XII- THE STYLES FACTOR

                                    

                                          
Z,
A few days later...
There I was standing in the middle of The Studio looking at the decoration: the drapes were in place, showing my projections on a loop and the paintings hung as planned. 
To my left, the bar occupied the space between the first and the second pillar. To my right enough room for people to walk, mingle, talk, and go to the second floor.
The lights were perfect, the DJ with nice ambience music and the staff was all well-dressed. I went for a deep grey three-piece suit and a dark tie. I wanted to keep it classy. 
My eyes scanned the place, assessing one more time if everything was in place: As always, my team followed my lead. The Studio staff sported black trousers and white shirts, while the staff from The Irishman and the Dog, Louis's, and Niall's team, wore black jeans and a shirt with the logo on the back.
My eyes continued browsing around looking for Harry. Instinctively, I looked up and saw him on the second floor with his camera pointed right at me: Following my lead, he wore a dark suit, but the shirt was bright pink. He kept snapping pictures at me and then moved the camera from his face. Even at a distance, I saw the smirk on his lips, and I wanted to die.
I had been living on the edge for the past few days. My mind was clouded with Harry 24h/7 and I did my best to respect his wishes. I dreamt of him, I thought of him and smelled him even. It was torture. That kiss had been torture for me.
I forced myself to focus on the event to the point of obsession because the thought of Harry was driving me insane. If I focused on the work, I wouldn't think of him and wouldn't dream of him. I wouldn't long for him so hardly - even though, I still did.
For the past few days, I had been coming home late and would leave first thing in the morning for the gallery or The Studio. It wasn't necessary, mind you, things were going just fine, and everything was coming to place: the selected winners were attending, all major agencies too, our guests were confirmed; the catering, the drinks, the venue, everything was in place. I was hyper-focusing, so I wouldn't be driven into madness.
I tried not to speak to Harry either. I wanted to give him space and respect his wishes. I wanted to prove myself to him and that meant going at his rhythm, his pace.
I was willing to let go of all of that just for one kiss, one moment with him. To hold him and to be held by him. I wanted to go back to those moments when it was just us, no one else, in the sanctity of the place we called ours. The place where we would goof, laugh, talk, share and be so open to one another it was sinful, almost.
I was jumping out of my skin. I wanted to scream. I couldn't stop - stopping meant doing things out of emotion and I couldn't do that. Not to Harry. I needed to respect him.
Instead, I'd seek refuge in our photos and videos of one another. Our recorded history in our time of life. It would fuel me. I kept silent, and I know it was killing him too. I know he was waiting for me to say something. He wanted me to run after him.
****
In a moment of madness, in the middle of the night, while Liam slept, I got up from my bed.
I couldn't sleep.
I had been walking around all day, barking orders, and nitpicking things to the point where my staff was looking at me like crazy, but I couldn't stop. I was exhausted, and my body demanded rest, but I was up and... my rationality went out the window. 
I grabbed my phone, quietly walked out of the room, went downstairs, and sat on the sofa. I opened the folder, looking through our pictures and especially of him. I travelled back in time to so many of our moments it was torture for me, but I couldn't let it go.