Songbird- Harry Styles

ten

Chapter 10

**Harry's POV**

It's Tuesday, June 1, and it's officially getting hot. I accidentally drunk-called Emory last week. I have no idea what was said, but she hasn't brought it up since it happened. Either she never listened to them or she's refraining from commenting on them to spare me.

I'm hoping it's the latter.

We made a lot of progress on "As it Was" last week. It's probably one of my favorite things I've ever created thus far in my career. I was so intrigued by her suggestions and I'm 100% certain that by the time the song is mixed and cut, it's going to be my breakout single for the third album.

We have worked on a few things here and there in between, but now that As it Was is on our mind constantly, there is not a lot of room for other stuff. But that's okay. The only thing is, I have known her for a month now, yet I don't think I know a whole lot about her.

She comes, we argue, we write, we argue more, we tease, but I don't know her. I think that there is definitely a building of a creative trust with eachother. I can rely on her to make any of my ideas better, and she brings a lot of uniqueness to the table just in the way that she hears things. I'm almost envious.

I think my silence scares her sometimes. Or she's confused by my behavior. Sometimes it takes a moment for me to process what's going on around me and I react very suddenly. But that's neither here nor there. The silence is comfortable for her. It's fucking weird.

But besides her brain, I don't know a lot about her. I know her ex-boyfriend (or whatever the fuck he was), I know her dad works for my record label, I know she has a beautiful old car that took a shit in my driveway three weeks ago.

I don't know why I find myself more and more intrigued by her. I don't know if she is trying to keep it all professional and that's why she doesn't really open up, but also part of being an artist is being vulnerable and so she must understand that to some extend. A lot of my art comes from personal experience, you have to be in tune with your emotions in a way.

Either way, she's coming back today to work, as she does every day. I woke up early to go on jog and I stopped at Allen coffee or whatever the fuck. I can kind of see why she drinks this shit every day, but I finished it before she came so she wouldn't hound me about it when she got here.

I'm still a little sweaty from the run I had this morning so I go upstairs and hop in the shower awaiting her arrival. I don't have a single thought in my head for a song today- and I'm not in the mood to "work". So if she doesn't come with something, it's going to be just another day.

I throw on a t-shirt and pants and hear the door open.

"Harry!" I hear her yell, looking for me

"Be right down!" I call back, running my hands through my damp hair.

"Okay Hurry! She says excitedly

I saunter down the stairs and she's pacing in my living room.

She looks at me and approaches, cheeks flushed and looking out of breath,

"I found something cool," she says, taking a swig of her water. She brings that damn water bottle everywhere she goes. It's orange and has a hair tie wrapped around it and probably doesn't even keep the water cold anymore because it has so many dents in it. She claims she doesn't want to get a new one because she's emotionally attached to this one, then I provided her with a number for my therapist.

"Okay, so show me," I say to her, amused by her erratic breathing. "Did you do a fucking triathlon on your way here or something E.J?"  I laugh

She shoots me a glare