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harrysgoldrush · 4 years

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thank you so so so much to @brwnskin-bunnyteeth my queen Alicia made this for me and the rest of my gc girls who really helped and motivated me to finish this. they STAY being my fashionable hype goddesses.

This is my very first Fic Challenge so i hope you all enjoy and thank you thank you thank you @helladirections for such a fun Summer Feeling Challenge. My prompt was sunglasses :)

I’ll leave the Summer Feeling Challenge link right here so all the ever so talented writers can get some love too!!

I also made a shades of you playlist to listen to if you’re in the mood for some good tunes!

Word Count: 12k

Summary: He was covered lightly in sweat, his tattoos painted his skin expertly, making the masterpieces in her house seem like drawings that belonged on a fridge. He was beautiful. Even with the way his jaw clenched with uncertainty, he carried himself with an air of confidence.

"Who took this photo?"

After an exhausting week of fashion and running back and forth from Gucci functions from Paris to Rome, Harry had been thankful to have a day off. Alessandro had taken him to see the sights, to try all the food and wine he could, and now they sat comfortably in Marco's main office in Florence, the three men flipping through Gucci catalogs as they waited for Harry's manager Jeff to join them.

Gucci's summer campaign was coming to a close, meaning they only had a few weeks to finalize their fall plans, with Harry as their primary focus. Sketches were made, locations scouted, it was all hanging on a single decision Harry had to make by the end of the month: a photographer.

Without blinking an eye, Marco replied instantly, "Y/N Y/LN. Last summer's issue."

He was quick to take the magazine from him before pointing at the young model's face as she stood in front of the Eiffel Tower. "You can tell by the angling, Y/LN is particular about the subject's attention, it's the focus on most of her photos. There is beauty throughout, and yet the model chooses to look at the viewer of the picture instead."

"She did your fall campaign as well, didn't she?"

Alessandro nodded before looking through the catalogs. Finding the last fall's issue, he handed it to Harry. "Focusing on the timelessness of Ancient Rome. We could have filled two books with the photos she took. See? Here the young woman she focuses on is averting her gaze. In the following shots, she's wearing those acetone tortoiseshell sunglasses that she nearly drowned in, could barely see her face. It's telling, isn't it, Marco?"

Before the two men could explain to a perplexed Harry, Jeff walked in with a tired smile. With this next campaign being heavily guarded, Jeff had spent nearly all day making sure everyone thought his client was still in Paris. Sitting down beside Harry, he gladly took a water bottle as he asked, "Have you found a photographer for Harry yet?"

"Not yet, we were just getting started." Alessandro was smiling as he sorted through the stack of catalogs before them, one ankle resting on his knee while his other leg bounced anxiously.

"Some of these catalogs are older than others but, I think that if we can track him down, we could convince Mario to come back in for another job; he's been trying to retire for years. You met him last year when you were visiting."

"There's always Paola," Marco suggested quickly, turning to Harry. "She would love to work with you again. You remember her, she is an absolute sweetheart."

"Actually, I was thinking about Y/N."

"Who?" Jeff asked, looking around uneasily when the two Italian's grew quiet.

"Y/N Y/LN. Unfortunately, she no longer works for us."

"Why not?"

"She quit. After Rome, she stopped taking jobs. She canceled all of her contracts and got herself blacklisted from most agencies. No one can get her on their payroll."

"Did you try calling?" Jeff joked, eyebrows raised as he pulled out his phone and googled the woman.

"She doesn't have a phone. Y/N's always been eccentric, but it's only fun when she's on your side. She only did five jobs a year, but now she's retired."

"Well, then I'll go see her." Harry's tone was enough to convince them that he couldn't be swayed.

Having pulled up her photo, he held his screen out to the group as he asked, "How far away is she?"

Harry was quick to take the phone, swiping through the rare pictures of the elusive photographer who grew more interesting every second. Every picture was the same, reminding him of a younger Anna Wintour with her massive sunglasses and cold smile.

"You can charter a plane and get to Pantelleria in about four hours," Marco explained, pulling his phone out. "I can call?"

"Harry, are you sure? We have no idea if she'll say yes, you're supposed to be in New York next week."

Harry stood for a moment, his eyes trained on her photos before opening her website, immediately impressed with the seemingly endless catalogs. Showing the screen once more, he asked, "She took these?"

Marco sighed.

"They're from her first portfolio when she was trying to be a landscape photographer." Adjusting his glasses, he glanced back up at Harry, and he explained, sounding defeated. "She was only seventeen. It was an instant success, she began working for us a month later when our theme was man versus nature. She's a true fashion photographer. By the time she was your age, she had taken photos for Bowie, Jager, Gucci, Versace, and Armani. But she burned out, said she had lost her inspiration, her drive. And then she left."

"Do you think there's a chance she would take my photos?" God, he hoped there was. "You said she'd retired."

"She is a recluse by choice. She won't be easy to convince. Even if she does take your photos, she'd never agreed to take them for us again." Marco seemed bitter, making this mystery of Y/N even more exciting.

Jeff eyed Harry before asking, "But there's a chance?"

"If anyone could convince her, it'd be Harry."

The three men looked expectantly at Harry, who was beginning to smile.

"Then let's do it. Let's convince Y/N Y/LN to say yes."

Without hesitation, Y/N said, "No."

The flight had been longer than expected, with a late pilot and a crowded runway. The turbulence was enough to have Jeff clinging to his seat, shouting to the two pilots who laughed at the American. The plane was no bigger than a van, with four seats in the back. Harry played air hostess, pouring his manager a drink before he flipped through one of Y/N's portfolio's Marco had given him.

Upon landing, traveling to find Y/N hadn't been easy, with only a handful of cars on the island and even fewer English speakers. Thankfully, Harry had brought a translating dictionary. The two had managed to track down her personal assistant Valentina Perez who had tried to lose them in the farmer's market, advising them it was best to leave.

One short car ride later, she was nervously leading them through the indoor courtyard towards a group of couches, quietly slipping away to find her boss. Jeff had happily sat down, his suitcase standing in the doorway as he used his hat to fan himself. Harry decided instead to admire the room; the waterfall and the well-tended gardens were in direct contrast to the sharp rockiness of the island. There were sculptures in the plants and pictures on the walls, everything placed deliberately and purposefully.

When Y/N had appeared, donning a short floral dress he immediately recognized from Gucci's vintage collection, she fits perfectly with the design of it all. Her hair was pulled out of her face, her feet were bare, and her lips were set in a straight line as a pair of thick white framed sunglasses that covered most of her face. She glided down the patio steps, sitting slowly on the couch as she assessed her surroundings.

The Mozart of photography, nearly a year older than him, and yet she carried herself with such dignity and poise, she seemed as if she had lived a thousand lifetimes. Simply her presence left him feeling tongue-tied, and she hadn't even spoken, let alone acknowledged him.

In all honesty, Harry was surprised she had even shown her face, knowing how easy it could have been to send them off. But she was polite, she cooly offered them drinks and let them relax for a moment before motioning towards Jeff to tell her why she had guests.

