Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

Harry’s POV

I missed Jeanne’s reaction to the kiss, but I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal out of it. Knowing how she is and how she spares my life again and again, it’s not surprising that she’s making things easier for me, acting as if the bookshop never took place. She has always been too kind to treat me the way I deserve. I shouldn’t even been thinking about this.

Of course it doesn’t help the fact that when we were leaving the studio after Carla’s audition an earthquake made everyone stop on their tracks. To most of us, used to live in California, it was a just minor shock, but to Jeanne it was the first one, and it caught her off guard. When I felt her arms around my torso and her body pressed against mine, I went weak. It was the closest we have been in more than four years. But before I could even hold her back she let go of me, grabbing the phone to check up on Lara. It was nothing. Maybe they didn’t feel it if they were in the garden, but I’m not going to tell a mother she’s overreacting. All I could think of was to spare her the taxi ride and take her home myself, as she’s fresh from San Fran with her little leather suitcase. Against all odds, she accepted my offer, so here we are, alone in a car once again. This time I’m putting on some music though. I move my hand to turn it on, and the first chords of ‘Fireproof’ come in. Bloody Jeff, always messing with my playlist just to bugger up.

"Who is this? It has, like… Fleetwood Mac’s vibes,” Jeanne says, and I don’t know whether to feel disappointed or not.

“You haven’t listened to our albums…” It's not that I’ve been actively sending her messages through songs, but she promised she would that night we danced at ‘La biguine.’ Jeanne frowns.

“I did,” she claims, dead serious. Did she? “OK.” Her eyes squint as my part starts playing and she realises it’s One Direction. “I don’t remember this particular song…” Yeah. I know you can lie.

“It’s all right, Jeanne–––I tell her in a mixture between joking and false offence. You didn't have to.”

“I…”

“You are forgiven,” I interrupt her, shooting her a cheeky smile. There’s no need to lie. I get it. Why would she listen to our music when she wasn’t even a fan to begin with?

“But…” Jeanne tries to protest, but she gives up as soon as I shake my head ‘no’ at her. She turns around and rests her head on the seat in a way I can’t see her face anymore.

‘Cause nobody knows you, baby, the way I do.

I’m murdering Jeff. This is the complete opposite of what I wanted. I just wanted to be able to chill around Jeanne, to put that fateful night at the bookshop definitely in the past. Is that too much to ask?

And nobody loves you, baby, the way I do.

It’s impossible though. These lyrics bring back too many memories of that time when I was young and naïve, that time when I thought my love for her was going to conquer the world. Silly me.

It’s been so long, it’s been so long, maybe we’re are fireproof.

Why am I still stuck with this feeling? Jeanne hasn’t said a word, and I can’t help but get nervous all over again. Great. Now awkwardness is back.

‘Cause nobody saves me, baby, the way you do.

What is she doing? If I keep fixing this rear-view mirror and turning over my shoulder to glimpse at her I’m going to get us killed. Why does she have to be so goddamn quiet?

“I’m sorry about earlier if it made you feel uncomfortable,” Jeanne suddenly sounds as if she were stepping out of a dream. Did I say that out loud? “I needed to know if things could work with Carla.” I glimpse down. I shouldn't have questioned her authority. It wasn't on purpose this time, but how could I give up on making her mad every now and then? She’s so sexy when she’s annoyed. “I really like her, and I think she’s the one.” The one… The word reverberates in every corner of my self just like this echoing guitar. So this is the reason why she was so radical during the audition, and made me relive our first kiss to get me into character. She wanted to be sure Carla and I looked right together…

“Did it work?” I try to respond with some enthusiasm, because this is important to her. It’s her book, her baby.

“What do you think?” I shrug. “You managed to bring something there. I’m quite happy–––she mumbles, turning away. I’m happy…” She’s happy because of my potential chemistry with another woman… Who would have known we would come to this that summer we spent making love as if there was no tomorrow? Guess what, Harold? There was no tomorrow. What Jeanne and I had ended with the turn of the season, as a fruit not harvested that finally falls from the tree. Maybe one day me and somebody else will be for real, and not just pretend. My knees go weak. If this is the only way I have in this life to make her happy, I’ll go with it. I’ll do everything in my hand to make this movie work so that she’s happy.

