Eight | W2S

SIXTY TWO.

‼️‼️‼️before you read (PLAY THE GAME DAMNIT) type your guesses here to who you think leaked the therapy story to the media!!!! then see if you got it right!!!! (I want to see how predictable I am)‼️‼️‼️

"Ken, I was thinking...do you want to go out for dinner tonight?" Harry asked, sliding back into bed with two cups of coffee for us both.

I shake my head. "No, thanks," I tell him, slightly muffled from where my face was smushed beside a pillow.

"It's been nearly two weeks. You have to leave this place at some point," he said sadly, his hand stroking the hair out of my face.

It was true. Ever since arriving back into London that fateful night, I hadn't dared to show my face anywhere.

I knew for a fact there were some loyal paparazzi camping outside my apartment block, waiting for a glimpse of my face bound to create headlines, despite being moved several times by security.

It was all anyone had been able to talk about. Neither I, nor Taylor had put out an official statement, despite Taylor reaching out to me personally.

As it happened, neither her nor her team realised that it hadn't actually been me withdrawing. Blue Horizons had gone behind everyone's backs.

Thanks to Sarah, and it really was thanks to her, I was no longer signed to Blue Horizons. It had seemed they had also wanted to avoid a long, legal battle. 

But there were some lasting practical implications. As per the agreement drawn up between my lawyer and theirs, I was allowed to release the songs I'd written whilst signed to them on my own terms as long as I did not speak out against them. 

It was something that had come at a great personal cost - staying quiet about their mistreatment was not what I wanted, but I wanted the rights and access to my own songs. 

So I had agreed. 

It was all I'd thought about the last two weeks. 

"No I don't," I reply to his question, rolling over, and facing the wall. 

"Hey," he whispers, and I can feel him shuffling over, resting just behind me. "You've barely talked the last few weeks. Talk to me, please," he pleads with me, and I close my eyes tightly, before opening them again and rolling over. 

Shutting him out is not what I want, but everything feels - just too much. 

"I went from being in the peak of my career, to - to this," I say, and it's the most emotion I've shown him since coming back, and he looks surprised. 

"Your career isn't over, Ken. Far from it," he reassures me, his voice soft. But how could I believe him? 

"What have I got left? No tour, no record label, no -"

"You've got me. You've got the Sidemen, you've got your dad, your friends, your music, your -"

"I know, I know! I'm not trying to be difficult, or ungrateful, I promise. It's just - going from one extreme to the other...it's hard. I feel like I'm grieving what could have been, do you know what I mean?" I ask, just wishing he'd truly understand. 

"I think I do, yeah," he says, although he doesn't look confident in his words. "You just - you need something to do, to take your mind off of it. What if the guys came round here? Maybe we could film a video? Or even just have dinner or something -" he suggests, but I cut him off. 

"Harry, if you want to go and see everyone, I'm not forcing you to stay here. I just don't want to leave. But I have something to do. I've been doing it for a while," I inform him, shutting his idea down.