"Do you guys just get freaked out about time?" Harry asks Niall and Liam. He also realized earlier that they don't have to hide anything anymore. His friends know everything about him, and it makes hanging out much more fun.
Niall throws a football at him. "What are you on about?"
He sighs, picks up the ball, and lunges it back. He lays back down on Niall's bed, looks up, and sighs again. "I don't know. I'm just nervous about things. About graduating, and University. It's a lot of change in such little time."
"Zayn has the most wonderful mouth," Liam adds, who apparently, is too wrapped up in his own head to realize what they're talking about. "Like, it's incredible."
Harry and Niall both laugh. "Liam, we know. You tell us all the time."
"Well," Liam says with a sigh. "It's true."
"Louis' is better. Silky smooth. Always minty fresh. Knows how to work it," Harry dreamily says. "It's addicting."
"Well, Zayn does this thing with his tongue—"
"Stop!" Niall shouts. "I don't want to know about Zayn's tongue, or Louis' silky mouth, ya wankers. Bloody hell. Want me to go on about Lily's boobs? Her heavenly mouth? Would you two like that?"
Harry's nose scrunches. "Not really."
"Then shut it, yeah?" Niall speaks with a huff.
"You okay, Niall?" Liam asks. He's sitting in the sofa chair in his room, but Niall remains beside Harry.
"Yeah, fine. Just don't want you two to go on a 'my boyfriend's better than yours' argument."
"Well, Zayn's not my boyfriend," Liam mutters. "I'm just happy, is all. Harry, you didn't talk about how incredible it is to be with someone you're actually attracted to. I feel like I could explode with all of these new emotions."
Harry grins and leans up on his elbows to stare at Liam. "Yeah, it's nice. Doesn't really go away. Wait until you fall in love. Turns all the emotions up by a thousand, no less."
"Goddamn it, guys. Talking like life's a romance film or some shit," Niall groans. "Let's talk about—" He picks up the football. "About football. Sports. Yeah."
Harry snorts. "I'm shit at sports, Niall."
"Yeah. Same," Liam agrees.
"Christ," Niall mumbles, throwing his football down to the carpeted floor in defeat. "I'll call Louis, then, since he loves sports. Including football."
Harry fully sits up at that, his brow furrowed, as he stares at Niall. "You're joking."
Niall shrugs and stands, avoiding eye contact with Harry. "Yeah. We talk sometimes about the football games on the phone when they're on."
He narrows his eyes in on his mate, watching as he aimlessly kicks the ball around until it hits the wall and rolls back. "What are you on about? You trying to make a move on my boyfriend?" he jokingly asks, but he couldn't help but be curious. He didn't know Niall and Louis were that close.
Niall turns his head, but once his eyes fall on Harry's face, he laughs. "Absolutely not. My relationship isn't a sham, unlike your boys' were with your ladies. Lily and I are perfectly happy together, thank you."
"Well, actually," Liam says, voice turned serious. Harry stares at him, notices how he suddenly looks nervous with his gaze drawn downward, and starts feeling nervous too. "I have to admit something." He looks up, eyes dead-set on Niall. "It really was all a sham. Everything. Even with Zayn. Because I love you, Niall James Horan. Always have and always will."
Harry snorts, but turns to Niall to see his eyes were blown wide in shock. He can't help but laugh harder.
"Liam!" Niall yells out.
Liam starts to cackle, and soon, it turns into a full-on laughing fit. He's hunching over and clutching his stomach, head bowing as his whole body shakes. All while Niall looks as if he was nervously sweating with relief, as he's walking over to sit back on the bed slowly.
"I'm messing, mate," Liam says through his hyena-like laughter.
"Fuckin' hell," Niall groans. "Not funny. 'Cause I'm not, you know..."
"Niall," Harry says, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. "We know."
Liam and Harry continue laughing, and Niall just rolls his eyes. "Call your boyfriends over, have the time of your lives. I'll just be sitting it out, it's fine."
Harry breathes a laugh out of his nose, glances at Liam, before looking back at Niall. "What do you mean?"
