a/n hello i'm sorry
4.
We split the bill. Thank God. How awkward and date-like would it have been if he had paid? And slowly the second half of my work day winds down. The footage I capture makes me happy, I'm proud of it, but compared to that one shot of Harry I got yesterday, I doubt any of it will stand out in my mind.
He followed me around all day. I didn't expect that at all. I mean, isn't he Harry Styles? International sensation? Isn't he in the middle of writing his next album? How does he have the time to waste a day tailing an amateur filmmaker?
I sell myself short. I am definitely not an amateur, need to stop doing that.
I put away the big camera and am rifling through my stuff when I feel him approach me again. This time, his presence doesn't catch me off guard. I look up, smiling. He stands at the other end of the table, palms face down on the surface, bending down and watching me intently. When he notices my gaze, he gives a sheepish smile back and stands up straight.
"Well, Quinn Bellini, today was--"
"Interesting?" I interject. He laughs and shakes his head.
"I was going to say fun."
I feel a warmness rise in my chest and shrug my bag onto my shoulder. And I'm about to continue the conversation, when a tall woman with straight blonde hair grabs him gently by the arm. And now I'm staring blankly at the two of them.
He leans over for her to whisper into his ear, and nods at whatever she says, and then she gives me a sweet smile and walks away. I blink.
"I need to go now," he clears his throat a little and stuffs a hand into his pockets, presumably to find his keys.
"I should hope so," I chuckle. My eyes dart between her retreating figure and his guilty expression. Guilty. Why guilty? "When will I see you again, Harry?"
"Umm, mmm," he looks down at his watch, his hands still searching for his keys. "Perhaps tomorrow when I come and shadow you again?" I make a face.
"Do you have time for that? Why would you shadow me again?" I feel my features scrunch up. He shrugs and a smirk washes over his face.
"I like watching you work. Like you said, you're my muse."
"Harry," a soft voice calls from behind him. He yanks his keys out of his pocket and nods to me.
"See you tomorrow, Quinn."
I watch him walk away with a sense of excitement in each step. And then he disappears around the corner and I'm still watching the air where he was just standing. It's red hot, there's still traces of his aura where he just was. I sense it.
I methodically pull Cherry off of my shoulder, flipping her open and pressing record. And then I just stand there, quietly breathing, completely still, my camera trained on the spot where he was just standing. Until I can't bear it anymore, the space is too warm, I feel my breath growing shallow. The heat from where he stood is unbearable. I end the recording and close the camera, practically sprinting out of the room and into the cool, New York evening.
I breathe a sigh of relief and look around, hailing a cab. No bus on the way home, I deserve to splurge a little.
I climb into the taxi, ramble off my address, and stare blankly out of the window as the car pulls away. What just happened?
Why was I so on edge all of a sudden? Why was the thought of him so red hot in my mind? I think back to the woman, her body leaning to whisper in his ear. His eyes fell away from me, and suddenly he was chasing after. But why did that make me feel so anxious? I would have done the exact same thing, without a second thought. That's who I am, chasing my feelings, not letting myself get tied down by guilt and sentiment. Get a grip, Bellini. I roll my eyes.
The cab pulls up next to my apartment, and I pay the driver and climb out. But as I'm climbing the stairs, I feel a strange tingling in my chest. A want, a desire that I've had before, many times before. I pause mid step, contemplating the decision. And then I cover the rest of the flight and make my way down the hallway to our front door. I quietly open it, and step into the living room.
Emma is sitting on our leather chair, slumped over in an intricate but probably comfortable position. Her eyes are lazily trained on our old, boxy television across the room. I wander in, standing in the shadow of the entryway. She glances up at me, and then sighs.
"You're leaving aren't you," she mumbles, watching my silhouette in the doorway. I give a small nod.
"I just came to give you my earrings," I step into the light and begin taking them out, setting them down on the table. She reaches over to one and pulls the metal wiring out, stuffing the candy portion into her mouth. I turn around and start to leave.
"Quinn," she gently stops me. My feet freeze and I glance back in her direction. "While you're here, at least get yourself a change of clothes." I nod and walk down the hall to our bedroom, pulling open my dresser and taking out a different shirt and a pair of corduroy bell bottoms. I stuff them into my bag, and then make my way to the front door. "Please be careful, babe," she calls out after me. I nod gently again and leave the apartment.
I've done this before, clearly. I can always tell that Emma doesn't like it. She gets all motherly, soft on me. And that makes me not like it either, which frankly I think is unfair of her because she knows the power she has over me. She could easily make me deny myself my feelings just for the sake of her happiness.
I pull my coat tighter around my body as the sky above me darkens, but the streets and sidewalks are only getting brighter now. Storefronts and lamps glow warm, happy light dances across the streets in front of them, and car headlights and stop lights occasionally flash in my direction. I walk four blocks, take a right, and down another block, and then I'm there. The dingy apartment building towers over me. I step up to the front door, searching the buzzer until I find his name, and I stiffly press the button.
It takes a minute, but then the speaker clicks on and I hear his low voice. "Yes?" It's gravelly, tired. He's probably been up for forty-eight hours, maybe more, fueled by caffeine. Which means that he needs this just as much as I do right now. I lean into the speaker, which smells like cigarette smoke.
"It's me," I mumble. The speaker clicks off and I hear the gate buzz. I swing it open and wander into the building, up stairs and down hallways until I'm at his door. It's unlocked, as usual.