Jeff had been quick to introduce themselves, retelling the story he had told Valentina in the car of their harrowing yet hopeful journey. But as soon as he had handed his business card to Valentina to give to Y/N, he was shot down.

"No?" Jeff's disappointment was evident.

"No. I adore Marco, and Alessandro is a dear friend, but I'm retired." She shrugged, playing with the business card in her hand as if she was bored.

Shaking his head, Jeff's voice rose as he began to argue, "But if you just spent ten minutes with Harry—"

"I appreciate them sending you my way, but they should not have. Marco knows better than anyone that I don't take celebrity portraits anymore. I'm an artist, not an overpaid paparazzi." Pushing herself off the sofa, she gestured to the door. "Valentina, would you be kind enough to take them back to the landing strip? I haven't heard the plane leave yet, and if they leave any later, Lorenzo and Emile will be drunk off their asses and won't be fit to fly anyone."

"Ms. L/N," Harry spoke suddenly, surprising the group who had forgotten about the man who had been pacing the courtyard's length, hands clasped behind his back and eyes hiding behind a worn pair of Ray-Bans. "Your last job with Marco and Alessandro last fall. Why was the girl looking away from the group? The one sitting by herself on the rocks with the camera bag?"

"It's a lonely life behind the camera. After a while, it's easier to stay away than watch."

"That's a bit sad," He sounded more disappointed than anything. "Not quite what I expected."

She was curious now, standing in the doorway to her office as she watched him behind dark lenses. "What did you expect from me then?"

"I would have thought maybe she knew you were quitting. And she couldn't bear to look at you. Why else would she hide her face?"

The room grew quiet as Harry studied her, waiting for even the slightest sign of life behind her cold demeanor.

"You've modeled before. I remember you now. I think you should have stayed in that boyband, Mr. Stylish. This world clearly isn't for you."

"I appreciate the advice, Ms. Y/LN, but think I'll decide that for myself."

The two had been quick to leave, politely thanking both women before Y/N was sighing into her drink as Valentina locked the gate behind her. She would have difficulty sleeping that night, with an early morning to watch the sunrise, not helping her rising nerves.

She had quit nearly a year ago without any warning. She had simply disappeared without a forwarding address. Alessandro was to blame for her two new guests, he had fought tooth and nail to get a mailing address to send flowers on her birthday. It had been clear to the fashion industry that she was hanging up her camera, and yet somehow, for some reason, those two had traveled the better part of a day to see her. What had they expected? Why would she have said yes?

Pantelleria was famous for not having beaches, something the handful of millionaire recluses had taken into their hands a few years ago. This man-made excuse of a beach was forgotten, hardly used no less than a year after completion, making it Y/N favorite place to relax. It was a quiet and sad and shocking contrast to the rocky shore that surrounded it.

But today, it seemed the local islanders had decided to camp out as well on the hot sand that was slowly being worn away with time. Never before had the beach been so loud, with two other groups beside her soaking in the harsh rays and sporadic cold winds pushed in from the mainland.

Valentina insisted the two had a day away from the house and the pool she had put far too much chlorine in. She would be returning to Florence soon, leaving Y/N alone on the tiny island. So they left early in the morning with two beach chairs, a picnic basket, a bottle of wine, and Y/N's bag that hardly left her side.

Y/N took her time appreciating her surroundings, safely hidden behind the black frames that let her shamelessly people watch. She was currently infatuated with an older woman reading to her grandchildren who were attempting to make sandcastles with the powdery sand flown in from Sicily. She hoped to look as beautiful in her old age, passionately telling Italian folklore to children more interested in the sand than the sharp crackles in her voice.

Shifting, her eyes caught a pair of men carelessly tossing a worn American football back and forth, the leather faded from the sun and the ball mostly deflated. They must've found it somewhere, having been long forgotten by its owner. The taller of the two was louder, faster, much more competitive than his annoyed friend.

"Look at him." Y/N spoke suddenly, her own voice taking her by surprise as she propped herself up on her elbows, eyes trained on the man in front of her. Adjusting her dark sunglasses, she looked over her shoulder to see Valentina glance up from her book before her own eyes widened. "What do you call a man like that, Val?"

"Harry Styles."

The photographer started to disagree, sure her friend was mistaken, but the shorter man was suddenly much more familiar to her as he yelled about Harry throwing the ball too hard.

"I thought he left last night?"

"I thought so too," Val shrugged, eyes returning to her book. "But they're here now. And it's a Sunday; no one leaves the island on Sunday mornings."

She hummed in thought, admiring him as he effortlessly caught a football in his hand, laughing as his curly hair bounced with him. He was beginning to burn, his nose and shoulders tinged pink, and he threw it back to his manager.

"Do we know if he's chosen another photographer yet?"

"Don't tell me you've changed your mind," Valentina's voice held a tone of humor to it as she set down her book and slid down her chair to sit on the towel beside Y/N. "You never do that."

"I'm just asking!" She defended quickly, sitting up straight to study the other woman. "What's wrong with that?"

"I don't think you're ready, Y/N. We both know how you can get with these things. And what happens when you get yourself hurt again?"

"Rome won't happen again. I know better. Besides, I've retired."

"Have you?"

The two women shared a look before Y/N's shoulders fell. "Y/N, I'm not trying to stop you. I'm trying to look out for you."

"What if you had met Stefan ten years ago instead of five? Wouldn't you immediately ask him to dinner if it meant five more years of happiness?"

"Of course, I would. But this is different, Stefan is my husband who I only see for half of the year. Harry is a potential client. Which you don't need; your great-grandkids don't need to work. If you're even hinting at what I think you are, I strongly advise against it. Take his pictures if you must, but don't get carried away. These things never last forever."

Silence.

They both knew Val was right, and yet both knew how she came to decisions.

"I am a photographer. I chose the subject. I will be in control, and I will stay in control, Valentina. I never change my mind, but now, watching him, it's like I'm reminded why I'm here." She trailed off, unable to look away as he smiled widely, his head tilted slightly, causing the muscles of his neck to strain. His hands were strong, sturdy as he caught the ball. When he stretched, all she could think about was how delicate his collarbone looked.

Val sighed. Digging through her best friend's bag, she pulled out one of her smaller and older cameras and brushed off some sand before handing it to her.

"Okay. Go take his photo. See if it's everything you imagine it to be."

"I'm not just going to—" She began but froze when he slid his sunglasses up onto his forehead, pushing his hair out of his face. He glanced towards them from a moment, eyes squinting against the sunlight, and Y/N was sure he saw them, but he didn't react. Instead, he kept playing football with his manager. Like in a trance, she shot up onto her feet, pulling on her white coverup.

He was laughing again, having jumped up into the air to catch the ball.

"Who were you throwing to?" He shouted, grinning wildly before he noticed a woman shouting as she ran towards him.

"Stop moving." Her voice was sharp, cutting through any thoughts Harry might have had before she raced toward him, her silk robe flying behind her as she lifted a camera.

