a/n Hey friends! Thanks for 5k reads that's INSANE. There are so many of you wow. I hope you liked the last chapter! (I know I did lol).
30.
We sit there for a long time. He lets me borrow some clothes and throws my damp stuff in the dryer. We sit on that couch until the sun is peeking up faintly from the horizon, the rainclouds blown away by some ocean wind. I silently play with his hair, he rests his head on my shoulder, his eyes closed, his arms folded across his chest.
"So what now." I finally mumble. He shifts a little, but maintains his general position.
"I don't know, it's like before except now we kiss."
I chuckle. "I more meant, what now now. Like, do we want to go get breakfast?"
He laughs as well, tilting his head up to stare at me. "Well, normally I'd go for a run right about now."
I scrunch my face up.
"But we don't have to do that," he backpedals.
"I'll go on a walk with you," I offer. He nods and stands up, turning and holding his hand out to me. I grin and take it, letting him pull me up off the couch.
We slide our shoes on, mine are still pretty damp from a few hours ago. I pull my drying hair up and back into a bun. He reaches for my hand again, holding it gently, letting our arms sway between us as we head out the door.
The way he's holding my hand now, it feels so different from the way he held it in LA. In the Lyft on the way to Miley's party, he held it with fear, gripping it like it would dissipate between his fingers. Now he feels more comfortable.
I don't know how I feel about all of this.
Actually, no, that's a lie. I know how I feel right now. I feel really good. I feel like all the tension has left my body. I feel content, comfortable, safe, free. What I don't know is how I'm going to feel tomorrow, or even in a couple of hours.
Knowing who I am, I might not be too happy with present Quinn. I might regret this. But I am unpredictable, even to my own mind occasionally. Maybe it'll be different. Maybe I'll surprise myself.
We step out onto the street. The new buds stemming from the trees have fallen off from the rain and now scatter the ground. Despite this, there's something refreshing about the atmosphere. The smell of loam and soil rises up from the planters that line the sidewalk. The city has been cleaned. I feel a slight spring in my step. He turns and smiles at me.
"What?" I laugh. He shrugs and looks back.
"This is a nice moment is all."
There's barely anyone out at six in the morning on a Saturday. And the people that are leave us alone. Our fingers loosely interwoven, they bounce around at our sides. I sigh. "Yeah, I think so."
We walk in blissful silence for a moment, and then he sharply inhales like he's about to say something. I immediately sense his nerves.
"I have a song," he starts softly. I turn and squint at him. "That's finished."
"Yeah?"
"Remember the day you came to the studio with me in L.A. and we worked on that one? The one you helped with."
I scoff and roll my eyes.
"No you did, you were really helpful. Anyway, we finished it." He looks down at the sidewalk and sniffs from the cold.
"That's awesome. Could I hear it?" I try. He smiles a little and pulls his phone and airpod case out of his pocket.
"Yeah, one second." He offers the case to me and I flip it open, sticking the pods into my ears. He holds his phone out, his thumb dangling over the play button on a voice memo. He looks at me, wide-eyed and fearful. I suddenly realize, this is a new thing for us. Sure, I've heard his music before, but not like this. Not before everyone else in the world has heard it too. This is him opening a door to himself, peeling back a layer, letting down a wall. He exhales through his teeth. We've stopped walking. "Are you ready?"
I nod. His finger taps the play button, and I hear the track softly build. As the music grows, my heart starts to beat faster. Until suddenly the drums kick in, and he's singing the conversation I heard from behind the door months earlier.
"La da da da da," he sings. I can practically see his fingers waving back and forth with each da. A smile spreads across my face, which makes him relax.
And then Charlotte's piano riff echoes in the mix, and he screams, and the chorus shouts, and the hook hits me. I blink, stunned by the brilliance of it all. I can't believe this song was nothing more than a piano riff and some words a couple of months ago. This could be on the radio. I feel goosebumps creep up my arms.
Harry clasps his hands behind his back and bends forward slightly, his head tilted, his lips pressed together, his eyes soaking in my expression.
The verse starts over. I nod my head along, and slowly the song begins to trail off, his screams echoing from the mix, mirroring the chorus's singing. The song ends and I pull out an earbud. He stands up straight again and puts his phone back into his pocket, taking the pods from me. "Well?"
"I love it," I beam.
He gives a curt nod and stuffs the airpod case back. We start walking again, I can tell my words are running through his head. "Good," he breathes to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. I do the same, our steps in time with one another.
"I've never heard a song quite like it. It sounds...unique," I offer. He soaks up each syllable, hungry for more. "It feels different, new."
"Is it a kiwi?" He mumbles. I tilt my head.
"Mm, I don't know, I don't think so."
He nods disappointedly.
"But it's an important song. And it's a good song. You need one like that. They can't all be kiwis. Some of them have to be sad." I try to persuade him.
"Most of the ones I've written are sad," he shrugs.
"But not the one you were telling me about last month," I argue. I have no idea how many he's written. I'm out of my jurisdiction here, but from what I remember he said it could be a banger.
"Well the actual music of the song can be happy, but the lyrics are sad," he explains. "That's what makes the best songs, sad lyrics and a killer tune."
"You've said that before," I nod, thinking back to the first time he listened to Miss You with me.
"All of my songs are sad," he seems to realize, muttering to himself.
"Well I like it," I sigh and let my arms fall, smacking the sides of my legs.
"I think this is the one I want to do."
"What?"
He turns to me. "The music video you owe me. I think I want it to be this song."
A grin spreads across my face. "Yeah?"
"Yep." His eyes sparkle. My mind is racing with ideas suddenly.
"Any concepts? Themes? Ideas yet?"
"Oh you want to go to work right now, huh," he teases. I smile and shrug.
"You just got me really excited is all."