–.–.–

We spent the rest of our ride immersed in some sort of semi silence. Focusing on Jeanne alone would make things impossible for me, so I just kept my attention on the road, glimpsing at her every now and then in the hopes that she would comment on anything. We managed to navigate the situation, but I can’t help but miss that time when silences between us weren’t frightening, when she would read her book while I quietly played guitar lying next to her and there was nothing awkward about it. I’ve been longing for real intimacy ever since I lost her, and sometimes I fear I’ll never be able to get that with anybody else. As I slide my upper body in the car boot to grab her suitcase I catch a glimpse of a taxi parked right across the street.

“What are you doing here?” I hear Jeanne asking somebody else. Startled I can’t help but glimpse around. I recognise a certain annoyance on her voice. She wouldn't address Hilda like that. Is she talking to the guy who’s getting out of the taxi? Why does he carry a massive bouquet of flowers?

“I’m attending a conference in UCLA,” he replies as he approaches her. She is indeed talking to him. But who is he? A co-worker from Stanford? I’m not sure he acknowledges my presence. “I thought about making amends with you after the last time…” Amends? I step out from behind the car and rush by her side, leaving the suitcase at her feet, as I glance at him in defiance. He’s got blue eyes and something of Niall’s air, though he’s taller, just around my height. White shirt with rolled-up sleeves and cotton trousers. I rocked that outfit too back in UAN era. I don’t know what’s wrong, but happy Golden Boy’s face transfigures as he notices me. “You are Harry Styles…” He says.

“Do we know each other?” I squint at him. For some reason he doesn’t strike me as celebrity-savvy. So not to be a bitch, but I don’t think I recall him.

“It was true then…–––he mumbles cryptically, glancing at Jeanne–––that you…”

“Yes,” Jeanne asserts without thinking twice. Is it something going on here?

“But, but…” The guy looks baffled.

“Do you want to tell him something?” She quickly takes the lead. Sure they do know each other, but what do I have to do with it? And why this intimidation tactics? Like, I know this Jeanne. “Harry, meet Larry…” At the mention my mind blanks. “I think he might have something to tell you…”

“‘Larry?” I manage to articulate, and glance back and forth at them. She’s cool as ice, but the guy keeps staring into space, as if he were processing some unsettling thoughts. Well, I’m even more lost than he is. “What’s going on, Jeanne?” I know she’s not fond of interrogations, but this situation seems to involve me in some strange way, so I have the right to know.

“This individual and I used to see each other back in San Francisco–––Jeanne explains as she glares at him–––but he turned out to be a shitty person. And as if it weren’t enough now he decided to harass me.” Is this the guy Louis told me she was fucking before she moved to LA? And he is stalking her in her new home?

“What?” I react, practically shouting, and turn towards him. It’s the first time I hear her talking poorly of anyone, but I’m not surprised. “What’s your problem, man?” I walk towards him and he flinches, holding the bouquet in front of him. Why does she always date assholes? First Antoine, then Guillaume, and now this.

“Nothing, nothing…” He gesticulates with the flowers. Roses. Some white petals fall to the ground, and I throw an arm forward to hold them still. It’s not their fault. “You were right, Jeanne. I do have anger issues.” Anger issues? I glance at Jeanne, but she doesn’t even blink. What the fuck did he do to her? “And I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have asked for your address at your Department. I didn’t mean to bother you…” Well, dude, what did you expect? You showed up at her place uninvited… Wait. Why does it sound familiar? Some sort of embarrassment surges through my body, making me burn. “Here, I bought you flowers,” he adds, and drops them on her arms in a quite clumsy manner. Yeah. I’m not even the only one. At anything. Including the entitlement.

“Thank you.” She nods, her attitude spinning 180 degrees, and pulls the flowers into her chest. I stare at her in disbelief. She is indeed too kind, but not just with me.