"What?" He asked quickly, looking at her before quickly reverting to his previous stance, his eyes glued in a panic on his manager.

"Don't move. Don't speak. Stay absolutely still."

Harry felt his whole body stiffen, slowly becoming more aware of how tense he had become. At the same time, she circled him, her camera angled awkwardly as she squatted before stepping back, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of Gucci sunglasses.

These were different designer sunglasses than what she had been wearing the other day, these obscuring most of her face from him outside of the sharp nose and lips set in an unimpressed look of indifference.

His arms were starting to burn as he held the football in front of him, his sunglasses skewed on his head as he tried to slow his breathing, unsure of what she was doing.

Jeff simply watched, slowly realizing what was happening with a smirk.

Y/N's own hands were shaking with excitement, her eyes wide behind the tinted frames. He had been handsome that morning, his shoulders were broad, and his smile polite. But now, he was

She wanted to understand everything there was about him. How he moved, how he held himself; she could see herself quickly disappearing into her camera once again to capture him in a single photo.

He was covered lightly in sweat, his tattoos painted his skin expertly, making the masterpieces in her house seem like drawings that belonged on a fridge. He was beautiful. Even with the way his jaw clenched with uncertainty, he carried himself with an air of confidence.

Her camera never clicked, her finger hovering carefully over the button as she murmured to herself. She was memorizing him, Harry soon realized. Taking him in through the lens and yet she never moved to make her view permanent. Lowering her camera, she clicked her tongue as she examined him, lost for a moment in the space between them.

"Push your shoulders forward more. Bring hands closer to face."

Again, she held the camera far from her face, unlike any photographer he had seen in his career as she guided him gently, too afraid to touch him yet so tempted to run her fingers over his broad chest. It felt like she was at a museum, staring at a Van Gogh and holding herself back from exploring the layers of colored paint with her fingertips.

.

Suddenly, she was holding the camera up close to his face, pointing at the screen. "See this one?"

He gave a small nod, afraid to move too much. Y/N's hand finally came to rest on his warm skin, smoothing down his tense muscles as she smiled, her touch leaving him as soon as it had begun.

"I could sell it for $500. That is why I only take one. I know a price when I see it because I have the eye. When I like a photo, it is worth something."

Y/N was openly admiring him, her chest tight as she took him in. She felt a sense of reverence take over as she watched him stand still, chest heaving slightly as he waited for her to say something.

"You can relax. I am done now."

Harry immediately dropped the ball, taking a deep breath before he was handed the camera.

"What do you think of that photograph?" She asked, her voice softer now as he studied the single photo she had taken, surprised at how it had come out.

"I look like someone else. I don't recognize myself." He stood in thought for a moment before asking, "I thought you didn't take photos of celebrities anymore?"

"Yes, well, things change. The you in my courtyard is hardly the same person as the one I am speaking to now."

Handing her back her camera, he squinted before lowering his sunglasses back down onto his nose. "What changed?"

"Let me show you." She spoke suddenly, extending her hand to his. He took it and followed her closer to the water, surprised when she handed him her camera. "I am a big believer in transcendentalism. Are you familiar?"

"Not really, no." He carefully held her camera, wrapping the neck strap around his wrist as he glanced down at the water lapping at their ankles.

"Well, over a hundred years ago, this group of philosophers called themselves transcendentalists. They believed that natural objects were important as they reflected the universal spiritual truth."

"Meaning?"

"There is a certain level of magnetism in everything. Nature especially. And when you yield to that power, I believe it can direct you in life. In the best way possible."

"So, what am I looking for then?"

"Trust the sun, it will show you your subject." Gently, she guided the camera as he looked through the lens. "It is a big world out there. But with this camera, it is a single frame that you can see clearly and entirely. See?"

Harry nodded, remarking enthusiastically, "And you just wait?"

"Yes—wait! There!" She exclaimed, shifting the camera to the right before clicking the camera. Harry admired the photo as she carefully pointed at different points of the picture. "That shift. The wave crashing just right against the rocks. The sun reflecting off of it just so. You create a whole world in a single frame. One that tells a story."

Taking the camera from him, she pushed at his shoulder. "Stand in the water, just to your ankles. But don't look at me. I want you to think about what working with me means."

As he waded out, she kept talking. "I will take the greatest photos of you, but it will come at a cost. I am rude, I am cold, I am blunt. I tell you to jump, you ask how high? I wake you up at three am, you follow. Understand?"

"Yes. And I'm not afraid. I want to work with you."

"Look at me now."

"How much was that photo worth?"

She didn't reply at first, frozen as her eyes slid down to the screen on her camera before snapping back to his, her lips quirking. She could hardly describe it, the lighting was perfect, it was as if the universe itself had helped her take it. And yet, the best part of the image was the look in his eyes, one of amazement, filled with curiosity. He was just as enchanted, just as taken, even if he didn't realize. Because he knew she could make him magic.

That was why she did this—that thrill of love, of admiration from the very subject that caught her heart.

"It is priceless." She was stunned for a moment before she began walking back to Valentina and Harry's manager Jeffery. "Do you speak Italian?"

"Not fluently."

"You will learn."

"In a week?" Jeff asked suddenly, joining Harry in following the woman who was walking at an impossibly fast speed towards Valentina, who had stood up by now, smiling as she held up Y/N's bag, knowing her process all too well.

"A week?" Y/N was confused but didn't slow down as she grabbed her bag and carefully returned the camera to its place, searching the sand for her sandals. "No, at least a month."

"Uh, Harry's due back in New York in five days. The shoot isn't until September."

At this, she froze. Harry was feeling a sudden sinking feeling in his chest as Valentina grew visibly worried. It seemed only Jeff was unaware of what was happening.

Turning to look at the man, Y/N rose to her full height, one eyebrow raised over her sunglasses' dark frames. "I haven't agreed to work for Gucci. I have agreed to let Harry model for me. He understands this."

As Jeff turned to Harry, he replied defensively, "I didn't think New York was a big deal."

"Just last week, you were begging for me to get you a flight back?"

Harry was frowning now, his chest growing pink as he said lowly, "Jeff."

The two men shared a look as Valentina started packing up, kicking Y/N's shoes towards her.

"So I'm supposed to leave you here? Where will you stay?"

Valentina quickly piped up. "I am leaving for the mainland tonight. He can stay in the guest house, it's lovely."

"H, I don't know…"

"You can contact him, the guest house has Internet. And there are daily ferries to Sicily should he want to leave before you come to collect him from the island." Y/N had successfully put her shoes on and adjusted the silk coverup she was wearing as she began to smile. "You have all your things?"

"Yes, Ms. Y/LN."

"Y/N. I hate formalities."

Harry nodded, a smile quickly growing on his face. The two stared at a moment, both feeling a bit lightheaded before Jeff sighed.

"Four weeks. That's it. Then I'm dragging your ass back to New York whether you like it or not."

By the end of the day, Harry was settled in the guest house connected to the main villa, Valentina and Jeffery were on a plane headed to Florence, and Y/N was distracted from finishing the Caprese salads she had started making.