Niall turns his head to stare at him. "Your boyfriends are, like, your new best mates. I mean, they're guys. You don't need me. You get to kiss your best mate and talk about all the things we do, too. Think about it. I'm—I'm happy for the both of you, but I just don't want to—to be forgotten. Especially with high school ending. I don't know, it's dumb."
It's quiet after those words are in the air. Liam and Harry exchange looks, because they know they feel terrible that Niall's been feeling this way.
"Niall, you know no one could replace you," Harry tries to reassure him. "Being in a relationship and having a friendship are different. We need you. You're our best mate."
Liam nods in agreement. "Yeah, exactly. We'd lose our minds without you. Just because we like, uh—guys—doesn't mean we don't need you."
Niall huffs loudly. "Didn't want a bonding moment. I'm fine, really, just don't like thinking about us all moving away. Harry, you want to go to London; Liam, you want to go to bloody Italy, for what—literature? And I want to be a fucking doctor like Dad. We're all following different career paths. Different Universities. After graduation and summer, we probably won't see each other for years."
Harry looks down with a huff. He'd been so in his own head about his future and what it means for his love life, that he hadn't quite stopped to think about leaving Niall and Liam behind. Leaving them while they all figure out their own futures. It's terrible to think about; they've been friends for years, and could always depend on each other for the stupidest things. And vice versa—like jumping out of his window to ride his sisters bike for moral support for Liam. Now, looking back on those times, it's weird to think about how much he didn't know about himself. How much Liam's changed. How much Niall's grown and evolved into this confident guy, and a lovely boyfriend to his Lily.
"Well, we just have to make this time last," Liam says with a tinge of sadness to his voice. "Maybe we can go away somewhere. A holiday, perhaps?"
Harry perks up at that. "A trip after graduating, yeah! We should totally do that."
Niall nods slowly. "Yeah, that'd be nice. We should do that. Bring our, like, lovers and shit along. Get away from this town. Yeah, that'd actually be great."
Harry smiles, perks up from the soured atmosphere that had been created, all because a trip truly sounds lovely. Especially if it's with all the people he adores. And even if it's an idea that'll never happen, he still goes to Louis' that evening with a pep in his step. He just loves that his mates know absolutely everything about him, and that they can plan trips with their boyfriends, without a judgmental thought. He's just realized how far he's come from the beginning of all of this—how much he's grown.
And he's so happy to have a boyfriend that allows him to talk his ear off about every detail. The patience Louis has has always been something to be jealous about, but maybe it's just a quality he'll come to grow into. He mentioned the idea of a trip after graduation, and Louis just so happened to love it. He says he hasn't traveled since he went sort of crazy (after Elijah, and after his mum found out about them), and would love to have a holiday to explore with a sober mind.
"I think Liam and Zayn are happy," he blurts out to Louis, nodding to himself. "Liam's lighter now. It's good to see."
Louis nods along with him, his elbows on the table. Harry had just cooked dinner for the two of them, and Louis ate it up rather hastily. He made a comment that he should show him how to cook, but Louis joked around, saying that cooking is what his boyfriend is for. Harry'd only rolled his eyes.
"Zayn's smiling more, yeah. The bloke always had trouble finding a nice lad. A nice anyone, really." Louis stood and gathered their plates in his hands.
"What do you mean?"
He walked over to the sink and sat the plates down, turning the tap on and letting it run, before shutting it off. "He just couldn't attract anyone serious. Anyone nice. I mean, it's just... He's not a bad looking kid. Everyone seemed to want to use him for themselves."
Harry immediately frowns. Zayn's his age—it's terrible to think about him getting taken advantage of for his looks, even if it's something he was for, a few years back. "Has he ever had a serious relationship?" he lightly asks.
Louis shakes his head and starts scrubbing the dishes. "Not really," he mutters. Harry stands to walk closer to the sink, until he's leaning against the closest counter and crossing his arms. "He just kept to himself back then. He liked the drugs, parties, and drinking as much as any of us, but as Elijah and I grew more serious, I think he felt...left out. By not having a serious guy or girl with him. He'd try, yeah, but they'd always want one thing from him, and he'd give it."
