A premonition of Love

Ski Dai Yo

It's silly really, the entire scenario that she's found herself in. Ada could laugh, nobody would hear it over the music. It's loud, and people are taking turns at the stage. Though She could go join the group, she should, rather than lurking in the corner like a weirdo, fixated on a previous performance. She's not laughing, even at herself. She'd kinda drooling, way more embarrassing.

But she just had to watch him.

He was in his element, relaxed, on, charming, lit up like a Christmas tree. Merry, bright.

She'd never seen him like this, in the flesh. Glimpses, in the interviews she watched and called research. She'd seen the fuss there, agreed to the picture partly on the strength of it.

She could see it, what the fuss was about. And it was the first real glimpse she'd had, besides those moments she felt she had to steal from him to get on film. She was beginning to think there was a limited supply of Styles' magic. Perhaps, that was why she was only able to get a precious few minutes a day.

Watching him now, that did not seem to be the case. Harry was incandescent and she felt blinded by the light. She could chalk that up to all of her rockstar fantasizes brought to life, but it didn't explain everyone else's rapt attention on him, their enthrallment. Maybe they all had a grunge fetish too?

When she walked in and she clocked him, even with the stupid glasses that obscured his face, festive she supposed, he looked different.

On set he looked, perfect was the word that came to mind, but not in the way people usually meant. Polished and made up and proper in his prince clothes. Perfect, fake. And anxious, like the film was a bit of an albatross around his neck. Or maybe the pressure. And he looked like it was heavy, all the trappings trapping him. Ada worried over it. Like, the movie made him regress. Maybe it felt too familiar. He said that a lot when they talked about scenes, when he was frustrated with himself.

"I know just how he feels."

Because he had been there. Is that why he had such a hard time getting the shot? Because it made him freak out a little, feel like he'd not called his own shots for years? But he'd made these choices. Had agency. Maybe she could help him see it as therapeutic. Because it was a way to safely rebel - a redo, no risk.

She'd talk to him about it. They needed to have that drink. She could order him one now.

Ada shook her head. Not tonight. She didn't want to kill his vibe tonight. It was too lovely to watch, and to live she guessed. No shop talk.

He looked light as a cloud, and as soft edged too. Nothing perfect or fake about him. His skin was a little slick under the stage lights, the ridges near his nose were shiny especially. He had glitter on his cheeks, but not like highlighter, like the glasses he wore were cheap, and shedding tiny pieces of shine.

But he did shine.

And he had sounded good.

Not everybody could sing Nirvana, in a chest voice no less.

She was weaned on that. And really into indie rock, especially grunge, while her dad was fostering 90's slick hip hop. It was a silly means of rebellion, but she took her opportunities to disappoint Garner seriously.

She remembered her dad had called the cover of in utero obscene, which made her laugh as he had just put out a video full of nearly naked females in bikinis, but anatomical drawings were obscene. Okay.

She had snuck a new copy in after he threw the first one away and poured over the lyrics in her baggy jeans and crop top with a flannel. Had a giant crush on Kurt, May he Rest In Peace, and when she met Dave Grohl it may have been the only time she was really starstruck.