Being so disconnected from the real world had been refreshing, but she couldn't help herself. She used the Internet for the rare email and weather but evaded the news like a plague; being quiet the gossip herself, she had to stay away. Still, she couldn't help herself and had bought a magazine at the tiny airport.

The fashion world was always changing, there were new scandals every day, and rarely a face that was not familiar splashed on the cover. Today's issue had caught her eye immediately:

The announcement of the model on the rise getting engaged to a freelance photographer had sparked her interest bitterly, but the article was short and brief with nothing she didn't already know. She had just stumbled on a column about the very man moving into her spare room,

when he suddenly cleared his throat, the scent of his shampoo mixing perfectly with her forgotten dinner.

"Need some help?"

Shutting the magazine and sliding it across the counter, she glanced up at him from her red-tinted reading glasses and nodded. He laughs at the cover of her magazine, pointing at the horrible photo of him before she snaps to get his attention.

"You can borrow it later, Harry. Let's finish dinner." Before she could show him what she was doing, he was gently nudging her away, picking up right where she had left off.

Shrugging, he said, "I like to cook."

Y/N wasted no time stepping back to watch him, eyes trained on him as carefully as he was with a knife. This would become a habit of theirs over the next few days: he'd join her in some mundane task or chore, and she would happily let him take over. She would ask a few questions, always surprised by his answers, and would evade his queries just as quickly as he would ask.

He knew she was an only child. He knew she had no family. She was vague about how long she had been into photography, although he knew she struck fame at seventeen. Her favorite client was David Bowie, although she promised she'd deny it if asked. Her sunglasses collection put Elton John's to shame, she had a pair for every occasion, and he had yet to see her without them.

"You can tell everything about a person from one look at their eyes. I happen to like my secrets staying secret," she had explained when Harry raised an eyebrow at her custom drawers filled with expensive designer shades.

But one week in her home and Harry was confused. She had taken him through most of the island, taught him enough Italian to carry on an interesting conversation, and yet she hadn't taken a single photo. The photography studio next to her master suite was used more for meditation and reflection. He'd flip through her books or ask about the pictures hanging up. She'd reply half-interested, more focused on something else.

By the eighth day in Pantelleria, Harry was growing tired.

Y/N was perhaps the most exciting person he'd ever met, and yet he couldn't deny his frustration. Jeff kept pestering him wanting to know how things were going, but Harry didn't have an answer.

Y/N had let him sleep in, a glass of orange juice and a warm pastry with Nutella was left for him in the kitchen when he finally emerged, the photographer carefully trimming the bushes of her indoor garden. Harry had learned that this was the second house she had bought in her career, having quickly fallen in love with this open concept villa. The natural light and fresh air had easily persuaded her to move here permanently after her retirement.

The kitchen was large, big enough to feed a family but only ever made enough for two. The living room had a television he knew had never been used; it wasn't even plugged in. Her pool was regularly cleaned, she liked to take a few laps every morning when she woke up, and every night before bed. Everything in her house was another key to the puzzle of Y/N Y/LN from the patio to the sunroom where she'd slip off to read.

Quietly joining her, he sat on one of the polished rocks of her zen garden and sipped at his refreshing juice, amused at her bright yellow flower-shaped shades. This garden lacked sand, something Harry had cheekily pointed out; she had replied smugly that Italy had more sand than it knew what to do with.

"Why me?" He suddenly asked, startling himself more than the woman who sighed; Y/N had been expecting this. She was wearing a worn pair of overalls, the bottoms rolled high up enough to show off a thin gold anklet and the top loose enough to reveal a pale blue bandeau. Her hair was pulled back in a low messy bun, the floppy straw hat he had glimpsed on her earlier now sat on the stone beside her.

"My camera understands very few people. She knows me better than most. I get lost in my work. But every once in a while, a lighthouse appears." Folding her hands in front of her after setting down her sheers, she wiped at her forehead as she added quickly. "And that's how I found you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that when I look at you, I feel something." Slipping her gloves off, she shifted to look directly at him and flashed a quick and rare smile. "It's a light going off in my head. And I know others will feel the same when they see you as I do."

"So you'll sell them to Gucci? The photos you'll take."

She was clearly disappointed by this question, groaning as she stood up and offered him a hand. "If that's who you want me to sell them too, then yes. I will sell to Gucci if that is your choice."

"And in September?"

"We shall see if you still want me in September. It's only been a week, and yet you're already restless." She was teasing him. "Don't you know that a good thing takes time?"

Now he was embarrassed. Y/N was smirking coolly as she collected her things, handing them off to Harry before taking his empty glass, grimacing. Harry had noticed quickly after moving in that she hated holding things.

"Take these back to the shed. Then change into that striped shirt you wore on Tuesday; the red one, not the green one. These sleep pants are fine; they're blue, right?"

"Yes?" Nodding, he followed quickly before he asked, "Where are you going?"

"To get my camera," shrugging, she delicately set her hat on top of his head and seemed content for a moment before she added, "You've waited long enough."

Excitedly, Harry asked, "Really?"

Nodding, she looked him up and down slowly, eyes squinting in thought. "I may have a few ideas."

After cleaning the dishes, Y/N had found him lingering in the studio's doorway, studying himself in the floor-length mirror in the hallway. Slipping up behind him, she ignored how he froze and gently tugged at his shirt. "This is too short to tuck in. And you don't need shoes yet."

"Can I ask a question?" Following Y/N into her studio, he trailed slowly behind her as she collected an armful of tools, handing cameras and lens to him before guiding him to a wicker chair set against a sleek white wall.

"If you must."

Scratching at his neck, he immediately stopped when she clicked her tongue in disapproval; she often spoke of his delicate skin and how easily irritated it got with his habit. "Why do you only ever take a few pictures? You only took a few at the beach, never of the same thing. I would've thought you could make your chances of a good picture higher with the more photos you take."

She hadn't expected that question.

"It's part of my system. I've taught myself to be precise." Her explanation was hesitant, her gaze focused on the camera in her hands as she adjusted the settings. "I'm told I can be...overwhelming."

"How?"

"Once I start taking photos, it's hard to stop. So, I limit myself. Take only what's absolutely necessary."

Harry simply nodded, leaning back in the chair, his head bumping the wall lightly as he toed off his vans. Eyes closed, he could hear her scraping the stool from her desk closer to him. Peeking, he felt a burst of confidence before he said, "You don't have to. With me, y' know. I don't mind."

"You don't know what you're asking for." Y/N was laughing as she perched on her seat. Lifting her camera, she focused the lens before lowering it back down onto her knee. He was smirking like he knew something she didn't. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I mean it. Do your worst. I know what I signed up for."

Harry watched her stew in silence for a moment before he was suddenly met with a flurry of flashes.

"We can always delete the bad things if we don't like them."

The next few days were a blur filled with early mornings and late nights as Y/N dragged him throughout the island to her favorite spots. She'd photograph until she grew bored and then throw another shirt at him or add a subtle hint of makeup to his face.

