I didn't sleep well that night but tossed and turned, trying to get comfy and trying desperately to switch my thoughts off, to no avail. I found myself staring at the ceiling at three o'clock in the morning, listing the reasons why it would be a bad idea to go into the lounge and get under the blanket on the sofa with Harry. There was only one place that would lead, and it was not something I should even be considering, no matter how badly I wanted to.

I got out of bed the following morning and peeped into the lounge to see Harry sprawled on his back on the sofa, his long, skinny legs hanging off the side, making him look ridiculously gangly. I went into the kitchen and made two cups of tea, and then carried them into the lounge and set them down on the coffee table.

"Harry," I whispered.

No answer.

"Harry," I whispered again, a bit louder.

No answer.

I cleared my throat.

"Harry!"

How could he still be asleep? How could he not hear me? He wasn't a particularly heavy sleeper. I nudged his shoulder gently but he didn't stir. I stared at him for a moment. Was he breathing? Oh my God.

"Harry!" I cried, feeling panic rise in me. I knelt down beside him and shook his shoulder violently, but he didn't respond. "Harry!" I screamed. "Oh my God."

I scrambled to my feet, about to run to the phone to call for help, when out of the corner of my eye I saw him move. I stopped dead and whirled around to look at him. He was motionless, but on his face I saw the faintest smirk.

I took a step closer to him and peered closely at him, and that's when I saw his nostrils flare, in a pathetic attempt to conceal his laughter.

"You fuckıng arsehole," I hissed, thumping his arm with my fist as he cracked up laughing. "I thought you were dead."

I stood glaring at him, my hands on my hips, while he curled into a ball and screamed with hysterical laughter for almost half a minute, and beat the cushion with his fist.

"Why would I be dead?!" he scoffed when he'd got his laughter under control.

"You tell me!" I snapped. "You were the one pretending! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"And I'm like, OW! Never thought it'd hurt so bad, getting over you-ou!" he sang, clutching his chest.

"Not funny, under the circumstances," I retorted, which wiped the smile off his face. For about three seconds, and then the smirk was back.

"Were you really that worried?" he teased.

"Yeah, more fool me," I grumbled, and I watched as he pulled himself up to a sitting position and reached for his cup of tea.

"You sounded like you were about to cry," he said, sneaking a glance at me out of the corner of his eye.

"I was!" I scolded. "I told you, I thought you were dead or something."

"And that would make you cry?" he asked.

I gave him a disbelieving look. "Of course it would! I-"

I love you, I'd been about to say. I cleared my throat again.

"You're my friend," I finished, lamely.

"Am I?" he asked, smiling up at me. "Well that's progress, at least."

I didn't have anything to say to this, so I sat down on the sofa next to him and sipped my tea, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

"Sorry for falling asleep last night," he said. "I was pretty tired."

"It's fine," I said, wrapping my hands around my mug. "I didn't have the heart to wake you. You went out like a light. I wasn't sure if you had anywhere to be, or anything."

"Nah, not until later," he said. "I have to pick up my suit for this party tonight."

"What are you wearing?" I asked.

"A suit," he grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be awkward."

He chuckled and looked down at his tea, and I could tell he was trying to conceal his grin. This in turn made me grin.

"It's like a brown geometric print," he explained. "It's a bit different."

I nodded. "Knowing you, you'll pull it off."

He smirked again and looked away.

"What's funny now?" I demanded.

"Nothing," he said, his lips twitching. "I was just thinking highly inappropriate comments in my head."

"Ugh, I don't want to know," I said and he grinned behind his mug and stared at the wall.

He was being irresistibly cute, and it was driving me mad.

"Are any of the other boys going?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to normality.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Although they're all in London. Liam's spending as much time with Sophia as he can. Things haven't been going too well."

"What do you mean?" I asked, and he looked at me hesitantly.

"I think the tour has taken its toll on them," he said. "They've drifted apart a bit. Liam's keen to get things back on track, especially while we're home for the next few weeks."

"That's a shame," I said. "I mean, I never met Sophia, but they're always portrayed as a really cute couple."