"Yeah I have a couple ideas," he nods. He won't admit it but I can tell he's suddenly really excited too. Us working together, it's going to be magic. Especially now that we know each other so well, now that we're...well actually I don't know. What are we? The thought of needing a new label makes my heart drop. Harry's voice interrupts the panic. "I want it to be night. And I want the color green."
I pull open the notes app on my phone. "Gotcha."
I type out the words silently, and then put my phone away and stare straight ahead.
There's quiet between us for a minute. It's cold and awkward. I hear the squishy sound my shoes make with each step. Harry licks his lips.
"Quinn."
"Hmm."
"What's wrong." His voice sounds like a sigh, not an impatient one, but accepting. I bite my lip.
"When I'm introducing you to someone. What do I call you?"
"Harry," he answers matter of factly. I roll my eyes.
"No I mean, what are you to me."
He ponders the question, kicking at a small rock on the sidewalk. It flies up in front of us. When we approach it he kicks again. "What answer scares you."
"All of them," I laugh dryly.
"You don't have to say you're mine." He offers gently. "As long as you let me be here. That's all I want right now."
"Right."
"Just let me adore you."
"Okay," I grin sheepishly and reach for his hand again. "But that doesn't quite answer my question."
"Ahh yes," he laughs and runs a hand over his jaw. "Well you could just say, meet my friend, Harry."
"Friend?" I gasp. "I thought that was a word people use when they don't want others to know they're sleeping together."
He side eyes me awkwardly. I choke on my own spit.
"Unless you're under the impression that we're going to start secretly sleeping together."
"Well not if you don't want to." He watches my expression carefully. "Or were you joking. Or do you want to." He squints at me. "You know what, I was joking. It was a joke."
"Sure," I fight a smile, excited by how nervous he gets when he doesn't want to offend me. We keep walking, our hands swaying back and forth together. But he watches me hungrily.
"Were you joking?" He mumbles nervously.
The smile breaks onto my face. "I have no objections."
He doesn't react. Just turns to look forward again. But I feel his grip on my hand grow tighter.
We walk past the front of the Gucci store and I see him look longingly into the window. I stop. "Come on, let's head inside," I suggest. He nods graciously and bolts for the door.
Around noon we part ways, him with his arms full of Gucci bags, both of us with a permanent grin plastered across our faces. We stop in front of his apartment, and I lean back against Emma's car, watching him as he fumbles for his keys.
"Don't take this the wrong way," he starts, "but I'm really glad you almost got into a car accident last night."
I chuckle and run a hand through my hair. "I'll have my manager get in touch with yours about the song."
He rolls his eyes at my professionalism but nods. "I'm calling it Lights Up."
I smile. "Like, lights up on the second act, that's cool."
"Harry Styles 2!" He shouts up into the air, pulling his keys from his pocket. Then he looks at me more seriously. "You need to promise me a new thing."
I realize I haven't shown him the footage from the MET. My heart lurches when I remember the last thing I filmed on Cherry last night. The conversation between me and that woman. The kiss, our feet touching against the cold marble museum floor. He doesn't seem to remember that it was a part of the promise, which is a relief. I nod. "What do you want me to promise?"
"That tomorrow you'll come over and pick up your clothes that are in my dryer right now."
"I promise, I'll see you tomorrow."
He beams. "Alright, until then."
And then he whirls around like a child and strides inside, the glass doors swinging shut behind him. I pull out my own keys and slide into the car, glancing down at Cherry laying on the passenger seat.
I wonder what he would have thought if I told him about her. She was part of the reason I came here this morning. He would probably be upset. I tell myself I won't ever bring it up.
I put the car in drive and pull onto the street, making my way home and up the stairs to my apartment.
As soon as I unlock the door, she's on top of me.
"Where have you been," Emma howls, wrapping me in a hug. Then she does a double take and pulls back. "And whose clothes are these?"
I brace myself for her response.
"Harry's."
She immediately punches me in the shoulder.
"Ow," I mumble.
"WHAT?" She shrieks and punches me again. Then pulls me into a hug, then pulls away. She doesn't know what to do with herself. "Are you serious?"
"Yes," I sigh.
"You spent the night at Harry's?"
"Umm," I bite my lip. "Not exactly. But I spent my morning there."
"Why? What happened?" She pulls me into the apartment. I barely have time to kick off my shoes before she pushes me onto the leather chair, her arms folded, demanding an explanation.
"Well, um. We kissed."
"WHAT?" She shrieks again and her mouth falls open. "WHAT?" She punches my shoulder. Leo runs out of the room.
"Yeah," I grimace, but secretly feel a surge of joy. She jumps on top of me.
"I can't believe this!" Her voice is muffled by my shirt. Well, his shirt. "This is the best day of my life," she decides.
I chuckle and run a hand through her hair. She sits back and stares at me for a second. "What," I murmur.
"You are so pretty and talented and glowing and I love you so much and I'm just so happy that you did this because I know it's going to make you so happy."
I feel my cheeks heating up a little. I rub the back of my neck. "Thank you."
"It's been a long time," she offers. I nod softly. "Since something like this."
"Like Wes," I finish the thought. I get what she's saying. I've always hung out with people, hooked up with people. But I haven't had a relationship that was as real or consistent as Wes since... well, Wes. And this thing with Harry, it feels real. I hope it's consistent. For the first time since Wes, that's what I want. She reaches out her hand to touch my shoulder. It's red hot. I rest my head on the ridges of her knuckles and she softly strokes them back and forth against my face.
"I'm proud of you," she whispers, her eyes glowing. My heart fills with indescribable joy.
a/n awwwwwww emma and quinn make me so soft :,) and harry and quinn ahhhh :,)
Song: "Sweet Thing" -Van Morrison