"Christ, woman, what have you got in here?" I grumble as I heave a large cardboard box into my arms. It's Saturday morning and we're on our third trip to my house with Jess's stuff. 

"That's all my accountancy stuff!" Jess shrieks, as though I am holding the crown jewels. 

"Is it fragile?" I wonder, trying to peer between flaps at the contents of the box. "Breakable? Valuable?"

"Valuable to me," she says sternly, and I grin over the top of the box at her, causing her to smile grudgingly back at me. "I'll take it if it's too heavy for you. I carried it to my car from my flat."

"No," I scoff. "I can manage." I heave it into the hallway and allow it to slide down my legs onto the floor, my back stretching painfully. Seriously, how the fuck did she pick this up herself? That's some strength.

She appears next to me and sets a holdall at my feet, followed by a suitcase of clothes. "That's the last of it," she says. "For now, anyway."

"Does this mean you've officially moved in?" 

"I guess so," she smiles coyly.

"In that case..." I skip into the kitchen and pull a bottle of Dom Perignon out of the fridge. She squeals delightedly behind me as I pop the cork and pour us both a glass. "Happy moving-in day, Jessie Braddy. Welcome home."

"Why thank you Mr Styles," she grins. "I can't quite believe this is happening to be honest."

We clink our glasses and take a ten minute breather to enjoy the champagne before Jess starts unpacking. There isn't an awful lot I can do to help while she's arranging her clothes in the space I created in the walk in wardrobe, or lining up her toiletries in the bathroom cupboard. 

"Let me know any pictures you want putting up," I tell her, poking my head around the bedroom door as she's zipping the now empty suitcase closed ready for the next trip. 

"Thanks, but there are only a couple and they're still at the flat," she replies. "I don't want to start taking over the place with all my stuff -"

"Jess, I want you to feel at home," I tell her. "And that includes putting your stamp on the place. Bring any pictures over and we can work out together where to put them. I mean it," I emphasise when she gives me an uncertain look. "You're not a lodger. I want you to share our home." 

She allows me to change the bed to one of her duvet cover sets, add a couple of photo frames to the bookshelf and position some of her scented candles in the lounge. We spend the evening with a takeaway, a film and the remnants of the Dom Perignon, and crack on with the moving in the following morning. By the end of Sunday we've brought all of her clothes, toiletries, work stuff and even the contents of her fridge to my house. 

Jess is up early for work on Monday morning, and while she is in the shower I head downstairs to make her some toast and a cup of tea. When she enters the kitchen, wearing a pair of tight trousers, a slim knitted jumper and her hair down around her shoulders, I can't help but drink in the sight of her, and want to pinch myself. She's fucking gorgeous, and it's in the most natural, fresh-faced, girl-next-door kind of way. She has no idea how beautiful she is.

"What are your plans for today?" she asks as she takes an apple and a banana from the fruit bowl and tucks them neatly into her bag.

"I'm in the mood to write," I reply. "I think I might spend the morning in the studio and play around with some lyrics.

"Sounds great," she beams.

"What time do you think you'll be home?"

She gives an awkward shrug. "Depends on what the traffic is like. Maybe around six?"

"I'll look forward to it," I grin.

I kiss her goodbye at the front door, and once the gate has closed behind her I return to the kitchen and finish my own cup of tea. I have a melody that's been buzzing around in my head for a couple of days that I want to mess around with.

Before I can act upon it, my phone pings with a text from Jeff. You awake yet? I have news.

I call him straight away. 

"You're up early," he remarks.

"You're up late," I counter, mentally calculating the time difference. It must be about quarter to midnight in LA.

"I've been working, and I've just seen an email come through... from Christopher Nolan."

My heart gives an excited leap. "The director?" I ask casually.

"The director who's shooting a movie later this year and is interested in seeing you audition," he replies, just as casually.

"Fuck," I breathe, a strange tingling sensation working its way through my body. "Are you serious? You'd better not be winding me up."

"Nah, I wouldn't do that, man." I can hear the genuine smile in his voice.

"I can't believe it," I mutter. "Shit, I'm nervous already. Do you have a date for the audition yet?" I'm expecting him to say February or March or something.

"The twenty-fifth," he answers.

I pause, waiting for him to elaborate. "Of..?" I prompt eventually.

"Of this month," he supplies, as though this should have been obvious. "I told him you were over here and he wants to strike while the iron's hot."

My heart gives another lurch. "He's not hanging around, is he? Blimey."

"He's already cast Kenneth Brannagh," Jeff adds. "And Mark Rylance. Oh, and Tom Hardy."