"Yeah, Liam's under the thumb though," Harry said. "He's completely whipped."

"Somehow I don't think that's entirely Sophia's doing," I remarked, and Harry raised an eyebrow at me. "He'd be too clingy for me," I explained. "I don't do clingy."

"How could I forget?" Harry muttered.

"Oh, hush," I teased. "You knew it from the start."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd be quite so casual," he grumbled, but the corners of his mouth were turning up as he said it.

We locked eyes for a moment, both smiling, and my stomach flipped.

"We'll be announcing the name of the next album tomorrow," he said, suddenly.

"Oh really?" I asked, with interest. "What's it called?"

"Made in the A.M.," he replied.

"Sounds good," I nodded. "Is that the name of one of the tracks or something?"

"Sort of - it's the lyrics from a song," he said.

"Oh, like Take Me Home?" I asked.

"Yeah, although it's a little more obvious. The song is called A.M."

"Made in the A.M.," I mused. "What does that stand for - After Malik? Ha."

Harry said nothing.

"Still too soon?" I grinned. "Come on - it's been six months."

He shook his head, grinning. "Why was Zayn your least favourite, anyway?"

"He never said sorry for causing me to spill my drink on you," I joked, and he chuckled.

"If you pre-order the album you can download one of the tracks straight away," he continued. "It's called Infinity."

"That'll cause a storm on Twitter," I said.

"Speaking of Twitter," he said, mischievously, "when are you going to follow me again?"

"Never," I said.

"Never?" He looked taken aback.

"I've had my fingers burnt with that," I said, darkly. "I've learnt my lesson. I get too much attention. And anyway, I can't imagine I'd be allowed to do that without consulting Karen first."

Harry pulled a face. "She'd be all for it. Anything to dispel the rumours about... you know."

We were back to that again. Everything always came back to that.

"I should get in the shower," I said. "I have to get ready for work."

"I'll get a car to come and pick me up," he said, setting his mug on the coffee table and reaching for his phone. "We can drop you off on the way if you like?"

"It's OK, I'll get the tube," I said. "Thanks, though."

He seemed to want to argue the point, but closed his mouth and shrugged. "OK."

I stood up and scuttled into the bathroom and had a quick shower, and then pulled on some work clothes and walked into the kitchen where Harry was arranging some toast on a plate, and two fresh mugs of tea were sitting on the table.

"I made you some breakfast," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets shyly. "I hope you don't mind. It's not much. But it's just my way of saying thanks for letting me stay last night."

I opened my mouth to scoff, "I was hardly going to kick you out!", but then stopped myself, and smiled at him instead. "Thanks," I said gratefully. You didn't have to, but that was really sweet."

He smirked. "I'm a sweet guy."

"Modest too," I teased as I sat down at the table, and he grinned cheekily.

"Have I got time for a shower?" he asked. "It's fine if not. I can wait until I get home."

"No, you've got plenty of time," I said. "I don't have to leave for about twenty minutes."

I sat at the table and ate my toast while Harry went into the bathroom for a shower, and emerged ten minutes later in the same joggers and tshirt, his hair still in a mun.

"That was quick," I remarked.

"Yeah well I wanted to make the most of the time I have with you," he said. "I don't know when I might get to see you again. I've got a lot of shows coming up."

He looked at me expectantly, and my heart began to pound.

"Um... when - when are you free?" I asked.

"Wednesday and Sunday," he said, looking at me with an expression that can only be described as hopeful.

"I'm working Wednesday, but I'm not doing anything on Sunday," I said, without looking at him.

"Do you maybe want to hang out on Sunday then? You could come to my house? Or we could go for a walk if the weather's good?"

"Yeah, sounds good," I said shyly.

"It's a date then," he smiled, and then his face fell. "I don't mean, like, a date date. I mean it's a date for the diary. An arrangement. Unless you want it to be a date date?"

"An arrangement is fine," I said quickly, and he looked away again.

"OK," he said.

"OK," I echoed.

Why were we acting like a pair of awkward teenagers?

"So are you going to tell me which show you're coming to?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I've got tickets for Friday," I admitted.