He'd be laying in the ocean one moment and the next she'd be politely telling him he was climbing the cliffs wrong. At one point, she had him hanging out of the car as she steered with her knee, eagerly taking photos of the terrified singer enjoying this far too much.

He always offered to carry her equipment, still uneasy watching her amble with one arm gripping her camera bag and reflective sheet while the other arm pulled a trunk of clothes and makeup and who knows what else. But she'd shake her head and tell him he was carrying much more essential things: the cooler filled with sandwiches and cakes and sodas and beers and anything else that caught their attention when they stopped at the market every morning.

They'd come home exhausted with Harry going to video call Jeff while Y/N disappeared into her room. An hour later, she'd emerge with damp hair and light blue-tinted glasses; she could get headaches quickly with her hours at the computer screen studying the photos they'd taken. Harry would promptly hang up and follow her back into her room.

It wasn't modern or minimalistic like the rest of the house, it was colorful and messy and filled with wicker and plants and had a closet nearly bursting with clothes. Even when she was casual, Harry had only ever seen her wear designer clothes. These late nights were no different; Y/N wrapped up in silk pajama sets with a higher thread count than his sheets back home.

A few times, she had lent him clothes, telling him what colors best suited his skin tone and which ones would make his eyes pop. He secretly enjoyed those days when she'd ask him to take his shirt off before she'd wrap him in one of her sheer patterned shawls or come into his room in the morning with her hands full of jewelry she wanted him to try on.

Y/N would climb into her bed and pat her comforter loudly, beckoning to join her before showing him the photos they had taken. For an hour every night, they'd sit, the only sound being her keyboard click as she filtered through each photo. He'd point to a few, and she'd shake her head before going into an overly complicated explanation which always ended in her hating the picture. But then, she'd linger a second too long on a photo, and he'd be quick to point at it, feeling immensely proud when she'd nod and smile.

When they were finished, Y/N would sleepily explain her plan for the next day, drifting between Italian and English as her eyelids drooped, and Harry would nod eagerly, hanging onto her every word. She talked more freely when she was tired, admiring him with sleepy eyes behind her blue frames, telling him how her success was just sheer luck, being in the right place at the right time, and how she was secretly happy had convinced her to try again. But she never told him why she stopped.

Two weeks later and Harry still had no success in figuring it out. He'd asked her, he'd asked Jeff, he even reached out to Marco and Alessandro, but no one knew, or at least no one decided to tell him. He had five days left on Pantelleria, and he could feel himself slipping, losing his grip on Y/N, which terrified him.

He wanted to stay, or maybe he wanted to take her with him; he didn't know. He was always a step behind her, never knowing what she was planning unless she slowed down enough to catch on. He knew she would be giving him the photos but didn't know what her plan was for him. Would she work for Gucci again? Would she work with him again?

He hadn't been able to sleep, mind racing with the what-ifs, and before he knew it, his door was creaking open, and Y/N was standing in his room with two cups of coffee. She wanted to show him the ruins at sunrise.

"You live here long enough you find out all of its secrets. You start to remember the best times for each part of the island, how the light peeks between windows, the way the wind picks up speed at certain times of the day. This was the first mystery I solved here."

Harry watched with tired eyes as she blindly climbed the stairs, more focused on the camera in her hands.

"Only the locals know this spot well enough to call it the whispering wall. It was used as a lookout point during the second war. But sit by that edge."

Harry did as he was told, his legs already aching as he leaned against the curved wall, his eyes glued to her's as she sat opposite him. He loved the late nights and early mornings when she traded her dark shades for colored lenses; he was beginning to suspect she needed them to see rather than using them as merely an accessory. More recently, however, she had stuck to the lighter tones, allowing Harry to admire the shape of her eyes, the confidence, and wit behind them, the way her eyelashes would press against the lens when she laughed, and her cheeks would push up the sunglasses.

Suddenly her voice was right next to his ear, startling him. "Go on, Harry, try it. Just speak to the wall."

"Um, hello?"

"What do you think?"

"It's amazing. I thought I had seen everything on this island; I can't believe we're only going here now."

She laughed at this, clapping her hands together before standing back up. "This whole side of the island is full of forgotten memories. Down closer to the water, there is this doorway carved into the rock that would be perfect for photos once the water has risen a bit."

Harry had never seen her so openly happy, following her away from the whispering wall towards the shore. The whole day she was smiling, dragging him quickly from one breathtaking spot to another, taking photos after photo before revealing expensive sweets and snacks and drinks to distract him from how tired he was feeling. By the end of the day, after Y/N's shower, she slipped into his room to find him hunched over his laptop, snoring softly with three missed calls from Jeff.

By the time he woke up, he had found Y/N swimming in the pool with Cat Stevens playing on her speaker. She had confided in him that she missed her records the most, boasting of her impressive record collection in Venice. Y/N had multiple homes in Italy but had decided Venice was the best place for music, claiming Mozart and Salieri's ghosts often argued in her music room. Finishing up a lap, she turned on her back to relax, a pair of black tinted goggles strapped tightly to her head.

"You didn't wake me up yesterday, did you get any good ones?" Turning her music down, Harry watched her flip back onto her stomach to look up at him. "Thought we'd be getting up early again?"

"You deserved a break, I managed to finish earlier with you asleep anyways." Swimming up to Harry, she leaned against the edge of the pool and grinned as she slicked back her hair. "Care for a swim?"

Rolling up his pants legs, Harry declined politely before he sat on the edge of her pool and dipped his feet in, watching as she took another lap. When she came up for air, he asked quickly, "Did you used to model?"

Slowing her pace, she nodded for a moment before she finished swimming the length of the pool.

"Briefly. Mario Testino offered to train me if I modeled for him for a summer. He's a brilliant man, very talented. He's the reason I started working for Marco."

"I noticed some of the photos from the shoot in the hallway. Didn't recognize you until today. You were young."

"Sixteen." Pushing herself up, she plopped next to Harry before pointed towards the outdoor marble bath near the outdoor shower. "Tomorrow, I think we could do a milk bath. I also thought maybe we could recreate that one painting with the people with sheets wrapped around their faces. Thought we could splash water over you to make it sheer. You might not be able to breathe."

He could tell she was trying to change the subject, so he didn't push the issue anymore, smiling instead. "So, you're trying to drown me?"

"That's why you get a break today. To figure out any last words or wishes in case I waterboard you."

Laughing, Harry gently pushed her away, shocked when she fell into the pool. Not even a minute later, her arms were shooting out of the water and pulling him in with her.

A fun day in the pool had relaxed him, yet it didn't make their final few days any easier. Would she say something? What was he expected to do? Just pack up and leave?

Their morning shoot had been successful the next day but was cut short by a storm that didn't want to give up. They spent the rest of the day laying on the floor looking up at projected photos of Harry, Y/N pointed at things she liked and didn't like. It was always so chaotic, she'd throw things at him, yell nonsense, take him to the strangest places and angle him awkwardly and yet there was something beautiful about her photos.

