In This World (Harry Styles)

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(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.)

*******

Four in the morning

Crapped out, yawning

Longing my life away

Still Crazy After All These Years - Paul Simon

October 2022

2 Years Later

Malibu, California

HARRY

How I'd missed those palmy Californian skies. Endless days of sunshine, as opposed to the Iwakuni tedium I'd grown accustomed to, or the dolorous nights I'd spent wandering the streets of Amsterdam, or the many months I'd spent entranced in Port Antonio and Rio. Man, life was strange. For a year that totally upended me, 2020 seemed nothing but shaky and out of focus now. As did most of 2021. Wistful, removed. Faint streaks on a hazy bit of celluloid now. In a little bit, they'd be gone entirely. Truthfully, I could only detail the time I'd spent in Yajikawa. Three transforming months at his side, which could easily be accredited with saving me from all that had transpired before. It had also gifted me the indomitable Harry's House, the title a play on the places I'd explored internally during my time in therapy, as well as the folk-rock album Jūrō had introduced me to by Haruomi Hosono.

You should've seen it. The release had been one mad blast, which we'd celebrated in LA for several nights in a row. An instant smash hit that had topped charts for months, including the lead single "As It Was," which debuted at #1 across the globe in exceptional fashion. With curious ease, it had gone on to break records for sales and streaming and become the longest running #1 solo song in Billboard Hot 100 history. To say I was floored by the way it all unfolded was the understatement of the century. We couldn't stop winning. The calls from Jeff and the label never ceased. Ringing me one after another to tell me the new heights we'd ascended to in music markets across the world. Every half hour or so, like we were running a phonathon.

It had all been outrageously validating, and in a way, redeeming. Having such a meteoric reception for my most vulnerable work to date had left me one hundred stone lighter and sobbing for joy with each new call. That project had closed a major, little-known chapter in my heart, one that only my closest friends and family could appreciate, signaling the end of what now seemed a decade-long battle for my life. Sure, the world may never come to know all the sullen details of the hell I'd endured or what individuals were involved in it, but audiences far and wide had somehow still come to realize just how pivotal the work had been for me and responded accordingly. They'd celebrated and supported it momentously, irrespective of the truth remaining undisclosed, and I simply could not fathom how blessed I was that anyone cared. Fuck's sake, I'd spent so many nights alone in Italy certain no one cared anymore and afraid I'd become some has-been junkie. But 2022 had more than made up for it, in so many astounding ways I had yet to fully take account of. Nevertheless, what mattered most did not escape me: I was whole again. Restored. Self-actualized.

Still, whenever I listened back to the album, and even while celebrating amongst family and friends, it was forever evident that someone vital to the record's existence was missing. I hadn't spoken with him in over a year now, and the only thing that kept me from falling apart was finishing the work he and I had begun on the album. It was the only way I could still feel bonded with him now. Keeping busy with work had always been a foolproof distraction for me, but now that I was on a break before the world tour began in Spring the following year, I found my nights far too quiet and filled with an unquenchable pining for all I'd fumbled.