More than a Melody (H.S) ON HOLD

9

nine

I see him there.

Cradling the microphone he sang into like fireflies rifting through an endless valley, perfectly ethereal.

You can't blame me, darling
Not even a little bit
I was away
And I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch
Who can't admit when he's sorry

"Damn he's fine," Delilah whistles, welcoming a clearer view of his appearance. I don't acknowledge her words while she fails to notice the way I hide beside her, head held down low with my hair shading the sides of my face.

"Here are the shots you so desperately needed," Danny smirks once we find our way back, gesturing to a tray littered with three individual glasses.

"I think I'll pass for now." Probably best to let my stomach settle after, well, you know.

"Don't mind if I do," Delilah cheers, reaching for a glass and downing it within a second's time. Danny chuckles at her before shifting his gaze to the stage, watching the show that I seemingly tried to ignore.

Their attention is fully engrossed by Harry's performance, his voice and calming nature a tranquil persona. Every piece of me struggled to adhere to the ignorance of his existence.

Do you think it's easy
Being of the jealous kind?
'Cause I miss the shape of your lips
You win
It's just a trick
And this is it, so I'm sorry

The music he dedicated so much of his time to writing was so mature in its language, its composition, each word and note denoting the emotions he seldom expressed. And I hated how much I loved it.

I found myself searching for answers within his words, but all I could seem to configure was the fact that he was "of the jealous kind" and an "arrogant son of a bitch." The tune is light but his words are deep and dark, like a waterfall spilling into a blackened stream of water. Freely ominous in the most inconspicuous of ways.

The song comes to a close after some time, leading to an uproar of applause and words of encouragement from the commending crowd. I clap, too, for he deserved it.

I watch Delilah whisper something to Danny, and before I can comprehend what's going on, Delilah is standing on top of the couch cushions and flaring her arms about.

Oh fuck.

No, no, no, no, no.

"Hey, Ezra!" She shouts, hoping to receive his attention, "It's my best friend's birthday!"

Everyone fixates their eyes on Delilah before cheering along with her, earning his awareness. Everything after that appears to happen in slow motion.

I could kill her. I could, I swear I could.

"Delilah, stop," I sneer, trying so desperately to pull her down. Danny holds onto her though, keeping her steady.

Okay, now I could kill them both.

"What's your friend's name, love?" Harry smirks into the microphone, at least I assumed, I didn't want to look.