Red Volkswagen || h.s.

exile

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we always walked a very thin line

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HARRY'S POV

It's been almost an hour since I've seen Brooklyn or heard her make any noise, and I'm beginning to think she up and left without me knowing it.

I can't say I would entirely blame her.

But she does leave tomorrow, so it wouldn't really make sense to leave with such a short time left.

I know she didn't leave. I'm being stupid. She's probably just taking time to herself, which is perfectly valid.

But my brain is nagging at me to go find her.

I've been up in the studio for a little bit, but I haven't done anything besides twiddle my thumbs and doodle flowers in my journal. I wrote a few things, but I'm not sure how usable it is. I've been stuck on this one line for ages and I can't seem to find the right words.

I don't want your sympathy
But you don't know what you do to me
Oh, Brooklyn
Every time I see your face
There's only so much I can take
Oh, Brooklyn

It's just not coming together for me. I scratched out her name because I would never be so blunt like that, and she would probably kill me if I was. I tried Faith, her middle name, but it doesn't work since it's not two syllables. So I'm stuck.

"...She said she almost made it my first name– it was between Faith, Brooklyn, and Anna, my grandma's name– but it sounded better as a middle name, so she tells me."

One thing she might not entirely realize is that I remember every single thing she tells me.

There's only so much I can take
Oh, Anna

I stare at my chicken scratch handwriting in my journal, thinking.

It's a work in progress.

I toss my journal and pen onto my desk and saunter out of the room, barreling down the stairs dramatically and looking for her in the living room and the kitchen. My eyes land on her through the window next to the pool, sitting on the edge with her knees to her chest. She's just staring at the water.

I stop for a moment and watch her– not in a creepy way– but to try to get a gauge on what she's doing.

And then I have a moment myself, where I realize I'm staring at Brooklyn in my backyard. A sight I would've given up my entire career to see for even a second these past months.

It's still weird to have her here. I haven't gotten used to it. To hearing her voice, seeing her expressions, and just being with her again. In my defense, I never thought I would get to do those things again. Ever.

I won't drag on about the repetitive nature of my emotions, such as when she called for the first time in eight months, agreed to come to LA, actually came to LA and confirmed I didn't imagine that conversation, and now– actually seeing her at my house for the third day in a row.

I'll sum up those situations in one sentence.

The hopeful reality of not all is lost, and the stinging reality of but just not yet.