I suddenly feel ridiculously out of my depth. "That's... that's some serious casting," I remark, aware of how lame I sound. "I mean... they're big names."

"Chris is adamant he wants an all British cast," Jeff replies. "Don't overthink it. Don't be intimidated by the names. Just do your thing and you'll be great. As soon as I have it I'll send over the audition prep. But I have a feeling a lot of this will be improvised, to see how you cope."

"Even better," I remark dryly, and he laughs. 

"You've totally got this, H. Anyway, I gotta go."

"See ya," I mutter, and he hangs up.

I pause for a moment, staring around the silent kitchen, trying hard not to get to excited. I mentioned to Irving and Jeff that I wanted to consider acting, and they said they would put the wheels in motion but I didn't think this would happen quite so soon. I consider ringing Jess to tell her the good news but stop myself. If I ring her now I'll then want to ring Mum, and Gemma, and my song writing inspiration might fade. I know only too well the consequences of not acting on an urge to write. I do however send a quick text to Cindy and Rande Gerber, some friends of mine who own a café in LA, and let them know I'll be over in a couple of weeks and hopefully we can meet up.

I then switch my phone on Do Not Disturb, head into the studio and pick up a guitar. I strum a few chords, humming the melody and thinking about Jess. It almost doesn't feel real that she's moved in. If someone had told me six months ago, when I was at my very lowest point after the New York fiasco, that we would be living together... well, I don't think I would have believed them. I am so lucky she took me back, and I will never forget that. I think back to those bleak weeks of barely functioning due to heartbreak, stress and lack of sleep. Even now when I recall that time, I get a terrible feeling of nausea and anxiety in the pit of my stomach. The memory of that desperation will never leave me: wanting more than anything for the situation to be different, to turn back time, to go back and change things. Wanting to hear a different story to the one I was constantly living. 

"Tell me something I don't already know," I sing softly to the tune in my head, and immediately hit the record button in the studio to capture this. "Tell me something, tell me something new." I strum a few basic chords and let my mind wander back six months to the pit of despair. If nothing else, heartbreak is a great inspiration for songwriting. I don't have much to go on but I keep singing the same couple of lines over and over until new ideas start to form: "Tell me something, just before you go... I've been praying for a miracle... no wait - I've been praying, never did before, now I'm hoping for a miracle... nope... I've been praying ever since New York... Brooklyn saw me, all over the news... must this hurt you just before I call..."

It's rough, and some of the lyrics are far from perfect, but the tone is melancholy and lends itself to how I was feeling in the aftermath of New York. I decide to leave it for a bit and play around with some other random pieces that I've recorded and wanted to come back to at some point. I note as I'm singing that most of the one-liners relate to Jess and the time we spent apart. I delve further into my own mind to wonder whether I can only revisit them now because we are in a good, solid place, and whether I would have been able to use any of this stuff, or even bring myself to sing any of it, had we not got back together. A lot of it was too quirky for One Direction; too dark, too intense. So maybe it would always have waited until a time when I wanted to use it for me, or maybe it would have remained buried along with our relationship if we hadn't reconciled. It makes for interesting pondering. 

It's mid afternoon by the time I realise I haven't showered or even brushed my teeth yet, and I'm starving. I grab a couple of satsumas to keep me going as I'm completely in the zone, and by the time five o'clock rolls round I'm ravenous. I'm in the mood for something fried, and indulgent. A quick online search brings up a restaurant not far from here that serves fried chicken: my mouth waters at the thought. I wrap everything up in the studio, make myself a cup of tea and head upstairs to get in the shower. I come back to the first song, Ever Since New York (as I keep referring to it in my head), and sing it in the shower as I wash my hair. 

"Choose your words now, where's the antidote for your venom, coursing through my veins..."

No, I don't like that.

"Choose your words cause there's no antidote -"

"Hi."

I yell out loud, startled by the voice in the bathroom next to the shower door, and open my eyes to see the outline of Jess through the steamed up glass. "You scared the shit out of me!" 

I switch off the water and squeeze out my hair as she laughs and hands me the towel hanging on the peg. "Sorry. I didn't mean to creep up on you."

"I've been writing in the studio all day," I explain. "I'm starving and I'm really in the mood for some fried chicken. Do you fancy going out for dinner? I don't feel like cooking."

"If you like," she nods, stepping aside as I walk out of the shower onto the mat. "Although I was promised gourmet meals every night if I moved in here. First day of normality and it's slipping already."

I fight to keep my face straight as she watches me for a reaction, her eyes twinkling.

"Let me get changed first," she says eventually. "Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?"

