FLOATING UP AND DREAMING // L.S

twenty-one

GUYS IM THE WORST IM SO SORRY

above, i've attached my apology video

cluttered, messy chapter, it's okay though

PART IV:

"You never explicitly told me why you went back to rehab." Phoebe phrased it as a question.

Harry sighed and looked out over his balcony and over to the beach, the sky melting down towards the horizon in hues of pink and orange and blue, the reflection of the setting sun shining directly into his eyes.

"I just felt that it was best if I did." He replied, twisting the phone cord around his finger.

"Fair enough."

He picked up his guitar from his bed and started strumming mindlessly as Phoebe read out her analysis on a poem she was reading in school, which he had helped her write.

"It's good. You're lucky I'm the only person you know who is genuinely good at literature." Harry said jokingly, placing his hand over the strings of his guitar to silence their hum.

"I'm lucky that literature is the only subject you can even remember doing in school."

"I wanted to be a singer, so I had to be good at English so I could be good at writing." He turned over onto his stomach and hooked the phone under his other ear.

Phoebe hummed on the other end of the line. "What're you writing now?"

"No idea, if I'm gonna be honest." He played the same melody he had done a few minutes ago. "Wanna put those literature skills to the test and write me a song? I'll give you credits if you get an A?" He teased.

"Tempting, but I'm not a poet like you, Harry Edward Styles. Even your name sounds like a famous poet from the eighteen-hundreds."

"Is that an insult?" He feigned a gasp.

"It really could be."

Harry tutted and shook his head - not like she'd be able to see him anyways, with her being on the other side of the world.

"How's Louis?" He hesitantly changed the subject.

"He still thinks you're dead. I haven't told him that you're in rehab." Her tone went quieter. "You told me not to tell anyone."

"I know. It's somewhat easier with him thinking I'm dead anyway.."

"Harry," Phoebe's voice turned from sympathetic to accusing in mere seconds. "Only me, your manager, Mitch, Gemma, your mum, Paul, Calum, Ash, Michael, and Luke that you're here. Everyone else that you know or who knows you thinks you're dead. I just can't believe you didn't tell Flo or even Niall."

"She would worry too much. It's easier this way." Harry sat up against the bed frame and readjusted both the landline on his shoulder and the guitar on his lap.

"If you say so." Phoebe sighed and the line went silent for a minute.

"So, again, how is Louis?" He asked again.

"Do you want the good news or bad news first?" She asked tentatively.

"Um, good news?" He frowned, pinching his lip.

"He's gonna be in a movie, which is pretty crazy." She chuckled. "All I know is that it's a British comedy."

"Good for him. And the.. uh, bad news?"

"Yeah, um.."

Harry waited in anticipation, his eyebrows raised as he listened out for any sounds coming from Phoebe who had gone quiet.