FINE LINE | HARRY STYLES

THIRTY.

-

The address is some old building. But it's familiar. I know I've been here before. But I just can't remember why.

When I enter, the lobby is empty. No one's around. The only thing lit up is the elevator.

There's a note on the front desk.

Floor 3. Second door.

Am I going to get murdered?

Sure seems like it.

I shakily press the elevator button. It opens rapidly and I step inside to see a single rose on the floor. Picking it up, I inhale its scent.

Smells like him.

The elevator chimes indicating I've reached the floor. The second door is shut, so I reach forward to open it.

Inside, is a recording studio. There's twinkling lights all around the room lighting up the dim place. I approach the mixing table where all the music is made. There's a note on that as well.

This was the first recording studio I used after the band. Where you'd stay here from the evening until morning just to watch me work. The same place where you told me you wanted to marry me someday.

I wrote a song that means everything to me. As always, I want you to be the first to hear.

Press play and sit on the couch. Listen. This is for you.

Always you. H

There's a couch in the corner with a blanket. The same one I've sat on plenty of times. Even fell asleep on while he worked away. Just comforted by the fact that he was there.

I hesitantly press play and rush to the couch to sit down and place the blanket over my lap. But only because it smells good. Smells familiar.

It starts with a piano flowing in. It's soft and sad. His voice follows after a while. And I already feel my heart cracking.

I'm in my bed.
And you're not here.
And there's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands.
Forget what I said.
It's not what I meant.
And I can't take it back, I can't unpack the baggage you left.

It's like I've swallowed a pack of razors, hearing his voice come through the speakers. His beautiful voice.

What am I now? What am I now?
What if I'm someone I don't want around?
I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm fallin'.
What if I'm down? What if I'm out?
What if I'm someone you won't talk about?
I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm fallin'.

I feel sick. The thought of him feeling this way makes me feel so terribly broken.

You said you care, and you missed me too.
And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you.
And the coffee's out at the Beachwood Cafe.
And it kills me 'cause I know we've ran out of things we can say.