Peter Styles Quotes

< Your kid sister's a fan? >
< When she found out you were here, she bugged me non-stop to get your autograph. So annoying. >
He smirked at that, then flipped to a clean page and writing, then ripping off the corner and handing it to me.
< Hey, Andi.
Your brother is the best nurse ever. Thanks for
letting me borrow him.
XOXO,
Your #1 fan,
Harrison Paine >
I stared at it, the world's most idiotic grin spreading over my face. I ran my thumb over his signature - his full signature this time. Andi could pry this scrap of paper out of my cold, dead hand.
< This is really cool. Thanks. >
< Anytime. >

We talked a little, I on a small spiral notepad, and Luke using a combination of his voice and some simple signs, which he taught me as they came up. My fingers felt clumsy around him; I was used to being good at things, and learning a new skill, especially when I wanted so badly to impress the teacher, made me nervous. He only grinned at my rookie mistakes, and took my hands in his, bending my fingers and adjusting my angles with a patient strength that made my stomach flutter. A lot of the date, though, was spent in silence. I was learning a whole volume of his smiles - how he grinned when he was nervous, and how he beamed when he was pleased. The small, secret, naughty smile that traced along his lips more than a few times, which meant that was thinking something he wasn't going to share. For a man who had loved words his whole life, who'd made a living writing them and singing them, I found a strange pleasure in listening to the silence and finding meaning in the canting of a head or the wink of a long-lashed, big, brown eye.

He was a beautiful man with a beautiful soul. Something about the way he talked, the way he wrote, made me believe that he never quite felt like he'd belonged. Sure, he was rich and famous - he lived on a 60-acre horse ranch just outside of Lexington, for Christ's sake - but just knowing he existed, knowing that even someone as talented as him understood what it felt like to have a hungry heart, made me feel less lonely sometimes. And here he lay. Vulnerable. Bruised. Likely in more pain, even unconscious, than I could imagine. There are so many assholes in the world, I thought, not for the first time. Why do terrible things have to happen to people who try to shine a little light in the darkness?

He kissed like he sang, I thought. All need.
I caught my breath. Then I kissed him again.
I buried my fingers in his loose blond hair, clutching it, pulling his head back, forcing myself into him the way he'd done to me. He tested me, fighting for dominance, driving me to kiss deeper, kiss longer. All the sleepless nights; all the doubts I'd felt; all the secret, guilty touches I'd given myself since meeting him were in my kiss. Somehow I ended up half kneeling over him, half lying on top of him.
"Wow," he said, moving his lips slowly so I could read them.
I pressed our foreheads together, laughing against him. My whole body vibrated, electric.
"We should stop," he mouthed.
I nodded. It took me a second to get up, but I forced myself. We sat for a while, taking each other in, not touching, entirely connected. Then he wrote: < You're a very good kisser. >
< You too. >
< I didn't want to stop. >
< Me either. >
< We should. >
< I know. >

For someone who claimed to not be brave, Luke was fearless at pinning his heart to his sleeve and making me take notice. But then, despite what he thought, he'd always been the bolder of the two of us. Fighting to be seen as more than his disability, nurturing his own ability to love after his parents abandoned him, coming out as a teen--that first kiss and all of the physical things that followed. I loved his bravery. I was in awe of it. This man, so young and in so many ways naive, had done so much in so little time to teach me how to be strong

< It's a lot to think about.>
"It is."
< Scared.>
He nodded, eyes warming the tiniest bit.
< A lot could go wrong.>
"A lot could go wrong. Some pain. And, I suppose, a giving up of hope. But your voice won't get any worse than it is right now. It may well be worth the risk."
I nodded, my eyes in my lap.
"I feel as though I'm pressuring you. You're probably smart to get past this first surgery before we make plans. I do want you to know - " He stopped, long enough that I eventually looked up to see what was wrong. He was staring at me, staring into me, in a way that made me feel a little exposed. It wasn't an unkind stare, but it was sure as hell thorough. He cleared his throat. "Doctor-patient relationships aren't always easy, Mr. Paine. Harrison. And ours has been more fraught than most, due to...well. Due to things that had nothing to do with your actual care. I want to clear the air. I am your doctor. I care about your wellbeing. For what it's worth, I empathize with the sense of loss you're going through, and how hard that can shift the ground under you. You've been a fighter, Harrison, and I admire that. I will take care of you as long as you need me to, okay?"
Well, fuck. Now I was crying in front of this guy. I'd turned into a real weeper since getting my throat knocked out of me.
Ren was chill enough not to say anything. He just stood, then rested his hand on my shoulder, letting it sit there for

Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. Oh, I'm good, you know. Mostly. I guess I'm in a bit of a spot. You see, I fucked a patient while I was on the clock. I mean, it's fine, because I thought I liked him, and we didn't get caught. But then I had sex with him again...totally off the clock this time...and we did get caught and then I got fired. Haha. I'm totally broke. Can I move back home?
That wasn't exactly how the conversation had gone. I'd have died. But I had told my parents that St. Andrew's hadn't worked out, and my Dad at least had an inkling as to why. Despite my being a colossal fuck-up and throwing away everything I'd ever wanted over a guy, they were letting me move into my old room.
Not ideal. Surely. But I'd just cleaned out my checking account to make my student loan payment, and rent was due in a week, and no one was exactly jumping out of their skin to hire a deaf waiter or a deaf receptionist while I looked for something permanent. It was moving home or living in my car, I guess

Harrison, you're an idiot. An idiot who tries hard, but still."
I'd widened my eyes, questioning.
"You've back-burnered your love life for so long that you have no idea what it actually means to date. Most of the guys you've been with...at least the ones you've let me meet? Shit, they would have loved to have used your home like a luxury hotel. But this Luke guy sounds like he came from nothing, and everything he has, he's fought for."
I nodded. He had.
"You meant well. I know that. But he needs to work. To feel useful. When he lost that, instead of listening to him while he figured things out, you tried to give him a handout he couldn't pay back in a million years. How was that gonna make him feel, honey?"
< But he gave me so much when I needed it.>
She brushed some hair off my forehead in that maternal way she sometimes had. "He was doing his job, Paine. I'm sure he enjoyed it, and it sounds like the connection between you got real, but he probably didn't see it as a transaction. Taking care of you was his duty. You don't owe a man for doing what he's called to do."
< He's being stubborn. He helps me, I help him.>
She shrugged and laughed. "Men need to be stubborn sometimes. You pushed too hard, babe. He just needed an ear and a shoulder. Maybe if you'd given him that, it would have taught him to trust you, made him comfortable enough to be the right kind of vulnerable." She took my hand, squeezing it between hers.

< So, it's a date? Whenever I get out of here? >
I considered a long time before responding: < Have you ever been with a guy before? >
Now it was his turn to blush, then: < Yeah. Quiet as I've kept it. >
I nodded, but didn't write anything. He looked like he needed to unburden.
< Pathetic, isn't it? That I've been hiding. Not to everyone, but to my fans. People who maybe could have used a role model. >
< I'm not judging you. >
He shrugged. < Don't have to. I'm judging myself. >
There was a long moment between us. His eyes met my face, but it felt like he was looking inside himself rather than at me. Finally: < No reason to hide anymore. I quit the band today. >
I squeezed his hand, then wrote: < So you're coming out, like, now? >
He shrugged.
< Because you should. Definitely. For lots of reasons. But no one could fault you if you wanted to wait. You're dealing with A LOT right now. >

< People make fun of my voice.
I know I don't sound like a hearing person.>
< You sound perfect when you talk. Your voice is beautiful.>
I blushed, feeling my eyes tickle as I looked down and wrote quickly.
< It's not you, like I said. Promise.
It's just the only thing I get hung up about.
It's hard to break down a lifetime of neurosis with a guy I've only known 2 weeks.
No matter how much I like him. And I do like you, Harrison.
A lot.
A LOT.>
He grinned, somehow looking both predatory and shy, and if he hadn't been so far away, I would have grabbed him and kissed him.
< Just give me time, OK?>
< OK.> he replied, and pressed the palm of my hand to his mouth. Then: < I won't ask again. But if you're ever ready to talk, I would love to listen.>
Thank you.
He nodded, slowly. In the dim light of his bedside lamp, his eyes shone like tiny moons.
< So...are most of your friends also deaf?>
He colored as soon as he flashed me the note, snatching it back almost before I'd read it.
< Sorry. That was an asshole way to put it. Do you mostly sign around your friends?>
I guess there were, in fact, two sensitive nerves.
< I don't have a ton of friends.
Jesus. That makes me sound like a loser

< I'd take a cold beer, a hot shower, and a good night's sleep.> He smirked.
< No beer, and I've slept all day - thanks to you. But I have a shower. And I know from experience that it fits one patient and one nurse with minimal cramping.>
< Mmm. Sounds great. A hot shower with a hot guy.>
I laughed, a harsh wheeze that grated my ears. I ignored it. I'd done enough wallowing, and after the day he'd had, I only wanted to be strong and happy for Luke.< That's bold, Nurse. Where's that innocent angel who so expertly sucked my cock yesterday?>
He laughed, too. I loved it. I wished I could get him to break down and actually talk to me, but I was getting pretty good at making him share his laughter. It warmed me from inside.
< Sorry, muffin. Exhausted. My filter must be broken.>
Muffin? I decided I loved it. From him, at least. I reached out, taking his hand. He squeezed, his thumb pressing into the meat of my palm, reminding me of our first real conversation. It did nothing to bank the flames that had distracted me all day. I wondered if there was, in fact, something I could do to help Luke feel good at the end of a shitty shift.
< I wasn't 100% kidding about the shower.>
He grinned.
< But you're cute when you're being tempted.>
He rolled his eyes. < And you're tempting when you're being cute.>