"God," Harry quietly comments. He hates that for him. And he wonders if Liam knows he's the first person to properly date Zayn. He pushes himself away from the counter to grab a kitchen towel, taking a dish once Louis' cleaned it, and wiping it dry. "At least he had you."
Louis glances at him as he hands another dish over. "I'm glad I had him, if anything. I definitely would've made more shit decisions without him."
Harry wipes down the plate and sets it aside, nodding slowly. He's just glad to have Louis to help figure out everything with him. Sure, the beginning of things were rather rocky, but Louis' kindness gave him the best experience of it all. He knows the stories of others coming to terms with things, where it's mostly terrible actions that fear them into hiding, or something else entirely. Something Louis had a taste of not so long ago, where the despair of reality is too much to handle, and one spends their time consumed with drugs and alcohol to alleviate that pain. Living for a party to not feel alone or judged. He's just happy to not go through that, is all.
"I, uh," he starts, setting the plate down. Louis looks over at him and shuts the tap off, his blues eyeing him with that signature intense look that fills his stomach with butterflies. "I just... love you."
Louis snorts. He dries his hands off, and then slowly makes his way to stand in front of Harry, settling his hands on the counter he's standing against, on either side of his waist. Louis' basically trapped him.
"You're so awkward, even when you're telling me you love me," Louis says with a smile. He leans in and noses at his neck, mouth teasingly kissing at that spot that always gets him weak in the knees. "But I love it," he mumbles against his skin. "And you."
Harry's mind fogs over and his lips part as if he's about to say something, but no words tumble out. Louis' mouth is on his skin and that's enough to leave him completely helpless for the time being.
———
He thinks the stress of it all could take him out. With Mrs. Lance breathing down his neck about his final paper, and with this huge audition he'd somehow managed to get, life just so happened to be the epitome of stress.
His detention date, as he called it, with Mrs. Lance approached, and all she could do was badger him about his final and what he hoped for in the future. What University was calling his name, and what passions he had. It was honestly a tad overwhelming. But he forced himself to talk about it with her, even with the possibility of wanting something that's so hard to achieve. The talk actually did some good, though. Mrs. Lance listened intently, and even suggested that if his grand music career never panned out, anyone with a music education could find something to do. Maybe help produce it, teach it, or God knows what else. It definitely eased his nerves. Especially if he gets into the Academy of Music; options would be endless if he went to school there.
He was almost late for auditions, as well. He hadn't realized most auditions are held for Year Eleven students, not Year Twelve, so that acceptance letters can be sent out early. It most definitely makes things the more difficult for Harry, but at least he's able to audition at all. He can't wimp out now, not when he's so close to it.
"Lord, I don't know a damn thing," Anne mumbles beside him. She's got a paper map expanded in front of her and is rotating it around like a pure tourist. Harry sighs out of embarrassment.
He wished Louis would have come, but his Mum wanted to be with him for this monumental moment of his life. Gemma tagged along as well, because she'd also never been taken to the city before. The three of them, without a proper guide, might just be the worst idea of all.
"This way!" Anne shouts, pointer finger up and pointing north.
Harry and Gemma cackle to each other, but otherwise don't say anything else. He's got his guitar case in hand, and tries to ignore the weight that's annoyingly getting heavier the more he's having to lug it around.
"You're oddly calm," Gemma says by his side.
Harry shrugs and then shakes his head. "I'm losing my fucking mind. I'm so nervous I just can't talk, otherwise I'd puke."
She scrunches her nose in disgust. "Ew, all right. Be quiet, then."
And he does. He starts to feel lightheaded with how nervous he's become, but he keeps telling himself he has to do this. They didn't come all this way for nothing, and he's not going to wimp out last minute. He's going to follow through with things, and if it doesn't work out, then it just wasn't meant to be. He'll figure it out afterwards with Louis, because if nothing works out, at least he has him. Which is more than enough.
