A/N: SHIT it totally slipped my mind that today is Friday. Better late than never, right? Hopefully this longer(ish) chapter will make up for it. Enjoy.





"Every night I miss you, I can just look up, and know the stars are holding you" - FM Static

• • • • •

Harry and I explore the place some more, journeying up countless sets of stairs to reach the lawn in the back of the stadium. It grows darker the more we venture away from the lights of the stage and we have to use the glow of our phones to navigate through the pitch black.

"Wait a minute," I say, as the realization of something hits me. "How did you know where to wait for me tonight after class? I've never even told you the name of my school."

He shoots me a sideways grin. "You don't have to tell me something for me to know."

"Oh, really?" I say. "So what other assumptions have you made about me?"

He answers without a second of hesitation. "That you don't break rules often and you're sarcastic when you're uncomfortable."

I almost protest to both those statements, but after a some thought, it occurs to me that he's not too far from the truth. Also, he wouldn't have paid attention to me because at the same moment, he abruptly drops to the ground. A smile spreads across his face as he lays on his back, hands folded behind his head.

"Harry, what are you doing?" I giggle, staring at him in bewilderment.

"Lay down with me and see," he answers.

I settle on the grass beside him. It's cold and prickles my skin, but I see right away what he's doing. With the brim of the arena obstructing light pollution from the city, the stars look remarkable. There's so many twinkling points of light, hardly any black can be seen. The best part is how close they appear. I feel like I can reach up and touch them, let their burning hot starlight singe my fingertips. It's almost as incredible as the sky in Adamsville.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" he says dreamily.

I agree with him. "How many stars can you count now?"

He breathes a mild, airy laugh. "Let me get back to you on that."

There's something oddly enchanting about being in a deserted stadium late at night. Maybe it's the stillness and silence of everything, the fact that I can't even hear the bustling from the city or cars driving by. It's as if like we're laying on our own distant island, isolated from the world.

"Do you wanna know a secret?" I say, surprised by my own suddenness.

He turns and looks at me with flaming intrigue in his eyes. "Yes."

"My name isn't Jules," I begin. "Well, not my real name."

"It isn't?" he asks with a hint of distress. "But I like Jules. It's unique and pretty and it reminds me of jewels."

"You can still call me Jules, but my real name, the name I was born with, is..."

I can almost feel the air around him freeze as he watches me, closely and intently. The more I delay it, the more intense his stare grows.

"Is...?" he says pleadingly. "Is it something embarrassing like Gertrude? I mean, I won't blame you if you don't want to tell me that it's Gertrude. And if it is... I am so sorry."

"It's not Gertrude," I laugh. " It's... it's Andromeda. Andromeda Anne Finley."

"My mum's name is Anne."

"Really? What a coincidence."

"She's a lovely woman. That's what the A tattoo stands for," he says, tracing the letter on his left shoulder.

"Darn," I say with fake disappointment, "I thought it stood for Andromeda."

And he mumbles something that sounds an awful like, "That might be another tattoo" under his breath.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing," he quickly answers. "I said, that's a brilliant name."

I wouldn't use the word "brilliant" to describe my name (I'd use something more along the lines of "lengthy" and "weird"), but all of that changes about a half a second later.

"Andromeda," he slowly says, caressing every syllable. "Like the galaxy, right?"

"Right, the Andromeda Galaxy," I reply, impressed at his quick recognition. "My brother was The Magellanic Galaxy, or Gellan for short."

"Your parents really liked stars, didn't they?"

"They're both astronomers. I grew up staring at the sky."

"How come you didn't follow their path?"

"I'm not really sure," I admit. "I've always been inspired by stars and planets, but I turned it into art. I didn't like science---too many numbers."

"I hear you on that one. I used to like maths when I was younger but now I'm dreadful at it. So how did you go from Andromeda to Jules?"
"I honestly don't know. But everyone's called me Jules for as long as I can remember and I never bothered to ask why."
"I'm just Harry, Harry Edward Styles," he states. "Boring name, always been that way."

"It's not boring. I like Harry."

"Do you, now?" he says, the sides of his mouth turned up so broad and bright that it seems like the crescent moon itself fell from the sky and landed on his face.

"Nah, I like Harold better. Can I call you that? Harold?"

"I'd prefer not, but if you really want to, you can."

"Why don't you like Harold?"

"It makes me sound like a 65-year-old man," he says, and I laugh, "who plays croquet and drinks scotch from a glass with his initials engraved in it. I'm rubbish at croquet and scotch makes my eyes burn."

I laugh even harder, practically rolling on the cold, grassy surface. When I regain my breath, I tell him, "You know, someday, you will be a 65-year-old man."

"Right, but even then, I'd go by Harry."

"Hmm, okay. Harry. Yeah, I like Harry."

"And I like Andromeda."

My hand brushes against his. I sense his brief hesitation before he links our fingers together, loosely holding onto the ends of my pinky and ring finger. An airplane flies overhead, slicing through the star-sprinkled sky. I wonder how we look to people up there, what they would think of two specks in the middle of a vast oval. I doubt they can even see us, that they're even awake.

"So since I told you a secret, you tell me one of yours," I say.

"Oh, was that the deal?"