"Bird Restaurant have opened a new branch on Chalk Farm Road," I reply, thinking of the fried chicken and smirking at the pun. "Geddit? A new branch. Bird restaurant. Bird. Branch."

"I get it," she says dryly, and I let out a bark of a laugh, feeling suddenly hysterical. I edge past her and into the dressing room.

"It's unlikely there will be any paparazzi around," I add, "so what do you reckon? I could murder a waffle burger."

"A waffle burger sounds heavenly," she replies, and so I make the call to book us a table.

When we arrive the staff are almost falling over themselves to wait on us. The service is fantastic, yet discreet. I'm aware they recognise me but they don't make a song and dance about it and thankfully we don't get recognised by any other customers actually inside the restaurant. I'm excited to tell Jess my news about my audition, and wait for a break in the conversation before I dive in.

"So did you ask for any time off work to come to LA with me?" I ask as she's tucking into her fries.

"Actually yes," she beams. "I can get the first week of February off. I'll fly out on the twenty ninth of January after I finish, so I can spend your birthday with you."

"Are you serious?!" I was worried she wouldn't have been able to book the time off at such short notice. I'm so relieved. I grab her hand and plant a wet kiss on the back of it, along with maybe some grease from my sticky lips. She wipes it off in mock horror.

"You've just made me so happy," I admit. "I was considering cancelling if you couldn't come. And that was going to be tricky, considering Jeff rang me today and confirmed an audition with Christopher Nolan on the twenty fifth for a new war film."

I pause for effect, and she looks up at me, her eyes wide, speechless.

"Oh my God... Harry - that's brilliant news! Well done!"

Her voice is hushed and breathy in the crowded restaurant.

"Thanks," I smile. "I'm nervous as hell, though. I've never auditioned for this sort of thing before. It's completely out of my comfort zone."

"You'll be fantastic," she reassures me. "You ooze charisma."

"You have to say that," I chastise her. "You're my girlfriend."

She shakes her head firmly as she dips a fry in a pot of spicy sauce.

"No, as your girlfriend I am duty bound to tell you the truth, even if it isn't what you want to hear. But in this instance, you have nothing to worry about. And if you want anyone to read with you, to prep for your audition, just let me know."

To my surprise, my insides shrivel at the thought of acting in front of her. What if I'm genuinely shit? What if she can't control her laughter at my poor attempt at an audition? The thought of making a fool of myself in front of Jess is even worse than the thought of making a fool of myself in front of Chris Nolan and his casting team.

"I don't know if I could do it in front of you," I confess. "I'd be even more afraid of messing it up. You're the one person I want to impress above all. Even more than Christopher Nolan." She tilts her head to the side, a quizzical look on her face. "I know how ridiculous that sounds," I admit, "but I'd be far more upset if you thought I was shit."

Her face relaxes into an expression of understanding and she reaches across the table to take my hand. "You could never be shit. You're one of those people who are good at everything they attempt." She meets my eye, and I want to drown in her gaze. "You nail it every single time, Harry. And this will be no different."

I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. "I love your faith in me."

"I love you," she counters, and the fuzziness grows. I'm such a wimp aren't I? I decide to change the subject before I embarrass myself further, or make anyone sick.

"So I was thinking maybe we could have a small gathering at the weekend, to celebrate you moving in?" I suggest. "Nothing fancy - just a few pizzas, some wine, and a few friends?"

Her face breaks into a beaming smile. "That's a great idea! I told Sarah today that I was moving in with you. She was really excited for us."

Sarah.... Sarah.... ah - the one who bumped into us outisde Jess's office, the day after our second date, and greeted me with Oh my Styles.

"Ah, yes, she's the other fan isn't she?" I ponder out loud.

"The other fan," she repeats. "You make it sound like there are only two in the world."

I laugh out loud at this. "You know what I mean. But that's cool. Ask whomever you want. I was thinking Saturday?"

