Matilda | Harry Styles

THIRTY-TWO

It was ours; just as we'd wanted it to be. I felt uncertain in a situation like this, but I never found myself doubting his affection - even if I couldn't have it, there and then. He'd still send a subtle wink across the room, or a knowing tilt of his head, or he'd let our eyes lock for an extra moment - everything I'd found myself clinging onto so desperately before I'd known what it was like to be with him, properly. It felt just as invigorating, now, as it had whenever he'd done it before.

"Can I add another layer to that?" Harry asked a technician, now, his hands still holding his headphones over his ears. He was several feet away, behind thick panes of glass that I assumed brought some kind of advantage to the recording that I wouldn't be able to grasp. His eyes narrowed in focus, as the technician responded with a silent raise of his hand, putting his thumb up.

The parts of 'Cinema' that Harry had already recorded that afternoon began to sound throughout the room, and he began to harmonise with his own voice, then, singing slightly lower than he had before. It was almost astounding how naturally it came to him; he had an ear for it, and he had instinct. Though he worked and practised hard, a lot of his talent felt inherent; he had the sense for these sorts of things. He made some sort of signal to the technician, and the track was played in a short loop, as we heard what Harry had just done played back to us. He pursed his lips, nodding, but already fixated on his next move.

"Okay - let me do the pre-chorus again," he said, then, raking his fingers through his hair as his eyes narrowed in on the microphone in front of him. Pauli had been folding and tossing paper airplanes around the room, as Mitch sat up at the booth with the other people, working. I wasn't sure what Pauli was planning on doing, here - he'd helped with writing, and he'd helped map out ideas at the beginning of the session, but it appeared, now, he knew when to step back and let Harry work, as all the others did. Everybody seemed equally attentive; responding to him only when spoken to - simply doing as he would so politely ask, and sharing approving looks at the ease with which he'd orchestrate these songs.

Harry cleared his throat then, just as the beat drew in, his voice that he'd already recorded began to sound. His hands held over his headphones, and he sang the highest I'd ever heard from him, far above the original pitch of the song. I'd never heard his voice this high, or delicately handled. His eyes were shut, intensely focused on the harmony he was crafting, and the music eventually stopped just before the chorus that I was becoming increasingly familiar with, could approach. He leaned back from the microphone, eyeing it for a second.

"Can I hear that back, please?" he asked, bringing one of the sides of his headphones away from his ear, preparing to listen. The song began to sound out again; this time, with Harry's added harmony.

I couldn't stop my lips from parting in surprise - not because I'd have ever doubted he was capable of making something so beautiful, but more because I was shocked at how smoothly he'd managed to pull it together. He bit back a beautiful grin attempting to fight its way onto his face, as he drew his eyes slowly up from the ground, to peer around the room; everybody seemed just as captivated by I was. He was so good.

"Harry, that's fucking awesome," Mitch said, with the most expression I was sure I'd ever seen from him. Harry was pulling the face he did whenever he was shyly trying to stifle his expression; his lips scrunched up as they fought against the grin wanting to break out onto his features, his eyes bright like a child's as he peered around.

"I like it," was all he said, and I could sense the flush trying to fight its way onto his cheeks. He looked adorable; so in his element, and aware of it - yet somehow, simultaneously, shy about his talent. He glanced at me, that shy grin on his lips as he awaited a reaction from me.

"I love it," I mouthed, sincerely, watching him press his lips together as his smile threatened to grow even bigger, looking away from me. I didn't feel as if I wanted to physically speak across the room, in a place I was so unfamiliar with - nobody else seemed to have noticed how his eyes had been so fixed on me, waiting for me to respond to his work. It was amazing to watch him bring these things, slowly, and carefully, to life.