In This World (Harry Styles)

4

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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September 2020

Tokyo, Japan

Now I don't hardly know her

But I think I could love her

Crimson and Clover - Tommy James & The Shondells

HARRY

She was the most beautiful girl in the world. The universe, really. Or so the tequila had convinced me. Fuck's sake, I couldn't tell anymore. Kiko Mizuhara. I couldn't stop staring at her rosy, full lips. Seemed to be all natural, if LA had taught me anything. She had the sweetest face on earth, and such an uncomplicated demeanor I found myself oddly at ease in her company despite our acquaintance still being in a fledgling state. We didn't know each other very well, and this laced our interactions with curiosity, but also the faintest hint of distrust and hesitancy, born out of a fear of maybe being wrong about each other. All I knew was that I was waffling. Couldn't stop going on about her. Falling deeper and deeper since we'd met up for the first time after a two-year separation.

She was the first person I wanted to see the moment I landed here, as she pretty much embodied all that I loved about the country. A little piece of familiarity in a big void of questions regarding my future and whereabouts for the next few months. There had been no reluctance on part her when I dialed her up out of the blue and asked her to meet me, despite how busy she was and the fact that she was now dating a former colleague of mine. I suppose she couldn't withstand the allure of the chemistry that lie between us. We needed to explore it once and for all, come what may. We'd opened a door two years ago that neither of us dared to step through, but I was game this time around. Her, maybe not so much. There was the issue of her boyfriend after all.

John Carrol Kirby. A breezy, unbothered, highly cultured bohemian type. White American. Long, wavy brown hair circa me 2014. A world-renown pianist. He was everything I wasn't. Mature, composed, stable, solid. Things I hoped to become with age. I could see the appeal. He was a relatively handsome bloke, somewhere in his 40s, intelligent, funny, charming, worldly, and above all, free-spirited. In that way, he reminded me a lot of the guy I'd spilled my guts to in Thailand several years ago. What was his name again? Oh yeah...Joe. Ol' Joe Cummings who knew positively everything. My dirtiest secrets. My most pathetic anxieties. My obsessions. Yeah, John reminded me a lot of Joe. He was the type I could pour my heart out to over an overpriced bottle of tequila in a dim gin joint, and he wouldn't judge me for a second my prostration. Like the Rande Gerbers of the world.

Somehow these sage, cosmopolitan men seemed to encompass all of humanity. They could relate to me on a level my closet friends couldn't, because they had seen it all. Every diabolical revelation seeded within the human condition. And more importantly, had done it all. When they said they didn't judge, they really meant it, and this was evidenced by their wildly varied circles of cronies from all walks, and their unearthly discernment. Which they imparted carefully so as not to appear to be lecturing you in the least.

I knew John a little. He'd worked on a song of mine a while ago when I was obsessed with Laurel Canyon and the artists it had borne. We'd met briefly in a studio session with my producers, which I'd arrived late to, apologizing profusely. He was credited on the track "Canyon Moon" as a keyboardist, but few knew this. I was struck at the time, because he had a way about him that was altogether unquantifiable. He was sunny and cordial, and in so being, perfect for her. They were so ideally matched it sickened me. Like they'd walked straight out of a Woody Allen screenplay. The east and the west. Youth and sagacity. Beauty and natural born talent. I envied them, obviously, but strangely, I also wanted to be a part of them. Their travels, their dining, their lovemaking. Share in the security of such a gorgeous and tranquil unity. Maturity in love. Something I hadn't known before. Something I looked forward to in my 30s and 40s. I wanted someone to travel with; to come home to. Every night. Every single night.