"Perfect," she agrees. "I'll ask some friends."

~~~~

On Wednesday I meet up with the photographer who has created the picture of me and Jess at our last show at the end of the tour. When he shows me the finished piece, I am speechless. I had sent him all the One Direction song lyrics that I had written about Jess and he has brought them into the picture and made them look as though they are part of our hair. It has been done with such subtlety, it is absolutely perfect. I thank him about fifty times, and once I have paid him I promise I will recommend him to everyone I know at every opportunity. It's times like this that I wish I could use social media to help get his name out there, but I know this would just be opening a can of worms, not to mention risking a breach of my privacy. The last thing I want is for that picture of me and Jess to be leaked. While I'm out, I head to a jeweller nearby and browse the window displays for something for Jess's birthday. I know she'll kill me for spending more money on her, especially so soon after buying her a car for Christmas, but I haven't bought her anything like this before and I want her to have something pretty, rather than practical.  A beautiful white gold bracelet with delicate diamonds catches my eye and I know immediately this is what I have been looking for. I head inside to buy it, and on my way back home I stop at a card shop and choose a soppy birthday card for her. I wrap her presents carefully and stow them in the bottom drawer of my bedside table ready for her birthday next week. 

To our gathering on Saturday I've invited James and Julia Corden, Grimmy, Lou Teasdale and her friend Pandora (also a stylist), and one of my school friends who is down in London for the weekend. Jess has invited the Wicked Witch of the West, of course, who apparently has a sister too (hopefully not the Wicked Witch of the East), her friend Sarah (Oh My Styles girl) and that little rat Gary from her office who tried to make a move on her while we were apart. Fucking Barry. 

I say none of this to Jess, obviously. I want her friends to feel welcome. I just hope Callie isn't going to make things difficult - even she can't be rude to my face in my own house, can she? I'm tempted to text her beforehand but the stubborn part of me decides not to, and instead I'm sort of looking forward to watching her walk in here, all brass neck after abusing me on text only a week ago. 

I needn't have worried. Whatever Callie's feelings are towards me, she is polite and well mannered the entire evening. In fact she's such a good actor I should ask her for audition tips, if I wasn't worried she'd be straight to the press with this news. We get a brief moment on our own when I take advantage of her good mood and ask her again if I can have Jess's stuff back, even to give it to her for her birthday, but once again Callie refuses. I don't want to make a scene, or draw attention to us, so I don't push the issue but quietly fume at her audacity to maintain control of this whole standing in my house, eating my food and drinking my drinks. 

Barry keeps his distance, and I notice he seems to have eyes only for Sarah. I didn't know they were a thing, and make a note to ask Jess about it later. Grimmy and Lou are hilarious together, keeping everyone in fits of laughter with their banter, and Pandora chats animatedly to Jess about her professional stylist experiences with nightmare celebrity diva strops. I can only hope no one has ever spoken about me in this way, although I don't think I have ever behaved like any of these clients she has mentioned under any circumstances. 

James and Julia leave around midnight as they have to get back for the babysitter but everyone else stays until just after three a.m.. Once they've gone, Jess and I head up to bed and cuddle up under the duvet, dissecting the evening and exchanging bits of gossip.

"What's the crack with Sarah and Gary?" I ask (thankfully didn't call him Barry). "They looked pretty cosy."

"I said the same!" she exclaims. "I asked them both - separately, of course - but they both denied anything is going on. Sarah definitely went a bit pink though. I think there's an attraction there."

"I thought so too," I yawn.

"I'm looking forward to a lazy lie in tomorrow morning," she sighs, and I murmur in agreement. It's the last thing I remember until about eleven thirty the next morning when I roll over in bed, my mouth uncomfortably dry.

"You want a brew?" Jess mumbles from next to me and I nod without opening my eyes, hoping she's looking at me. 

"And a bacon sandwich," I murmur hopefully as she climbs out of bed. She scoffs in response and I hear her pulling her dressing gown off the back of the bedroom door and the soft padding of her feet across the carpet as she heads downstairs. A few minutes later I swear I can smell bacon frying. I crack one eye open and lift my head to sniff the air, wondering whether I'm imagining things. But no, I can definitely smell it now, getting stronger. Jess is gone about fifteen minutes and eventually I hear her returning up the stairs slowly. I sit up as she comes in the bedroom holding a tray with a plate of bacon butties and two cups of tea.

"Ah, you're the best girlfriend in the world," I groan as she perches on the edge of the bed, hands me my cup of tea and then slides her legs under the covers. 

"I know," she replies nonchalantly. "Come on, put the telly on and we can watch Sunday Brunch or something."

"This is my kind of Sunday," I sigh, stretching my arms behind my head once my bacon butty is finished. My phone bleeps with a text and I pick it up to see a text from a friend of Pandora's.