Thank you for saying you love me. Not just for saying it, but for being brave enough to tell me how you feel.
I'm not as brave as you. And maybe I'm a little more damaged than you...carrying more baggage. I'm not ready to tell you I love you, but you do need to know that you've been the best part of my life since we met, and I can't imagine moving on without you.
I want to see where this goes. And once you're out of here, I want to date. Really date.
Until then, we need to cool off. You're really good at making me take chances. That sounds like I'm blaming you - I'm not. It's a good thing. You make me brave and wild. You excite me, and make me exciting. I don't regret the risks we've taken, but I can't take any more for a while.
And we have to talk about what happened under the poplar tree the other night. You said some things that make me want to take a big step back from this.
You asked me to do something I'd never ask of you. I didn't mean to sound cruel, bringing up your injury like I did, but it doesn't make sense that you say you love me, but want me to risk the chance to do a job I've been called to do. We need to figure that out, ok?
Thanks for reading all this. It's what's been on my mind all week, and I needed to get it off my chest.

It's a hell of a thing, taking away a man's voice.
Dr. Ren had said this to me on the night Harrison Paine woke up. That was all he'd said about the man, then or since, that hadn't been purely clinical, but I knew it weighed on him. I'd worked with him long enough to learn that he felt personal failure any time he couldn't save the world.
Maybe that was part of the reason I found myself gravitating to Harrison Paine's room. I couldn't give the singer his voice back, but maybe if I worked hard enough, I could relieve some of the pressure Dr. Ren felt. Maybe if I worked hard enough, I could make Harrison give me one of his rare, beautiful smiles

Maybe I'd learned to take him for granted. I know that my heart had sunk pretty low when I found out he had a couple of days off, and lower still when he explained why he wouldn't visit.
And I was mad at that, too. Mad that I'd let him become so important to me, so fucking necessary, that forty-eight Luke-less hours could fuss me up like this.
And maybe a little mad that he wasn't willing to risk a little trouble in order to see me.
And mad that that made me mad

The song continued through the second verse, telling the story of a young couple who couldn't be together in the bright light of day, but who had walked hand-in-hand under the stars every night. Lovers who weren't tough enough or brave enough to make it work, who let the world tear them apart. Lovers who were already dying inside from regret.
Not the most original idea, but love songs seldom are. The pain we feel when something breaks inside of us cuts everyone just as deep, no matter how many millions of people have felt it before. This story was my story, but the hush of the audience told me that the crowd was attaching their own thoughts and memories to my words. There's no moment of connection purer

< Dear Luke,
I'm sorry for coming by unannounced. You haven't been returning my texts, and a stronger man would have gotten the hint - >
Movement caught my eye. I looked at him. He was signing. Slowly. Imperfectly. Little inflections were wrong, and he got some of the ideas out of order, but he was, as best he could, reciting the letter to me.
- gotten the hint, but I'm not strong. I'm not proud. I'm in love with you, and I'm sorry for hurting you. Please let me say my piece, and then I'll leave if you want. But I'd never be able to look in a mirror if the last time we spoke was that night on the phone.
You are nothing but love and warmth and strength, and the world was a better place when you were a nurse in it. I don't know how serious things are, but if you can get back into nursing, that's what I want for you. If there's a way I can help - any way at all, big or small - please tell me. You deserve your dreams, and I was a complete ass for the things I said during our fight.
I'll never do that again. Never. If you let me in your life, I promise to listen. To always listen. To listen carefully and compassionately. I'll give you advice when you want it or help if you need it, but I will always listen.
And if you want me, a reclaimed ass who promises to do better, in your life, it would make me happy. I don't know what we'd look like in the real world, but I can't think of another person I'd rather figure things out with.
We've

Being stuck in here sucks, and I'm scared. But I appreciate you. Nurses are in and out of here all day, but no one takes the time you do to make me feel comfortable. I notice you tidying my messes and watering my stupid flowers, and it means a lot. So...thank you.
–HJP>
I read it again. And again. My throat closed. Other patients had made me feel this way, my little dude Jason being the most recent, but knowing that I'd successfully made Harrison feel comfortable, feel special... knowing a man who wrote beautiful words for a living had taken the time to write to me, just for doing my job...
I ran my thumb over the three letters that made up his initials.
I looked up at him. His right hand rested on his face, palm flat, fingers touching the curve of skin between his lips and jaw. With the smallest smile imaginable, he moved his arm down and out toward me.
Thank you