"One of my favorite series I took in South America. We found these beautiful native women and took photos of them throughout their cities and towns and villages, and the only thing we added was a chain to their ankle. It was subtle but amazing. I mean, you change one thing, and the whole story changes too."

Harry had simply nodded, lost in her words and explanations as she stared with wide eyes at the ceiling, his pictures reflecting on the aviators she had stolen from him.

But the next morning, things had shifted. It was still storming, and Y/N looked exhausted. She was noncommittal, hardly touching the coffee he made as she stood stiffly in her studio. She wasn't happy with anything, grumbling to herself for hours, enough to drive them mad.

He began to fall asleep, slowly drifting off to the warm days on the beach when she'd brush gently at his face and call him pretty. The hot nights in the kitchen when she'd tell him wild stories of celebrities she's worked with, the wide eyes when he calls her bluff and the laughter when Y/N admits she might be mixing up clients.

Even when she makes things up, throws random words together to explain something she does, he's taken by her. She's a language he has tried to learn for weeks, one that he feels fluent in for the briefest moments before he's lost again. Their relationship is a funny one, full of unspoken words and gentle gestures. He hardly knows her, and yet, he can't remember what life was like before she opened her doors for him.

After she took the photo, Harry felt himself relax, relieved that she had finally taken a single photo in the whole day they had been working. Wordlessly, she set her camera down and stood, staring at him from behind those dark sunglasses.

He watched her, unsure of whether to move or not.

A single tear slipped down the left side of her face, and he saw her lips tremble before she smiled widely. And then, she took off her sunglasses.

For the first time in the month he had stayed with her, he could see her eyes. He had never seen her without some kind of shade, even when she went swimming, she worn tinted goggles.

He had seen photographs from years ago, he had heard the rumors, but nothing could prepare him for the tender look she gave him as she set her glasses down and walked towards him. Her eyes were striking, all-consuming, near overwhelming when he looked directly at them. It was like staring into the sun and the moon at the same time; it was entrancing.

Whatever beauty she had held before was washed away by the tears streaming down her face as she smiled up at him. Nothing would ever compare to this vulnerable, unguarded Y/N before him.

"Harry." She breathed, grabbing his face in her shaking hands. His cheeks were growing hot in her hands as he watched her, completely taken away by her sudden show of emotions. "You're beautiful."

Watching his cheeks flush and his eyes widen slightly, she was tempted to grab her camera. She even moved to but stopped herself, a look of confusion taking over her features.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, his hands catching her wrists as she pulled away. His heart was hammering in his chest, suddenly afraid he had done something wrong.

She shook her head slowly, her eyes staring directly into his. He wanted to shy away from it but was afraid he'd never see into her soul like this again.

"Watching you reminds me of why I became an artist. An artist strives for perfection. For their moment to touch God. But at this moment, I would rather do anything else than take another picture of you."

"Why?"

"For the first time in my life, I don't want to hide behind my camera's comfort. I just want to look at you."

"You can. I'd like that."

Her gaze was steady, latching onto him in what felt like a permanent bridge between them. Just as she took him in, Harry watched her closely, savoring the moment.

"You're beautiful, too, you know?" He murmured softly, adjusting his hands slightly so he could slide his grasp down and cradle her hands in his.

"Harry. You should stop saying things like that to me. I might just have to keep you here forever."

In a sudden moment of boldness, Harry smiled. "I'd like that too."

She laughed at that, a dry laugh that felt like a splash of cold water on his face. "This is far too precious to risk, Harry. I hope you know that."

Catching her hand before she would walk away, Harry asked gently, "Take another photo of me, without your sunglasses on?"

"W-what? Why?"

"I want you to feel comfortable. I want to see how you look at me."

She stood for a moment, hardly moving before she lifted her camera, eyes never straying from Harry. She blindly adjusted the settings, walking around the room to figure out the best angle and approach.

"What are you looking for?"

"Haven't decided." Her voice was uncertain, eyes narrowing as she watched him. "What do you think of? When I take photos of you?"

"Lots of things. I like watching you. I like it when you ask me questions, keeps my mind busy."

"Tell me about your mum."

When he didn't reply, she kept talking. "I can tell she means a great deal to you, you two are close, yes?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we are."

"Tell me about her?"

"Why are you trying to distract me?"

"What?"

"You're changing the subject. I liked it when we were talking about you."

Y/N was startled, her eyes wide, but she couldn't stop taking a picture when his demeanor changed. He was earnest, willing her to open up, nearly begging with his eyes. He looked sad.

"I just thought you might like to talk about something else. Because—"

"Because I leave in three days."

"Yes."

Nodding, Harry began to reply but was sharply cut off.

"Let's get dinner. We can talk about it at dinner. When it stops raining."

"Okay."

She shifted quickly, a smile growing on her lips as she pointed at him and asked, "Are you sure you're not Italian? You're getting to be as tan as me,

."

Harry's laugh comes out a bit forced, but he's relieved to see she's trying to keep them both happy; it's comforting to know he's not alone. By the time the rain has let up, they have two days together. She's dressed elegantly as ever, a lace dress that makes her look like a fairy princess with her hair braided out of her face, oversized boots to protect her from her most hated enemy (sand), and a jean jacket he recognizes from the last Gucci campaign.

"You've been here for a month, and yet you already know the people here better than me." She was impressed, watching from a distance as Harry waved goodbye to a few of the locals he had introduced her to earlier. They had greeted him with open arms when they walked into the dimly lit cafe for an early dinner. Gifting them with a house wine on them. She had never spoken two words to them before, but they talked to her kindly, eyes trained on the Englishman who had brought life back to this side of the island.

She had never eaten in the village, Y/N hardy showed her face in the months she had lived here. Yet tonight, she had giggled incessantly as Harry clumsily ordered their food in Italian and had caught her hand in his, wiggling his eyebrows as he slipped a paper straw cover ring onto her pinky.

“Styles & Co. Bought it myself." He had explained, eyes shining as he watched her face grow red. He had bought dinner before she even had a chance to grab her purse, Harry even managed to find a gelato place a few buildings down the road and bought them dessert. Y/N had shocked him when she had ordered affogato.

Shoveling his lime-flavored ice into his mouth, he had scrunched his nose when she had declined to try his frozen dessert, claiming she enjoyed hers too much.

"Espresso with vanilla gelato?" His voice was loud, booming as she tried to hush him. You're such an adult; it hurts!"

Now standing near the beach, the two watched the waves crash as the sun began to sink lower and lower.

"They had helped us find Valentina when we landed." Harry finally explained, waving once more to the older couple. "They're good people. You'd like them."

"I'm sure they'd let me take their pictures if I mentioned you. A closer look at rural Italy. I think that would be a lovely next project, don't you?"

"You mean after the Gucci shoot in September?"

She was silent for a moment before she pushed her sunglasses closer to her face, thin neon green frames that had prompted Harry to order his sour lime granita.

"I haven't decided yet. Honestly, I don't think Marco would be happy to see me. I burned most of my bridges when I retired."