Pandora left her phone at your house last night. She's on her way to get it, she'll be about five minutes.

I explain to Jess, quickly pull my dressing gown on and jog downstairs to wait for her. No sooner have I reached the bottom step the intercom buzzes, and she's here. I let her in and she's full of apologies. 

"I'm so sorry, disturbing your morning like this," she says as she scans the lounge.

"It's afternoon now," I point out, "and it's fine, honestly. I feel like my arm's been cut off if I forget my phone."

"Aha!" she exclaims, crossing the room and retrieving her phone from beside the TV. "I'll be out of your hair now."

"Won't you stay for a brew?" I offer, but she glances at my dressing gown and grins. 

"Thanks, but I have to dash. You'll have to come for dinner one evening," she offers as I walk her to the door. "Both of you."

"That would be lovely."

"See you soon. Thanks again, Harry."

I wave her off, and then take the stairs two at a time back to the bedroom where I plan on placing my cold feet against Jess's warm legs.

But before I can orchestrate this, my phone beeps again. It's Pandora. Pap outside, saw me leave. Lovely party last night, really pleased for you and Jess, she's fab :)

"For fuck's sake," I mutter. Jess looks up. "There's a pap outside my house again," I explain. "They're not allowed to hang around out there."

"How do you know he's there?" 

"Pandora's just messaged me." I toss the phone to her to read the message and slide off the bed.

"Where are you going?" she calls as I pad along the hallway to the stairs.

"To tell him to fuck off."

I stomp impatiently to the intercom and I can see him standing on tiptoe trying to see over the wall, which is far too high and is making him look ridiculous. I press the button on the mircophone and say loudly and clearly, "If you don't leave immediately I'll call your boss and have you fired." 

He jumps like he's heard a gunshot and scurries off up the road at the speed of light. I watch him on the camera until he is out of sight and then take the stairs two at a time back to the bedroom.

"What did you do?" Jess asks as I flop into bed again.

"Shouted through the intercom that I would have him fired if he didn't leave immediately. They know the rules. They're not allowed to wait for me here."

She chuckles appreciatively and snuggles up to me again.

"Do you want to move any more of your stuff in here today?" as I ask as she tickles my scalp with her fingertips.

"I think I'm pretty much done for the time being. I'll move more when you're away. I wasn't going to stay here on my own without you."

I look up at her in surprise. "Why not?"

"I dunno, it would feel weird being here alone so soon after moving in," she replies a little awkwardly. "It'll take me some time to get used to calling this place home. It's very much your house."

I was afraid of this. 

"Then let's make it ours," I suggest. "I want you to feel at home here. Bring all your stuff with you - we'll rearrange everything so it reflects both our tastes. We can even redecorate if you want."

"That dark green wall is pretty oppressive," she remarks, and I pull a face at her to make her laugh.

"Seriously though," I insist. "We can decorate it how we both want it. Let's brainstorm when I'm back home."

"OK," she acquiesces.

"You will be waiting for me when I come home, won't you?" I ask, worried that I might return to an empty house once more. "Here, I mean."

"Of course," she smiles.

"Good," I nod. "That will make these four weeks away from you somewhat bearable."

"You're not having your birthday present before you go, though," she says sternly. "You can wait until I come over to LA."

"What have you got me?" I ask casually, but she isn't giving anything away.

"Wait and see."

"Don't you want to know what I've got for you?" I wheedle, dying for her to ask so I can refuse to tell her.

"Of course, but I can wait two days," she grins. "I'm not five years old."

I leer at her and poke her in the side, hitting a ticklish spot and causing her to scream with laughter.

"Apologise for being mean," I command while she tries to wriggle away, panting.

"Never!" 

I shift my entire weight on top of her and tickle her non stop for about ten seconds while she screams. I pause, and her laughter slows as she looks at me, waiting for my next move.

"Do you want me to stop?" 

"Yes!" she squeals.

"Then tell me I am the best boyfriend in the whole world."

"You are the worst boyfriend in the whole world," she says seriously, so I tickle her again until she begs for mercy.

"Stop, stop, stop!" she pleads, and I relent, instead planting a kiss n her neck which only results in a gentle tingle in my underwear.

"I think I like it when you're completely under my control," I admit, my lips brushing her skin.

I nudge my hips towards her, letting her know where my thoughts have now strayed. 

"I love you," she whispers as my fingers slip beneath them hem of her camisole to stroke her stomach. 

"I love you too, baby," I whisper back. "Even with five thousand, three hundred and seventy eight miles between us," (yes, I worked it out on Google Maps from our home in London to my house in LA) "you'll always be right here." I reach for her hand and place it gently on my chest, over my heart. "This belongs to you. Forever. For always."

I know it's a cheesy comment to make, but in that moment it wasn't cheesy. It was genuine, heartfelt and sincere.

"For always," she echoes, kissing me softly and opening her legs to wrap them around me. 

Her breasts are soft in my hands, her breath is gentle on my neck. And she is so deliciously warm as I slip inside her sometime later, when she is begging to feel me and I am desperate to complete her.