The University looks so posh once they rounded the corner that Harry almost fell over and passed out on the spot. It looks historic, yet mansion-like, with a brick structure that looked like something the Queen could live in if Buckingham Palace wasn't an option. White brick accented and contrasted against the red, making it only stand out even more. A concrete archway, with lined designs and two light fixtures on either side stood ahead of them, the entryway reading: Royal Academy of Music, to add to his nerves. The words made it the more real, and Harry's stomach twisted uneasily.
"Thank God we've found it," their Mum happily says, walking into the entryway without hesitation.
Harry reluctantly followed behind Gemma, who walked ahead of him. And he's certain he's going to throw up. The chandelier above swayed, but otherwise looked completely flawless. He didn't have much time to note all the details, seeing as his mother was already talking to someone at one of the two desks ahead of him. The ceiling domed above, the stark white almost intimidating. Two elaborate wooden desks sat on the opposing walls, both filled with ladies working telephones or talking to others that must have questions.
"Harry?" his Mum called. "She's talking to you."
Harry's wide eyes fell onto the girl now standing behind the desk. Blonde hair curled drastically away from her face, but otherwise was straightened everywhere else. She looked rather young to be working a desk—couldn't be older than himself.
"Your audition is in thirty minutes. I've called Terri, your guide, and she should be here soon to take you." She smiled politely and encouragingly. "Just pretend you're singing for yourself. It may look intimidating, but we all had the same start as you."
Harry's brows instantly furrowed. "Are you a student?" he questioned, couldn't help but be interested. He'd sell half his soul for a tip or two on how to get accepted.
She nods. "I am. Should be graduating soon, actually. I major in vocals and piano."
Harry nodded lazily, the nerves making his heart beat faster than normal, which made him feel dizzy.
"Terri! This is Harry," the girl said with a wave.
Terri approached, her brown hair hitting right at her shoulders. She was much shorter than Harry, and he wanted to comment on how amusing it was that their names rhymed, but he couldn't say a word. The girl behind the desk told Anne and Gemma where they could wait, so they both wished him luck with tight hugs. It was all sort of a blur, if he was being completely honest. It's like he was looking down at himself and seeing everything play out, but the nerves were making him so unlike himself. He didn't mutter a single word until Terri motioned for him to follow her, and when he was away from his family. They were walking down an elaborate hall with marble flooring, the walls covered with alumnus that most likely achieved great things. Plaques were underneath each picture frame, but they weren't slowing down enough for him to stop and read them. If anything, it made things more intimidating.
"So, you're going to sing?" Terri asked. Her dress was multicolor and blocked, each block containing a brown, yellow, or orange. It was bright. It looked nice on her.
"I—yeah," he quietly says. He changes the guitar case over to his right hand and shakes out his arm. "That's the plan."
"Awesome. I'm ready to hear it—originals are either terrible or incredible. But I'm sure you'll do great, Harry," she says with an encouraging smile.
Harry's eyes go wide. "Original?" His heart sinks into the deepest part of his stomach. He's sure he's going to vomit.
Terri furrows her brows in confusion and stops to stare at Harry, her brown eyes inspecting him as if she was preparing to back away if he started throwing up. "Um, yes. They don't really want to listen to anyone that doesn't have an original. Singing-wise, or instrument-wise. Didn't you know that?"
"I can't do this," he softly says, eyes shooting up toward the ceiling. "Why did I think I could do this?"
Terri's hand is on his arm a second later, patting it gently and coaxing him with sweet, hopeful words that he could do it. "You've come all this way, Harry. Why not see? You'll never know unless you try. Don't you have a song? You must!"
Harry finds himself leaning against the wall, the back of his head thumping against it as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed. His mind was spinning and unable to find a coherent thought, let alone a song from memory. He's toyed around with songwriting, but nothing was ever good enough. It all sounded like it had been written by a dumb kid.
"It's not any good," he says underneath his heavy breathing.
"I'm sure it is. Just give it a try. I once heard a kid sing about their LSD trip. It was terrible, but these people have heard it all."