"This Friday?" he demanded.

"Well, yeah, obviously. Unless you're playing any other Fridays at the O2 that I don't know about?" I said, pulling a face at him.

"Alright, sassy pants," he retorted, pulling a face back. "I was just checking. Are you coming, then?"

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Well, for the same reasons I already told you. I don't want the press getting wind of me being there, especially with things... the way they are," I finished, awkwardly.

"And - and how would that be?" he asked, overly casually, staring down at his fingernails.

"The same as last time you asked," I said, not unkindly.

"Jess," he began.

"Don't, Harry," I cut him off. "Casual and fun, remember? No heavy stuff."

"'kay," he muttered, moodily, and silence descended.

"I'm not saying we'll never talk about it," I said. "Just not now. And I don't know when, before you ask," I added, as he lifted his head and opened his mouth.

He put his head down again and nodded.

"Will you let me know, either way, whether you're coming on Friday?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, uncertainly. "But I don't want any special treatment. I just want to blend into the background, unnoticed."

"I just want you there," he said softly.

His phone rang to signal his car was outside, and he stood up from the kitchen table and picked up his bag.

"Thanks for a great night," he said.

"You slept through most of it," I teased, and he smiled sheepishly.

"OK, well, thanks for dinner and the best sleep I've had in a while," he corrected himself. "I'll see you at the concert on Friday? Where are you sitting, by the way?"

"Um, I can't remember," I fibbed, and he gave me a dubious look but didn't press the matter. I certainly wasn't about to tell him we were in one of the side blocks by the stage, where if he looked closely enough he would possibly see us.

"OK, well, thanks again. It's been great," he said.

"Yeah, it was nice," I agreed.

We got to the door of my flat and stopped. My heart was hammering.

"Bye then," he said.

"Bye," I replied, and opened the door.

He leaned towards me, his eyes closing, and at the last second I turned my head so his lips landed on my cheek instead. His eyes flew open in surprise and he pulled back quickly.

"Sorry," I said, nervously. "I just..."

"It's fine," he said, a little shortly. "Bye."

He walked past me and out of the door without looking at me.

"Harry," I said softly.

"I gotta go, Paul's waiting," he called, without looking back, and he jogged down the stairs and out of the front door, letting it shut noisily behind him.

I stared after him for a moment, and then pushed my feelings of longing away as I began to gather my stuff ready for work.

I'd wanted nothing more than to kiss him goodbye, but yet again I'd had to be strong and shelve these feelings for the sake of the end game. I had loved the last twelve hours or so with him. Being around him had made me happier than I'd been in months, but I couldn't push away the nagging feeling that I'd only been happy in his company in a platonic capacity, and anything else would just cause endless problems. Were we destined just to be friends, and nothing more? At that present moment, my heart said no, but my head said yes. I didn't know which was right.

I pulled my jacket on and slipped my phone into my bag, and then locked the door to my flat and began to walk down the stairs. I could hear my phone ringing from the depths of my bag, but I ignored it, and pulled open the front door of the building. I stepped out into the morning sunshine and began to make my way towards the road, but before I'd even taken two steps a camera was thrust in my face and I heard the familiar sounds of clicking. I couldn't stop myself from gasping in shock as I looked up to see two photographers standing on the pavement in front of me.

"Jess - how's Harry? Did he stay over last night?"

I put my head down and quickened my pace, but they followed me close behind, the cameras clicking furiously.

"Is Harry looking forward to the UK tour dates?"

"Are you two back on now?"

"Have you forgiven him for being unfaithful?"

"Where's he going now?"

I broke into a run as I scurried down the street in the direction of the tube station, and they backed off and let me get away. I turned the corner at the end of my road and slowed down once I knew I was out of their sight. With trembling hands I pulled my phone out of my bag and saw two missed calls and a message from Harry.

From: Harry: There are paps outside your flat, ring me xxx

I stopped in the middle of the street and called him.

"Jess?" he answered.

"Fucķing paps," I swore.

"I'm so sorry," he said, desperately. "I tried to warn you. They got me as soon as I stepped out of the door. They must have followed me from the airport last night."

