offshore | h.s

41

HARRY STYLES

The night we had was a total whirlwind, throwing unexpected curveballs and uncertainties our way. Now, I can't sleep and that clock on the nightstand wouldn't stop blinking its stupid fucking 2:00 am.

Gen is right here, nestled against me, breathing softly and steadily. We'd only gotten back to our hotel room a little past 11:00 pm, still hearing the distant echoes of New Year's revelry in the background.

We'd spent some of it out on the balcony, just gazing at the city's fireworks show. I swear, those explosions of colour and light felt like a brief escape from all the chaos life was throwing at us. While the rest of the world was out partying, we were in our own little bubble, wrapped up in each other.

I look at Gen, and her soft, slow breaths tell me she's lost in slumber, but my mind is anything but peaceful. My fingers trace the gentle slight curve of her belly, where our twins are slowly growing. It's surreal, really, to think there are two of our babies in there.

The weight of the world seems to rest on my shoulders. All those decisions we have to make, the tour looming just a month away, the move to LA, and the album recording—it's all starting to bear down on me. I should be elated, over the moon about these two little lives we're bringing into the world. But tonight, the world feels like a heavy place, and it's taking a toll on me.

My chest feels tight, like someone's wringing out all the air. I'm battling this unshakable sense of dread as if I'm drowning in uncertainty. This isn't the way it's supposed to be, right? You're supposed to be thrilled when you're about to become a parent, not wallowing in this pit of despair.

Unable to bear the weight of my thoughts any longer, I carefully slip out of bed, making sure not to wake Gen. Her peaceful slumber is a sharp contrast to the storm raging within me. In the dimly lit hotel room, I pull on a pair of jeans and a shirt, quietly tiptoeing towards the door.

Downstairs in the hotel bar, the atmosphere is entirely different from the serenity of our room. The low hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, and the soft jazz playing in the background provide a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind.

I sit at the bar, my fingers tracing the rim of a whiskey glass. The bartender notices my sombre expression and pours me a drink without needing to ask. The amber liquid swirls in the glass, a reflection of my own turbulent thoughts.

With each sip, I feel the numbness slowly creeping in, dulling the edges of my anxiety and fears. It's a fleeting relief, like a temporary escape from the weight of responsibility, from the uncertainties that lurk in the shadows.

The minutes stretch into hours, lost in the haze of alcohol and self-doubt. I think about Gen, sound asleep upstairs, and our unborn twins. What kind of father will I be? Can I handle the whirlwind that our lives are becoming?

As the hours blur together, I sink deeper into a hazy abyss, losing all sense of time and place. The bar becomes my refuge, my fortress of solitude from a world that seems overwhelming. I don't care about anything anymore; I just want to escape from it all, even if it's only for a little while.

It's as if the alcohol can wash away my fears, my responsibilities, and the daunting reality of becoming a father of not one, but two children. I don't care about the consequences, about the disappointment in Gen's eyes when she finds out.

Somewhere in the fog of my mind, I become aware of the bartender gently tapping my shoulder. I must have dozed off, lost in a troubled slumber amidst the empty glasses and flickering candlelight.

"Hey, mate, We're closing up," he says, his voice tinged with concern. He's probably seen many people like me, lost souls seeking solace at the bottom of a glass.