Harry stares down at her. She was small, but not dainty looking. She looked like a strong woman, with a curve that filled the dress. She seemed so confident and easy-going, and Harry wished he had that quality.
"Well," he starts. "Mine isn't about drugs. But it also isn't finished."
"That's fine. If they ask you to sing something else, then so be it! You've got this, Harry!"
It's not the moment where he feels confident—where he feels a surge of emotions where he could possibly get through it and achieve anything, but the complete opposite. He isn't prepared enough for what's about to happen. And as Terri leads him to a room with limited seating, she tells him to wait until they're ready for him. He goes over the lyrics in his head, and hates most of the words he'd written. It's not a good song. It's better than most he's written, but it's unfinished and he couldn't find a good melody for it when wiring it. He knows he's setting himself up for failure. And it happens fast, yet so slow, with all the waiting. Terri's then coming back for him and telling him it's his time to go on.
"Just through this door," she says, motioning to the one she just came from.
Harry nods, swallows loudly, and doesn't say a word. He gets the guitar out of its case and tries to stand straight and confident. She basically pushes him through the door, and once he enters, his eyes go wide. It's a massive, elaborate theatre, with a stage that looks as though it goes on for miles, and rows upon rows of seating before it. A balcony stretches at the very top, where even more rows of chairs reside. There's a distinct gold decorated in the room, in all the small details of the balcony, the ceiling—even the walls. The carpeting was a deep red, that matched each cushioned chair perfectly. He almost trips upon taking in the sight before him, and swears there's marble in the gold ceiling as well. How does that happen? He's never seen a place so rich.
His eyes fall on three people sat in the middle of the room, their silhouettes intimidating from so far away. He knows who they are the second he spots them, but still can't say a damn word.
"On stage," Terri mumbles from beside him.
He looks down, nods slowly, and feels himself walk up the stairs from the side of the stage. And it feels like he has no control over himself while doing so. There's a microphone set up in the center of the stage, so that's where he stands once he robotically puts the guitar over his shoulder.
"Name?" he hears a deep voice call out from the theatre.
Why are they so far away? He wishes he could see them clearly. But then again, it probably would have made things worse. He'll just pretend he's in a dream, where everything goes perfectly perfect.
"Uh, H-Harry Styles?" And it's not a question, but he's so fucking nervous that it sounded that way once he's said it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Song?" Another voice calls out. It's lighter and sweeter, like a mother that could sense a soon-to-be breakdown from a toddler.
"Mine. It's mine. Is that okay? I can sing anything, if you—"
"That's fine. When you're ready," another male voice interjects.
He nods quickly and clears his throat, shaky fingers grasping the pick, and fingers forming the chord he remembered playing with the song. The first strum is sounded, and it feels as though he's driving a vehicle he has no control over. He's not sure of the melody, but he can't stop now—it's all just an inevitable car crash he can't do anything about.
"Take my hand, you said. Let me in with your breaths. Fingers laced, a tight embrace... Could it be?"
He pauses once the words were sung, strums weakly, and shakily inhales.
"It's not wrong, you said, holding me close to your chest. Lips quiver, back shivers... Could it be?"
He does a random fill of chords that he felt would sound good, and to his surprise, it did. Then he started in on the chorus with little to no confidence.
"I don't know much, but I know that when two are together, and an orchestra gathers, it could be love. And I don't know much, but I know that when we touch the heavens sing above. Oh, this could be love."
He pauses, tries to remember the second verse, and then attempts to sing it with his mind running laps around itself.
"I'm sorry, I said. For being oh so afraid. Heart pounds, sweet sounds... Could this be?"
He deeply breathes again.
"I want more, I said. More of this possibility—more of you and me. Oh, I want this to be."
He feels better with himself once he's reached the second chorus and distinguishes a strong chord pattern. A melody somehow takes over and easily comes out of nowhere, and is almost a song. Like, an actual song that he's written.
