Unlikely (H.S.)

forty-eight

~Harry~

Wembley felt different with Harper here.

I'd played this stadium before—felt the ground shake beneath my boots as thousands of voices screamed back lyrics I'd written in the quiet corners of my life. But knowing Harper was somewhere in the stands, watching me, made it feel new.

Better.

More real.

Fuck, I love her so much.

I spotted her the second she plopped herself in a seat, tucked away a few rows back, her legs crossed as she scrolled through her phone. She looked so small against the backdrop of the massive stadium, but my eyes always found her. The sight of her grounded me. Despite everything happening outside these walls, she was here. With me. And that meant everything.

But I knew what she was doing. She was reading it. All the shit Tripp was saying.

I wish you wouldn't, baby.

And it made my blood boil.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something. I wanted to find Tripp and make him regret every single word he'd ever spoken about her. About us. The fact that he had the audacity to twist their history, to weaponize her kindness, made my stomach churn. I knew what she'd been through with him. I knew how hard she worked to heal from it. And now, just as she was stepping into the spotlight on her own terms, he was dragging her back down.

She earned people loving her, not this fucking bullshit from Tripp.

"Alright, let's take five," Pauli called out, their voice cutting through the hum of the amplifiers. I set my guitar down and jumped off the stage, my Vans hitting the floor harder than I meant. I needed air. I needed to get out of my head before I lost it.

I barely made it backstage before Jeff caught me. He must've seen the tension in my face, the way my jaw locked tight enough to crack a tooth.

"I know what you're gonna say," he started, hands already raised like he was preparing for a fight.

"I want to release a statement," I said, my voice low but sharp. "Today. Now."

Jeff exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already tired.

"Harry, come on. You hate this shit. You barely acknowledge anything in public, and you want to put out some grand declaration now? You think that won't make things worse?"

"I don't care," I snapped. My hands curled into fists at my sides, the anger rising fast and hot. "I can't sit here and let him drag her like this. You know it's all bullshit. And he's doing it because he knows she won't fight back. Well, I fucking will."

I will fucking destroy him.

Jeff shook his head. "You think I don't get it? I do. I like Harper. She's good for you. But you've always been private about your personal life. This—" he gestured vaguely, "—this is a whole new level. A public statement confirming your relationship? It's PDA on steroids, Harry."

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shove down the frustration clawing at my chest.

"I know. But it's not just about us being together." I took a breath, willing myself to sound rational. "It's about defending her. She's new to this, Jeff. She doesn't have the experience I do. And Tripp is using that against her. He's painting her like... like she's some manipulative liar, and I won't let him get away with it."

I want to slap this bitch.

Jeff crossed his arms, his expression softening just enough that I knew he was listening.