"Why can't they leave us alone?" I ranted, breathing heavily. "They caught me completely off-guard. I wasn't ready for them."

"I'm so sorry," he said again. "Please - please don't let this affect how you feel - towards me."

"They're always going to be there," I rambled. "They're never going to back off."

"No," he sighed. "They're not. But that shouldn't come as a shock to you. You know the price you pay for being linked to me."

"It's not fair!" I raged.

"No, it's not," he agreed. "But that's the way it is. This is why we need to have that talk."

"No," I said firmly, starting to walk towards the tube station again. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry I was short with you when I left," he said in a rush. "I felt stupid that I'd tried to kiss you and you didn't let me. My pride was hurt. I'm sorry."

"I'm fed up of this being complicated," I said, sadly. "I don't want it to be. I want it to be simple. But it never can be."

"Please don't let this ruin last night," he begged.

"I have to go," I said, as I reached Belsize Park station. "I'll be late for work."

"Jess - "

"Harry, remember what I said about not putting pressure on me."

"I'm not," he said exasperatedly. "I'm just saying we had great time. Don't let this overshadow it."

"I hear you," I said with a sigh. "I'll speak to you in the week."

"OK," he said heavily. "Let me know if you get hassled again. In any way."

By the time I got to my desk I was on the verge of tears, but unlike in recent weeks when I had been sobbing miserably over Harry, these were angry tears; tears of frustration. I was furious that I'd been reminded so forcibly that any sort of relationship I forged with Harry would always be under media scrutiny. This was exactly the reason why it was a bad idea for me to attend Friday's concert. It would only fuel the speculation that apparently was already rife.

"So what does this mean?" Sarah asked me at lunch, as we sat down at a table in the staff room. "You're not coming to the show?"

"I don't know," I said. "I haven't listened to One Direction since June. I don't know if I'm in that place yet. I can't imagine going to one of their concerts and not screaming my head off with excitement, but at the same time I just can't imagine watching Harry prance around on stage, being all sexy and playing up to the crowd. Everything has changed."

"Do you see him differently?" she asked, ripping open her packet of crisps and laying them neatly, one by one, inside her sandwich.

"Yeah, I think I do," I replied. "I think I've finally stopped seeing him as Harry Styles from One Direction. I spent all night with him last night and although things felt a bit weird at times, I didn't have a Harry Styles moment. Maybe I've finally taken him off his pedestal."

"You had no choice, really," Sarah pointed out. "He fell off it spectacularly when he rode Black Beauty in New York."

"True," I sighed. "But it felt like a good thing. I felt like I was getting somewhere. I felt like..." I hesitated, not wanting to say my thoughts out loud.

"Like you were ready to take him back?" she asked.

"God, no," I said shaking my head. "I'm definitely not there yet. But I was starting to think maybe I might eventually want to work on it."

"I'm sensing a 'but'?"

"But then the paps arrived and reminded me of all the crap that used to be printed about him, and us, and it's made me doubt whether I want to go there again," I said in a small voice. "We had such a great time last night, but it was because there was no pressure to be anything other than friends. I don't know if we've been through too much to be able to withstand any more drama."

Sarah looked at me thoughtfully as she chewed her sandwich. "I think you've been through so much you'd be crazy to throw it all away now," she said. "He's home for the next few weeks, then he'll be away again for a month, home for Christmas and New Year, and then it's only a couple of months until their hiatus starts - it's planned for March isn't it?"

I didn't answer. We hadn't got any further than plans for Sunday, never mind the next six months. Everything was still so up in the air and instead of helping me find clarity, last night had only thrown up more questions.

~~~~

I avoided all forms of social media over the next couple of days, and refused to engage in any conversations about anything Harry-related, for fear of seeing or hearing something that would confuse me further.

Harry had texted me after their first show at the O2 Arena on Thursday to say they'd had technical difficulties during the show and had had to improvise with one of the songs from their new album, Infinity. As I hadn't pre-ordered the album I hadn't heard this track, and after withdrawing from Twitter I wasn't in the loop with anything like this anymore. I had texted him back