I turn to my side. The moon casts just enough light for me to see the dimple carved onto his smiling face. "It's only fair."

"I didn't make you tell me your secret," he objects.

"Come on, Harry," I say, wearing my best pair of drooped, puppy dog eyes. "Only, like, five people in the world know my real name. Now it's six."

He rolls over facedown and groans into the ground. He keeps perfectly still for a while and I start to worry if he can even breathe. Finally his head pops up, his curls bouncing rapidly.

"How about this," he bargains, "if you beat me down this hill, I'll tell you a secret. It's a good, juicy secret too. And if not, you never bother me about it again."

I stare down the sloped meadow.

"Deal," I say, leaping to my feet. "But just so you know, I had the one of the fastest track times in high school."

Harry remains seated, smirking up at me from the ground. "Who said we're running?" He shifts around and lays horizontally, his arms flat on his sides.

"Don't tell me you wanna roll down this hill," I say, already anticipating the answer.

He sits back up, casually wiping grass from the frayed, cut knee of his jeans. "Guess you'll never know my secret, then."

I give him a grudging eyeroll but drop to the ground, making my body into a log. His face lights up with a smile and he repositions himself. Then we count down simultaneously.

"Three... Two... One!"

I push off and begin the course downhill. My body tumbles over and over, the crinkling of grass blades loud in my ears. We both laugh and shout as we quickly pick up speed down the slope. I realize too late that my path is gradually intercepting with Harry's and before I can stop, I collide into him, tossing and rolling with his body until we slow to a halt at the bottom of the hill. We laugh some more, with a couple groans of pain mixed in. I start to push myself from the ground when I realize he's right under me.

A piece of my hair falls and grazes his face and I tuck it under my ear. I watch his eyes. They flicker to my lips while he tries to bite back a grin, but it conquers his entire face anyway.

"What?" I ask, his contagious smile rubbing off on me.

"Nothing..." he begins, briefly shutting his eyes and shaking his head. "It's just---you are so pretty. I don't know I how I got here."

I can feel my cheeks flush as I nervously avert my eyes to the ground, dodging his stare. An idea runs through my head that I should get up before I'm tempted to kiss him but he beats me to it.

His fingers trail gently along my neck and slowly he pulls my face closer to his until our lips touch. I don't know if any two pairs of lips have ever aligned so flawlessly before. It's as if they're magnets, attracted to each other by force of nature. And I'm quite sure I've never felt softer lips than his. It's a single, tender kiss, the kind that feels so sweet by itself, but still leaves you craving another.

I'm still hovering above him, a mere couple of inches away. From this proximity, I can see subtle gray streaks in his green eyes, making them identical to exquisite jade stones. His pupils gradually enlarge as they flitter back and forth between my eyes, like he's trying to read the thoughts between them.

"I... I don't think we should do this," I say, so quiet that I'm not even sure I spoke at all.

It's as though I didn't want Harry to hear it, but I know he did. A look of hurt flashes across his gemstone eyes before he sits up and I feel a tightening in my chest.

"Why not?" he asks.

I don't respond, avoiding his stare.

"Why not, Jules?" he says again, sounding sightly frustrated. "Why can't you just give me a chance?"

"Because, there's a catch," I say in a hushed voice.

"Catch?" he repeats, matching my tone.

"Yes, a catch. There's always a catch with guys like you," I explain.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, the ridiculously handsome, ladies' man, womanizer kind of guys. You're in an international boy band, for crying out loud."

"Are you calling me a womanizer?"

"No! I mean, um, I don't think so, but I can never be too safe."

"What are you so afraid of?"

"I told you, the catch."

"What catch?"

"I don't know, Harry, I just know there is one."

"So what, you think I'm lying or using you or something?"

"Why not? All the others have."

He lowers his head, trying to meet my gaze. There's a newfound gentleness in his eyes and voice as he says, "What kind of idiots have you been with that made you this way?"

"All the worst kinds."

He doesn't respond.

"Thanks for not saying, 'I'm not like the other guys'," I say quietly.

He frowns, softly rubbing small circles in my hand and appearing to be in deep contemplation.

"I don't have to say it," he finally murmurs, "because I'll prove it."

Synesthesia. I learned about this strange phenomenon in high school psychology. It's when the stimulation of one sense causes stimulation of a completely different sense in the body. Just like when people hear a sound that causes them to see a color, the mere sight of Harry's lips sparks a tingling sensation in my own lips. It's like a reminder of the kiss we just shared, its taste still lingering in my mouth. I wonder if he's experiencing the same synesthesia when I notice his eyes transfix on my lips.

"What are you doing here?!" an unfamiliar voice booms from the stands.

Behind us, a rather round figure weaves through rows of seats, struggling to jog in our direction. Without a word, Harry and I jolt up and sprint toward the exit.

"Bloody kids! Get back here!" the security guard bellows, frantically waving his flashlight at us.

We have some difficulties ourselves as we discover how hard it is to sprint and laugh at the same time. After trotting down the stairs to reach the floor level, Harry and I use the dim orange lights to guide us to the gate we entered from. Once on the other side, we weakly slide to the ground and sit against the railings, laughing too hard to bother catching our breaths.

Notes