulls her phone out, and to my surprise she adds me back without argument.

"Wow," I remark, with a hint of sarcasm. "Are you sure you're ready for this commitment? I mean, it's a big step."

"Don't get cocky," she says warningly, and as she turns her attention momentarily to her phone I quickly snap a picture of her and send it to her. I wait, gleefully, anticipating the look she will give me when she sees it, and then look away over-casually when she delivers the expression with perfection.

I watch while she opens the picture, and quickly aim my phone at her again, recording her this time.

"Stop taking pictures of me."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are. Pack it in."

I can't keep my laughter in - I love it when she tells me off like this. I release the record button, quickly save the video and send it straight to her. The second she opens it and I hear the repeat of our conversation coming from her phone I crack up laughing again, and she strides over to me with purpose and tries to grab my phone. I hold it in the air, too high for her to reach, so she resorts to poking her finger in my belly button, making me scream in a rather un-manly way.

I turn away from her, still laughing. "Uncalled for," I chastise her, and she comes back with a belligerent, "Don't start what you can't finish!"

"Touché," I acknowledge, grinning at the fond memories of this motto we shared.

Eventually we come to the end of the path, the heath spreading out in front of us, with a choice of two routes we can take. Jess stands a few feet ahead of me, her hands on her hips, surveying the two paths. She looks hilarious, and I surreptitiously pull my phone out again, grinning in anticipation of her wrath that will undoubtedly come in a few short seconds.

"Which way?" she asks.

"You choose." I zoom in on her, and hold my finger on the record button again.

"Well, I think left takes us towards one of the ponds, but right takes us through the trees," she says thoughtfully, tapping her finger against her chin and staring into the distance. I zoom in further, holding in my laugh and capturing the side of her face.

"Harry?" 

She turns and catches sight of me, and immediately her expression drops as she takes a step towards me. "Oh my God - stop filming me!" 

I let go of the record button and quickly stow my phone in my back pocket, unable to stop grinning at her furious expression.

"What's so appealing about filming me doing boring stuff?" she demands.

"It winds you up," I say, simply, and she squints at me menacingly.

"You are so annoying."

"You love it," I scoff, reaching into my pocket again for my phone to check out the latest video. "Come on," I call her, beginning to walk again, and she relents and walks next to me while I glance at the screen. 

"Well, I think left takes us towards one of the ponds, but right takes us through the trees. Harry? Oh my God stop filming me!" 

She looks even funnier in the video than she did in the flesh, completely unaware she is on camera, and I am so engrossed in chuckling at it that she manages to take advantage of my lapse in concentration and grabs my phone out of my hand before racing away from me up the gravel path.

"Hey!" I shout, breaking into a run. "Come back!"

After a couple of seconds she glances behind her and laughs delightedly as she realises I am chasing her, and I can't help grinning back. She is so beautiful and funny - she has no idea.

"Bloody hell, you're fast!" I shout, realising it will take me a while to catch up with her as she veers to the left into a copse of trees and begins jumping over low branches as she ventures further into the undergrowth. We are both forced to slow down, panting, and eventually come out on the path again with the water in front of us and no way forward, only back.

I smirk at her, and she laughs again, surely realising she is cornered.

"Now what are you going to do?" I crow. "You're trapped."

I take a step towards her and she steps back, her heel now on the very edge of the pond. She looks me in the eye defiantly and holds her hand out over the water - the hand that is still holding my phone.

"You wouldn't dare," I smirk.

"Try me," she challenges.

I look into her eyes, and for the first time in a long time I provoke a reaction from her that isn't an eye-roll, or a tut, or a rebuff. It is a small intake of breath, like the kind she used to take when we were first together, back when she had her Harry Styles Moments, back when I could reduce her legs to jelly with a smoldering look or the so-called 'powers of the mun'. I maintain eye contact and crank up the intensity of my gaze, and my heart swells as I am rewarded by another hesitation, and a nervous swallow. 

I've still got it, and this is the best fucking news I've had in months.

I keep it up for another half-second; long enough for her to remember this moment later when she gets chance to mull over our day together, before lunging forward and grabbing her arm, attempting to reclaim my phone. She wriggles in my grip, and lets out a couple of squeals while I try to wrestle it from her hand. Eventually I win, and hold her against me with one arm as I quickly shove my phone into my back pocket with my free hand. Her body is pressed up against me as she squirms, and her movement sends a spark of desire straight to my dick.

"Oh baby yeah," I breathe in her ear, forgetting for a moment that we are just friends and this is crossing the line.

I freeze as I realise what I have just said, and she takes the opportunity to push me away with a grunt of pretend disgust, but not before I catch her grinning as she turns her face away.

I laugh helplessly, high on life and drunk on her presence.

"Pig," she hisses at me, but I only laugh harder because I know she isn't really cross, and I'm just so fucking happy.

We walk in silence up the path for a minute, both breathing heavily from our race and our little wrestling match. 

It's almost lunchtime, and I know there is a café not far from here that serves hot food.

"Are you hungry?" I ask.

"Yeah, a bit," she says thoughtfully, once she has looked at her watch. I pounce on this immediately.

"Why did you need to look at your watch to decide if you're hungry?" 

"Oh my God, what is with you today?" she says in exasperation, deliberately bumping her shoulder against my arm, forcing me to stumble. "It's like you've made it your mission to pick on me!"

"You're just an easy target," I grin, reaching for her hand again without thinking and catching myself just in time, shoving both mine into my pockets.

"Obviously," she mutters.

"We should have brought a picnic," I muse, imagining sitting next to her on a red checked blanket with a wicker hamper full of mini sandwiches, strawberries, cakes and pastries. (I own neither a red checked blanket nor a wicker hamper, so I can only conclude I have seen this on TV or something.)

"Yeah, that would have been good," she says wistfully, as the wind lifts the ends of her hair and blows them into her eyes. "Next time, maybe."

Next time.

There's going to be a next time.

Life is fucking great.