the romcom diaries [HARRY STYLES]

Road Trip

PLAY THE SONG WHEN * COMES UP

"Shot through the heart and you're to blame, darlin' you give love a bad name!"

I tapped my index finger on the wheel, matching the beat of Bon Jovi as Harry sang— screamed— along. The raspiness of his voice and the song choice was perfect, but I would never tell him that. I couldn't exactly boost his ego anymore.

We were driving down the motorway at a medium pace. I wasn't a confident driver, nor a very good one, so motorways scared me. I stayed at sixty, Harry occasionally telling me to speed up.

"You promised me Heaven, then put me through Hell!"

Harry turned inwards as he sang that bit. I tried to hold in my chuckle, not wanting to give the satisfaction I actually found him humorous sometimes. I reached over to turn it down, and maybe try start a conversation. It wasn't awkward, Harry was good at that, not making a situation weird. But I still felt strange.

He groaned at my action.

"Sorry, need to concentrate,"

That was true.

I cleared my throat, "I have a question actually,"

Harry had his arm rested near the window, and half turned at that, urging me to continue.

"When did you realise you wanted to be a singer," I asked, keeping my eyes on the road completely, "I mean, you're good, a natural. Did you always want to do it?"

Harry tutted and pursed his plump lips, turning back to the road as he thought. I didn't think it was a hard question, but the conflict on his face made me think different.

"I started writing lyrics at thirteen, played the guitar so on," He shrugged, "I didn't realise my voice was alright until sixteen, give or take,"

"Did you meet the boys through music?"

"Nah, we've been friends years," He pulled a hand over his chin, "Just happened to all be into music,"

"Right," I muttered, nodding to myself.

Bon Jovi had gone off and next up was 'time after time' Cyndi Lauper.

"How about you?"

"Hm," I took my eyes briefly away from the long road, meeting Harry's piercing ones for a moment. Before, clearing my throat and looking away.

"Did you always want to be a writer?"

"I'm not exactly a writer," I laughed it off, but the thought stung. I was always putting myself down, a weird habit I couldn't get rid off, "Not yet, anyway,"

"I saw your notebook on the counter," Harry revealed, causing me to frown and look at him, "I read some of your poetry. You're almost as good as me,"

I rolled my eyes.

"Good to know."

"Don't put yourself down so much, Genevieve," Harry said, "If you weren't good, I'd tell you,"