“Are you done, mate?” I intervene, trying to put an end to this.

“Yes,” Larry says and I gag internally. How could she shag a guy named Larry? “I’ll leave you guys alone. I’m sorry, Jeanne… Please, don’t hate me.” You don’t even know her, mate. She wouldn’t hate a thing, not even a piece of work like you.

“Just leave,” she pleads, pointing towards the taxi. Glimpsing at her he turns around and begins to walk away. Jeanne watches him go for a second, then switches her attention to the roses. What happened here? Could life possibly be more ironic? I am as lost for words. Larry… When the silence becomes too unbearable she glances up at me, frowned brow.

“You slept with Larry,” I mutter.

“Please, don’t tell Louis…” So this is why she didn’t tell him the name of the guy, not to upset him.

“You slept… with Larry.” No one knows more than she does the toxicity Larry represents, but she went and slept with Larry anyway.

“I did.” Unapologetic. Typical Jeanne.

“You slept with… Larry.” It is as if I had slept with a Jane or any of the hundred variations of her name.

“Yes, but in the literal sense–––she claims, frustrated. I slept with a guy named Larry. End of it.” What am I doing? She doesn’t have to apologise to me, because she doesn’t live her life according to mine. In a second I feel like fainting, knees getting weak. She must notice my expression, as she leads a hand to my cheek, stepping closer. “Harry–––she murmurs as she looks right into my eye–––you are not half of ‘Larry’–––she says, and a chill runs down my spine. I know how deeply dehumanizing it must have been, but it’s the past now…” Jeanne’s words seem to arrive to my brain with delay, and I can’t do other than stare at her. Her eyes shimmer full of concern, fingertips brushing my temple ever so gently. All of a sudden I have a hunch… I dreamt of her last night. And it feels as if I’m still dreaming.

I love you…

“I’m sorry.” I try to snap out of it. I realize my hands are on her waist, and that I’m holding her tightly against me. How did this happen? This is why I have to control myself when I’m around her. If I don’t, I overstep my boundaries, and I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I can’t be the guy that bails himself out of nasty situations with a nice bouquet of flowers. I let go of her as discreetly as I can, and you couldn’t even tell if she acknowledges the way our bodies were touching. I glimpse down, this feeling of withdrawal making impossible for me to look at her. “Can I come in and say hello to Lara?” I mumble. I need to brush all this off. There are more important things in her life than me, Larry, and my dreams. She must know I’m aware.

“Of course you can.” She smiles as if none of this had happened and begins to turn around, gesturing to grab the handle of her suitcase. But it doesn’t go away.

I love you…

“Jeanne…” I call her out of the blue, reaching out for her hand. Jeanne glimpses down at my hand and then back up at me, a soft expression on her face. “Did he hurt you? Did he…?” I stammer. I know it's not my place, but I can’t think of anyone hurting her.

“It wasn't serious, but any woman should go through it.” Her voice matches her expression, the hand slipping away from mine. Why even being so calm her words shake me like this? Maybe because I’m not used to the slightest sign of vulnerability from Jeanne. She sounded extremely tired. I don't want to think I was ever like this guy for her. My heart wants to believe I’m not, but I’ve been so unfair to her, pretending she owed me something just because I chose her. But what makes me different? She has written a whole novel about this, and I still can’t figure it out.

As Jeanne's knuckles graze against her skirt I clutch the handle of her suitcase for her. Like in that fragment of Zhivago I read back at her attic for the first time, wanting something you cannot have might be painful, but how exhausting must it be to be the force that sets the mechanism in motion, over and over, and without rest.

–.–.–

Notes

Poor Harry, he's not even Jeanne's only stalker... I'm sorry I indulge myself so much in this kind of pleasure, but clueless Harry is my Harry and I love it. He's been about to learn the truth so many times now, but his own mind prevent him from doing so. When will he start to listen to his own dreams? ;)

I hope you enjoyed the chapter when Harry met Larry! I sure did. Told you it wasn't the last time we would hear about Larry in this story. Anyway! Happy 1D's birthday, everyone! Love you all <3