Harry knows he's also supposed to be putting on a great performance, not just singing a great song. Not just playing to the best of his ability. It's something else he can't do at the moment, because everything within him is trying to remember the words to the song he never proclaimed as finished. And the bridge was next, the most shaky part of the song to him. The one with the words he couldn't quite get right. It felt like, when he was writing this song, the more personal it became, the harder it was to write.
But he took another breath, and started to sing, "please be the stars in my sky, the ocean when it's dry—a light that's shining bright. Please be my lover when it's cold, a forever hand to hold—don't go, don't go, don't go!" He sings with all his heart, and then goes right into the chorus once more with just as much passion.
"And I don't know much, but I know that when we're together, and this orchestra gathers, it could be love. I don't know much, but I know that when we touch, the heavens sing above—and I know—oh, yes, I know... that this is love."
He pauses once more. Words come to mind, and he hears the chords that should come next. So he sings them without thinking about how spontaneous it is—how unplanned it is.
"And I pray this is forever, not just a secret love letter."
He strums down once to signal the ending of the song, exhales quietly, and slowly opens his eyes. He's not sure what he expected, but it sure wasn't complete silence once it was over. Everything he's stressed over, everything he wants to become—this was his chance. So much is on the line, and it all slipped through his fingers because of a song that wasn't complete. This isn't how he wanted to do things. Were the ending words a mistake? Should he have left them out completely?
"Thank you," the lady says.
And that's it.
He nods once, forces a smile, and hurries off the stage with his guitar in hand as gracefully (and quickly) as he could.
———
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, darling," his Mum tries to soothe him. "I think it's wonderful. Shows you're capable and talented enough. To write a song, to put your own heart into the words, is so vulnerable. So tender. I'm proud of you, Harry. So unbelievably so."
Harry couldn't find the right words to say after what she'd spoken. It's his mother, after all—she's supposed to say those things. It still meant a lot to him, even after butchering the audition of a lifetime. He didn't expect the prestigious professors of a top-tier music school to jump out of their seats and throw compliments around like confetti, but a simple thank you didn't give him anything to go off of. Was he talented enough? Could they tell he wasn't prepared to sing an original song? Would they consider every shaky part of his performance too amateur?
"Before we leave, I need a quick run to the shops!" Gemma says, guiding their Mum away from the direction of the train.
Harry turns to complain, but the familiar sight of buildings behind them kept him from doing so. He stares up, nods quickly, and then looks back at Gemma. "You two can go. I'm going to go, uh, make a call and join after."
Anne shakes her head. "Absolutely not. You'll get lost in a city like this."
"He won't," Gemma says with a shrug. She's helping him out and she doesn't even know what for. She's quite possibly his favorite person ever. "Look, just right across the street. Harry can find us, it's not rocket science."
"Who are you calling, anyway?" His Mum asks, but it just sounds like, to Harry, that he's won this argument.
"Liam," he quickly replies. "Wanted to know everything that happened today right after, but I only now remembered. I won't be long."
"Fine, fine," she huffs out. "Your friends are awfully attached to you."
"And I...them... Uh, yeah, catch up soon," he hastily says.
Gemma loops her arm with Anne's, throws Harry a confused look over her shoulder, before turning and walking across the street once it's safe to do so. Harry wastes no time in speed-walking to the destination of the familiar bar, where it's definitely kept hidden, but the sign shows the way for anyone looking out for it.
He pushes open the door, steps inside rather quickly, and feels a smile take over the entirety of his face. It's not busy inside, and it's awfully dim, but he hears the clack of heels before he sees the person that accompanies them. And then, with a sharp turn from the corner of the bar, out walks Jem. He's wearing a long dress today, that almost touches the floor, and it's one of different tones of blues that flatter his skin tone well.
"Curly!" he loudly says, with opened arms, and a loving smile on his face.
Harry can't quite explain it, but all the nerves and stress about his audition almost goes away in that moment. Jem is just so loving and welcoming—he's so happy to see him that his audition is cast far from his mind.
"Jem," he mutters softly, walking toward him to accept the tight embrace offered. He smells of flowers and citrus. "How are you?"
