A Journalist and a Singer [h.s]

6.

Maggie's POV:

I got the same phone call a few times the rest of the week. It was the same call every time, and always at night. He wouldn't even have to explain. He would just call, say "Hey Maggie, can I ask you a favor?" and I would rush over there before anything else happened. I'm always scared that I won't get there in time. That I'll be just a second too late before he throws it all away on a glass of something alcoholic. It's not my job to worry about it, but I can't help it. I don't understand why I care so much, but I do.

Over the weekend I expected to hear from him, but I didn't. All of Saturday and Sunday I waited by the phone, ready to pick it up and meet him at the cafe so we could go on a drive. We've been to that cafe a countless number of times. We never meet at his house or mine. It's always a neutral location in the center of town. Though I'm surprised I've never actually been to his house. I've always been curious as to how famous people live.

The weekend went by quickly, and so did that entire next week. I didn't hear from him once, nor did I hear from my editor. My paper has been put on the back burner after a series of fires and explosions have been committed all over town. I've been writing about those for a few days now. It's been happening so frequently that all of the major news sources are covering it, including celebrity news. They have happened in mostly abandoned buildings, but over the past week they have been in more public places like restrooms or gas stations. Luckily they always seem to be empty when the fire starts. Still, all day everyday I waited for his call. I didn't hear from him again until that Friday when he randomly showed up in the office, surprising everyone working, including me.

I was so wrapped up in my work that I didn't even notice him at first. I didn't even hear him come up from behind me. He leans over my shoulder and looks at my computer, that's when I notice not only that he's here, but how close to me he is. I can feel his breath against my ear, tickling it as he exhaled. I can hear him mutter under his breath as he reads the title of my article.

"Local Fires and Explosions Cause Panic In Downtown London. I heard about that, turns out they still don't know who's doing it." he tells me, turning around, sitting on the edge of my desk.

"Even police stations and witnesses can't give a name or a description, it's really annoying. Whoever it is, they're good." I tell him, turning to face him. He just gives me a simple nod, picking up some of my notes and looking through them.

"What, I don't suppose you have any information about it." I say sarcastically. He looks down at me, dropping the papers back on the desk. He leans in sort of close, but plenty of space still between us.

"Nope." he says, pulling back and returning to his original position. "Heard about all the close calls though, tragic stuff." he says, and I push on my desk, rolling me and the chair farther from him.

"That wasn't released yet, how do you know there were close calls?" I ask, confused. He points to my notes.

"It was written in your notes, this one." he says, handing me a page. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as I took the paper from him and put it in my folder, then out the folder in my bag.

We walk out together and eventually make it to the cafe, but he never reveals his true intentions of why he's here. I didn't know we were close enough where we didn't need a reason to hang out, but he's been hard to read. Something has shifted in him since the last time I saw him. He's more outgoing, but I can't tell if that's a good or bad thing.

He buys me a coffee and we leave the cafe, walking, but not knowing where we are going. He doesn't really say anything, kind of like the drives we've been on. I can tell that his mind is swarmed, but I can't tell if he's swamped or still floating.

I just follow him, watching as he seems to know where he's going. I don't know if I should speak up or just stay quiet, but eventually I do say something.

"So, the article has been put on the back burner until further notice." I tell him, making him look up at me.

"Yeah, I expected that." he says, pulling open a door to a tall building. He motions for me to walk inside, holding the door open for me. I thank him as he leads me to the elevator, hitting the button for the top floor. I'm not going to lie, he's acting a little suspicious, but I feel compelled to follow him, so that's what I do. I follow him down a hallway, where he puts his keys in a lock and opens a door, revealing a modern apartment with a view of the city. His apartment.

He invites me in and asks me if I need anything to drink, to which I refuse. I walk around a little noticing small details, like how there isn't much furniture, or how he doesn't have any pictures of his family up. It may just be the journalist in me, but something definitely feels off, I just can't figure out what it is.

I take a seat on his couch and he walks over to where I am, a book in his hands. He sits it on the table in front of me, encouraging me to open it.

"Go ahead, it might help with the article, the one about me." he says, pointing to the book. I pick it up, almost struggling with how heavy it is. I open the front cover to see that it's a photo album from his tour. With each picture is a memory behind it. It's exactly what I needed.

"This is incredible, Harry. Is there anything in here you don't want me to use?" I ask him, making sure it's okay to use everything.

"Nah, I was looking through it yesterday and didn't find anything that you couldn't, so you should be good. It has some of my favorite moments from the tour, including fun moments between the crew, stuff like that." he explains. I flip through the pages, feeling more amazed by the second. It's so cool to see how life was like traveling all the time, especially through picture form. He stops me from flipping a page, pointing to a picture of him on stage.

"That was here in London. It was one of the first shows I played with the new music this past year. It was honestly so incredible." he tells me, admiration radiating off of him.

"I heard about that one, well I saw about it on twitter. I saw clips that just amazed me." I tell him, making him blush.

"Thank you. It was a lot of fun, I can't believe I get to do this." he says, and I can tell he means it. He is so grateful for what he's been able to do. It's not hard to admire someone like him.

I start to hand the book back to him but he refuses. "No, take it so you can look at it later." he tells me. I give him a thankful nod. I start to ask him what he wants to see in the article, if there is anything he really wants in it, when his phone rings.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and answers the call, taking it to the other room. I flip through the book some more, taking sticky notes out of my bag and placing them on places that I could write about. A few minutes passed by before he came back. I didn't hear much of his conversation, but I did hear some phrases such as "right now?" and "are you sure?". Still, I tried my best to not listen to something that sounds serious.

He comes back into the room in a different mood than he was when he left. This one is more serious, more somber. He gives me a look that I can easily read. I have to leave. I give him an understanding nod before getting up.

"I'll call you later?" he asks and I quickly agree while giving him a friendly hug.

"Sounds good. Thanks for the book!" I tell him. He nods and leads me out of the door, closing it behind me. I make my way out of the building and walk back to my apartment, looking forward to looking through the book later.

As I leave his building, my own phone rings. I juggle my back and the book in my hands, pressing the answer icon and bringing the phone up to my ear.

"Hello?" I ask, a little weary.

"Hey, it's Sophie, we're covering it, but I thought you would want to know. There's been another fire."

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Hmmmmm a little sus if I do say so myself...

Next chapter is up next Friday!