"Marco misses you!" Harry jumped to his defense, his voice gentle as he watched the woman fidget under his gaze. "He'll never say it, but he does. Alessandro does as well, you were always his favorite photographer."

"And you? Would you want me to take your photos? After having to put up with me for a month?"

"Of course."

Y/N was startled when he stepped closer to her, reaching up to grab her sunglasses. He seemed to hesitate, waiting for her to stop him. When she didn't, he carefully pulled them off and closed them shut before hooking them on the blue bandana she had given him.

"I like to see your eyes. I can hardly see your face when you wear them; I can never tell what you're thinking."

"Maybe that's the point." She spoke carefully, her lips curling up slightly. "Can't have you knowing everything about me, now can I?"

"I'd like to. Since you know so much about me."

"What is there to know? I am a photographer with too much money. I overthink and get paid to stare at other people."

"How many of me have there been?"

"Not many. Two or three, perhaps? But nothing like this."

"What do you mean?"

"They weren't living in my house. They weren't even in Italy. Valentina is the only other person I've had to stay on this island. She misses her husband when he goes on tour. But with

," she pauses for a moment, her eyes darting away nervously as if she felt guilt or embarrassment. He was still learning how to read her. "I followed them to the ends of the earth. It was maddening. And then they had enough photographs from me. And they kept moving."

He nodded, lost in his own thoughts as she clears her throat. Taking a breath, she looks directly at him. At first, she seems like she's in pain, but soon, she relaxes, finding comfort in his gentle gaze.

"Is that why you're so careful around me? Don't want to get swept up?"

"I'm still trying to get my feet on the ground," admitting softly, Y/N steps closer to him, arms wrapped around herself to fight off the cool breeze from the sea. "I always get emotionally invested in these things, and I didn't think I'd care about you as much as I do. I have to draw the line somewhere."

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, unsure before Y/N finally speaks.

"You're not a replacement, Harry. I don't know how much you know about my past, my last job, but I hope you know that I never compared you to anything else. You're the greatest person I've met, my favorite subject. If anything, the people I've worked with before you were to prepare me. And I need to know that you don't think I'm just keeping you hostage here."

She's offering him so much here, a page of her book translated in plain words like the lazy afternoons when he's able to get her story on the pictures she's taken, an artist's explanation of the hidden world they're giving you a glimpse of. But Harry can be patient, she's taught him that much. Besides, the look in her eyes tells him this moment is much more important.

"I've never thought that, Y/N. I love it here. It's refreshing being with you. I forgot what I looked like until you saw me."

Suddenly, Harry is keenly aware of her firm gaze as tender as the day in the studio. Her hands, as timid as ever begin to reach for him but stop just short. Then she's leaning up, weight resting on the balls of her feet as she presses a feather-light kiss to the side of his mouth.

His hands immediately find comfort on the small of her back, helping her balance as her own hands find their home on his collarbones.

She's thinking, he can see her conclusion before she's reached it and in a desperate attempt to already change her made-up mind, he's kissing her just as timidly, one of his hands finding its way to cradle the side of her face.

At that moment, Harry is keenly aware of everything that is Y/N.

He can feel her step closer, her own lips slowly working with his breathing sharp and quick, and reminds him of the first time she took a picture of him. Her hands slid up the sides of his neck before her fingers comb through the back of his head, tangling in his hair.

She's warm and sturdy, and it's like he's floating, his feet unable to reach the bottom of the ocean he's dived into during a storm and yet all at the same time, he's safely on board a ship sailing on a calm sea. His nose brushes against hers, and now all he can smell is her perfume, light and crisp, reminding him of the picture of oranges hanging in his room.

Just as he's deepening their kiss that makes the harsh Italian sun feel like a cool breeze, he feels an awkward tug on the back of his head, and she's pulling away to laugh her whole face red in embarrassment.

Harry's blinking in confusion, unsure why she's looking at him with such bright eyes. "My ring is stuck in your hair."

He laughs at that, his neck still burning pink as she gently scratches at the back of his head, carefully walking around him as she untangles the mess she's created.

Finally, Y/N is holding the culprit, an adjustable thumb ring. The band is gold although it looks cheap, and Harry is surprised to see the trinket in her hands, having never noticed it alongside the expensive jewelry she has a habit of sleeping in.

The front of it is a brown square with a gold flower painted on it with great detail. Y/N catches him admiring it and quickly takes his hand in hers, continuing their long-forgotten walk.

"I bought it with my first paycheck," she explains, slipping the ring onto his pinky. "I didn't know it wasn't worth much, I just liked how it looked in the right light. It's simple but effective."

He simply nods, admiring the ring on his pinky before she holds out her own. "Not exactly Styles & Co., but hopefully it's appreciated as much as mine."

Her hand is holding his now, prompting him to look at her again. He wants to kiss her again but is afraid to scare her away.

"Why did you move here?" He finally asks, one hand in his pocket with the other holds her own hand tightly. "Out of anywhere in the world, Pantelleria."

"It's beautiful. Quiet. There are no beaches here, not naturally anyway, it's just a rock in the ocean. I fell in love the first time I visited Giorgio when I was nineteen. He has a house just south of here, he only stays there a few weeks a year."

"Armani?"

She only hums as she stuffs her hands in her pockets, camera poking out of the oversized pockets of the jacket she's wearing. He doesn't understand how she stands the heat.

"I like kissing you." Her lips have curled gently as her eyes watch his, glinting mischievously as she turns to face him. He's quick to reach for her, one hand quickly finding the small of her back to guide her closer as the other pushes her hair out of her face, gently cradling her face, his head tilting with a relaxed smile.

He seems more relaxed now, but in some ways, he's still the same person she met weeks ago. It's clear that Harry's waiting for her to say something, do something, and do anything, but she looks up at him with a smile.

"But?"

"No, buts yet. Kiss me again?"

When their lips meet, she is quick to wrap her arms around his hips, smiling as his thumbs gently caressed her warm cheeks. His mouth was soft and warm and pressed gently against hers as he hums absentmindedly. She could feel him shiver against her as she lightly scratches his back, arching against him as his tongue slips into her mouth. His kiss is comforting, tempting, and all-consuming. Like a cold drink of water on a hot day, she couldn't have enough, it was impossible to resist Harry; especially when he held her like he did, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her into his firm chest as he kissed until her toes curled and she went cross-eyed.

He tastes like limes, sharp and dizzying, and his breath is sweeter than anything she's tasted. Y/N could kiss Harry forever but stops before she can't let go of the idea. They're both struggling to catch their breath, her forehead resting against his chest as he holds her close. She can feel his heartbeat rapid and unwavering, and she smiles as she glances up to see Harry's eyes half-lidded, a gentle smile on his face as he watches Y/N.

"I should have tried the granita." That made him laugh, his head tossed back before he nods.

"Told you. Tastes almost as delicious as—"

A cheery voice is quick to interrupt them. "Harry!"

Harry is just as surprised as her, his soft grip steadying her from completely losing her footing. They still had two days left. They share a look, one of worry and uncertainty before Y/N steps away and composes herself.