He pulls away but keeps his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I am parfait! Et toi?"
Harry smiles softly, his lips pushed together. "I've been better, I think. Uh, anxieuse. But right now, I'm very happy to see you." The French he's learned in school may have actual importance if Jem continues speaking it.
His brows scrunch together, and then un-scrunch. Harry could hear him telling himself, "you'll get wrinkles."
"Come, get a drink." He drops his hands from Harry's shoulders and walks away with a clack of his heels to get behind the bar. Harry steps forward to take a seat in front of him. "Tell me, what are you anxious about?"
Harry smiles and shakes his head. "I'm all right. Just—just—"
"Anxieuse," Jem interjects.
He breathes out a soft laugh. A tall glass is placed in front of him, with clear liquid and a single olive placed inside. He grabs the martini and sips from it slowly, the strong notes of vodka making him close his eyes for a brief second. Jem certainly didn't hold back.
"I had an audition today. At the Academy of Music," he mutters out.
Jem stares at him, the red lipstick on his mouth prominent and colorful when he drops his jaw in shock. "Curly, that's wonderful! Only the greats attend there, you know. And I could always put in a good word."
Harry looks into his eyes, a strange feeling overtaking him. "You? What do you—what do you mean?"
"Well, I did say only the greats attend there." He holds up his hand dramatically, signaling that he must have been a student.
Harry stands in shock and shakes his head. "You went there? You—you—"
"Finish your drink, darling," he says. Jem reaches underneath the bar and pulls out a dark colored bottle, then retrieves two shot glasses to fill the liquid up in. "I've lived a full life. I've been a performer, an actor, a lover—" He holds up his shot glass. "A bartender." He throws back the shot, while Harry finishes off his martini. "Thought I was a flower one time during the sixties. What a time that was."
Harry stares at him in shock, heart filling up with hope and joy all at the same time. He accepts the shot given, tosses it back, and makes a face of disgust. Whiskey; he's more of a sweet and fruity type of drinker. "That's incredible," he softly says. There's not much to say. It just makes him feel like he can be anything, too.
"I'll try my best to do what I can, love. Don't be anxious, now. Louis tells me you've got the voice of un ange."
Harry falters. His heart flutters, as if he was a boy with a simple crush, and not someone so confidently in love. "Louis? He told you that?"
"Amongst other things. I believe my William—he's quite picky when it comes to giving compliments. And he's got a voice on him, as well. Shame his passion is camera work and not music."
Harry slowly shakes his head with a breathy chuckle and sits back down. "He's not bad at anything, is he?"
"Used to be bad at picking partners, but looks like he's gotten past that."
"Flatterer," he says with a shake of his head.
"Just honest," he replies. "Now, don't be sad. Don't be stressed. I've got you, babe. I refuse to let you or William down."
Can Harry be platonically in love with someone? Because Jem might be that exception for him. He just adores him and everything he is, with the way he confidently is himself and wears whatever he likes. It's beautiful. It's incredible. It's brave.
And he really misses Louis. Oh, how clingy he's become when they're apart these days. He tries to tell himself it isn't him being clingy, but he just loves to experience the good and the bad with him. He loves creating memories with the person he loves, and he knows that today will be one to last; he wishes to have Louis in them. In every memory which makes a lasting impact.
He just can't wait to get back and tell him of how the day unfolded. How stressful, terrible, and wonderful it all was. How lucky they are for someone like Jem and his kindness. He just can't wait.
——
heyyy.
i'm so sorry this took so long to write. part of it was that i have been so busy that i literally had nooo time, and another was trying to write the song. i think i wrote five songs while trying to pick the perfect one for harry to sing. it was hard since i'm no songwriter lol
if i was, i'd write something like Dawson Hollow did with "Please Darling Stay."
Please check it out! i feel like it's everything i wanted to write but couldn't. an incredible song i wished harry could've wrote if my mind and ability wasn't so limited. so please listen to it and tell me what you think :) Dawson Hollow is an incredible, underrated band in my opinion.
hope to see you soon <3