I tap my fingers lightly against the wood and the door swings open. And there's Wes, sitting on his mattress in the middle of his cruddy studio. In his hand is a cigarette, and in the other he holds an empty tin can that he flicks ash into. He's staring intently down at a sheet of paper in front of him, but when he hears my footsteps, his eyes dart up. A smile creeps across his lips.
"So I was right, the fates do want you to like me today."
"I guess you were," I mumble back, a smile forming across my own face. Suddenly, whatever that weird feeling was that had been in my heart melts away. I drop my bag onto the floor, slide my shoes and coat off, and crawl onto the mattress next to him. He wraps a lanky arm around me, his ash can spilling over a little as it rests against my stomach. "What are you working on?" I ask, my head nodding to the piece of paper in front of him.
"Screenplay." That's all he gives me, drawing from the stick between his fingers again. "What do you want me to do to you tonight?" He glances down at me, a playful look in his eye. I purse my lips.
Whatever he's doing with her right now.
But I don't say that.
"I want you to make me happy."
I feel the sun on my face, and slowly blink my eyes open to it, and the smell hits me again. Cigarettes.
With a quick look around, I remember where I am, what happened last night, and I feel satisfied. What we did, it had calmed down the strange tremor, the nerves I had felt the night before.
I gently grab Wes' arm that's wrapped around me and lift it up, sliding out of his small warmth and into the constant chill that is his apartment in autumn. From my bag I grab the fresh shirt I brought and the pants, and I pull them over me. Then I run my hands through the tangled comforter, trying to find my old clothes. I pull them out of the nest of sheets and stuff them into the bag, and something in the corner of the room catches my eye.
A cast iron skillet lies on the floor, filled with dirty needles.
My mouth drops a little, but I quickly close it and look away. Not my business.
He'll sleep until two in the afternoon today. As he should, he needs to, he never sleeps.
I don't bother leaving a note, I've never left him a note. We both know how this works.
As quietly as I can, I close the door and wander back down the hall, down the stairs, and out onto the loud New York streets. There, I pull out my phone, checking messages and such. Nothing. But wow, I smell bad. I smell like I smoke ten packs a day. I reach into my bag, fumbling around until I find it, a small bottle of perfume. I take it out, shake it a little, and spray some of the liquid onto my wrists. But it's not enough, so I spray it in front of me a few times to walk through it.
I hop on a bus and make my way to work, and just like he said he would be, there's Harry.
He leans against my locker, a half eaten bagel in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. He looks tired, which leaves a soft pain in my chest. But I shake it away and approach him.
"Hello," he looks up, happy to see me. His head points to a brown bag sitting on the table next to my equipment. "I got you a bagel."
"Oh thank you, I didn't have breakfast." I walk over, realizing I haven't eaten anything all morning And as I get closer, he seems taken aback. I open the bag and pull out the food. "What?"
"I, uh--" he stops himself, trying to change the subject as politely as possible. "No earrings today?" I shake my head, swallowing my mouthful of bagel.
"So, today there's only two pop-ups. I'm probably not going to stay all day, might head out a few hours early," I start talking. He nods, staring right through me. He's distracted, confused, the person before him isn't the one he knew yesterday. "Does that sound good?" I finish.
"Yep," he responds blankly, not registering anything I just said. I can feel his mind reeling, he's trying to understand what happened to the version of me he was talking to yesterday.
"Scoot," I order, and he moves out of my way so I can open my locker. A moment of silence passes between us, and he sips his coffee.
"I didn't know you smoked," he confesses. His voice drops, low, almost like he's telling me a secret. "Kind of caught me off guard. Reminds me of someone."
"I don't smoke," I shake my head. He chuckles.
"Like hell you don't, it's cutting through your perfume."
I sigh. "My ex-boyfriend smokes." His mind is reeling again.
"Oh. Oh." He puts together the puzzle, his eyes darkening. And then they widen and he looks away. "Oh."
I grab my gear and began fussing with the dials. We stand in uncomfortable silence. He just keeps sipping his coffee, staring at the floor.
"What's his name?' he finally asks.
"Wes."
"Wes." he repeats the sound, lower, darker. "Wes, Wes." It rolls from his mouth and out into the room. "Where'd you guys meet?"
"A bar," I refuse to look up at him, staring intently at the switches and buttons on the camera. "A long time ago."
"And it didn't work out I suppose," his thoughts trail off. I roll my eyes.
"What was her name?"
He freezes, and then takes another sip from his cup, deciding what answer he will give me. He sharply inhales. "Townes."
I look up at him. "Who?"
His face relaxes, a smile playing with his features, as if my response amuses him. "Her name is Townes, we met a couple years ago."
"So is she your girlfriend?" I offer. He laughs.
"No, it's not like that, we just kind of, nevermind," he shakes his head a little, scratching the back of his neck. I lift the camera up onto my shoulder and hand him a stack of consent forms. He tosses the coffee cup in the trash and pretends to roll up imaginary sleeves. "So, I'm going to be your assistant again I see."
"As long as you keep coming back, yes," I grin.
"Well it's a good thing I brought my own pen this time," he holds up the sleek, black tool, and sticks it behind his ear.
He follows me around all morning again, but this time he's quieter, so much quieter. No more questions. When he thinks I'm not looking, I catch him deep in thought, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his lips pressed into a thin line, his head tilted to the side and a small dimple between his eyebrows.
But that's not very often, because most of the time he's staring at me.
a/n like i said, I'm SORRY lol. But what's a good fanfic without sum drama.