"Jeff?" Harry is confused, his voice strained as he steps towards Jeff, who is quick to hug him. "What are you doing here?"

His manager is smiling wide, mirrored aviators hiding any clue of whether he knew what he was interrupting. Jeff nods at Y/N politely before shrugging.

"You haven't answered my last few video calls, had to make sure you were still planning on returning to the real world," laughing, Jeff beckons the two to follow him. "I thought Y/N could drop me off at the ticket booth in town, and she could take you to get your things. The pilot who dropped me here is leaving in a few hours and said he'd pick us up on his way to the airport. You don't mind, do you Y/N?"

"Of course not!" Y/N is quick to link arms with the older man, smiling as she leads him to the car. "And it is all my fault, I'm afraid I've been exhausting Harry these past few weeks. He's quite wonderful, isn't he?"

Harry trails behind the two, terrified he's counted the days wrong or slept through them. He doesn't even notice she's grabbed at her sunglasses until she glances back at him from behind her neon frames. Her nose and cheeks are dusted pink, and she's chewing at her lips, clearly as unnerved as him.

Y/N needs him to say something to calm her nerves, but he's at a loss for words, especially with the look Jeff had given him. There is a delicate silence between them as they walk back to the car. The drive is awkward, with Harry sitting lowly in the back seat, surrounded by camera equipment and clothes and empty bottles of wine. He tried to catch Y/N's attention in the rearview mirror, but she's focused on the road. Jeff is eagerly asking about Harry's vacation, and how island life was really like, and Harry is struggling his best to sound happy to see an old friend, even if it means the end of his stay.

"Well, I hate to cut it short, but I pushed New York back as far as possible. Besides, it sounds like you've got a few photos to work with. Have you two decided about September yet?"

Y/N was quick to reply, pausing at a stop sign to glance back at Harry with a dazzling smile that surprises him. "Not yet, but I'm sure we can figure something out while we get his things."

As soon as they've pulled up to the office, Jeff is jumping out of the car, and Harry is chasing after him, sputtering before he's climbing into the front seat, his hand quickly finding her's as Y/N puts the car in reverse. She raises an eyebrow at him but can't help but smile when he leans across the console to kiss her forehead.

"Don't worry. I can tell you're thinking too hard."

"I just thought we'd have more time—" She could navigate these roads blindly, she's done it a time or two with him in the car, but she can't look at him. "I would have done things differently if I thought you'd be leaving today."

"What are you saying?"

Y/N takes a deep breath, her hand in Harry's growing sweaty as she bites at her lip nervously. "I want you to stay here. You inspire me, Harry. More than anything else in my life."

"We told Jeff a month. What do I tell him? He flew out here, and I'm supposed to be in New York tomorrow night."

"What is two more weeks? Stay the summer." She was smiling widely as she turned to look at him, eyes crinkling behind green lenses. Her worry is evident, and it breaks his heart to see it. "Harry, we could fill a whole book with our work. Forget Gucci, forget Vogue, forget them all. This belongs in a museum."

Harry started to laugh until he realized how serious she was.

"Y/N, Jeff will kill me. He'll kill us. Besides, in less than a month, we'll be working on the Gucci campaign, and then who knows?" Realizing she was frowning, he asked quickly, "What is it?"

"I'm selfish." Her voice was soft, smaller than the delicate piece of twine he had wrapped playfully around her pinkie at dinner. "Because I am vain. I am controlling and possessive, and I know myself too well. Muses only last as long as there is an inspiration. And I could spend the rest of my life taking photographs of you, Harry."

Sighing, Harry can't stop her from pulling her hand away as she parks the car. Following her, he asks quickly, "So what are you saying? You want me to go then? Forever?"

"I say we finish this. Go our separate ways." Y/N's never been one to give up, but her shoulders are slumped, and she's never looked sadder. Still, she puts on a brave face. "Anybody would be lucky to photograph you, Harry. I can't keep you to myself. We both need to go back to real life."

"And what if I don't want that."

"I was foolish to think I could keep you on this island." She laughed harshly, her cheeks burning as she unlocked the door, tossing her keys into the basket near the door before kicking off her shoes.

"But you'll stay?"

"It is my home. This is where I'm supposed to be." Hurrying to his room, she begins to empty his drawers, asking quickly, "Where did you put your suitcase?"

"You don't belong here either, Y/N." Grabbing her shoulders to stop her, Harry ducks to stand eye level with the woman who desperately tries to look away. "You're an artist. A

artist. The world deserves to see your work. You can't keep your gift to yourself,

is selfish."

"It's better I stay here, Harry. I love it here."

"But what if you didn't. What if you loved me."

"Harry—"

"Because I'm in love with you, Y/N. You can't just erase these past five weeks. They meant everything to me, and I know they meant a hell of a lot to you. I've never felt this way before, and I'd be an idiot to let this go," His voice was loud, near shocking at the sheer emotion behind it. His shoulders were tense, but his grip on her arms was gentle as he coaxed her to look at him again. "I'd let you take pictures of me for the rest of my life if it meant keeping you only a camera's distance away."

"And when you grow tired of me? Then what?"

"I think you'll get tired first. And I'll let you go because at least we tried."

When she didn't reply, Harry held his hand out to her.

"Come back to Florence with me. Leave Pantelleria for a day. Give me a chance to show you that you can be loved too. Because your work makes people feel something. The way you see things makes people fall in love. And you deserve to see that for yourself."

"And if you're wrong?"

"You'll move on. And I'll try to do the same."

She doesn't know what to say, and Harry's heart drops when she spots his suitcase sitting behind the door. Y/N pushes her sunglasses closer to her face, a nervous habit he knows. They are her shield—the wall to separate her from him and the rest of the world. Y/N walks towards his suitcase instead, and all Harry can do is look at his feet while he stuffs his hand in his pocket, the sting of rejection burning a hole in his chest.

"You don't have to meet the pilot." She suddenly blurts, picking up his bag before setting it down on his bed, carefully packing his clothes away. "I can drive you both there."

Harry nods, weakly shuffling towards the bathroom to grab the rest of his, too hurt to say anything. By the time he's in his room again, Y/N put away his chargers, laptop, and clothes, hand extended to take his bathroom bag. Harry realizes she's taken her sunglasses off, but he quickly looks away, realizing this is the last time he'll see her eyes.

"Assuming you help me pack."

He still doesn't know what to say, but now his eyes are wide as he glances briefly at the woman who is smiling casually, zipping up his suitcase and lifting it up with a grunt, huffing when it hits the carpeted floor. "Hopefully, we can get some seats together; airplanes have always made me nervous."

"What?"

"Well, it's only fair since I've packed your bags. Unless you want me to stay."

Before she finishes her sentence, Harry flies out of his room and heads straight towards her, asking in a panic if she even has a suitcase. And Jeff isn't also remotely surprised to see Harry leading Y/N carefully onto the airplane, his smile wide as she offers to take a photo of the two of them, eyes wide behind a pair of red heart-shaped sunglasses.