[3] how did we end up here ;; nh

40 » Defining

11 April 2023, Los Angeles, United States of America

The room is dark.

Curtains drawn tight, like the night doesn't want to leave yet. No sound but the slow hum of the AC and my own breathing. I blink. Once. Twice. My eyelids feel glued together like they're too tired to start another day.

I don't move. Not yet.

Just stare at the ceilings, letting my body complain in every language it knows. My neck's stiff. My lower back's fucked. My arms feel like they've been used to carry the weight of the fucking world.

Shit, I'm so old.

I get so lucky enough that the Australian leg has yet to start. But even if it's on June, we've been so ripped through a blender of interviews, I've lost counts; radio stations, talk shows, podcasts, magazines, all asking the same damn questions about how it feels to be back or is the new album coming up. I don't blame them, though. It's really exciting to be back. It's just... this is something that we haven't done in a long time.

Honestly, this feels so strange but I'm blessed that we can solve our burnout back in One Direction and going stronger together as a band.

And thankful enough, we get to stay in LA for a week. At least, I won't have to live out of a suitcase for a few days. Small wins, I guess.

I shift beneath the weight of tangled sheets, a low groan slipping past my lips. Every muscle protests, tight and tired, like overstretched rubber bands long past their prime. One leg slips free from the warmth and the cold air slices against my skin, sharp, and unwelcome.

I flinch, sucking in a breath.

And then it hits me.

I can't help it, I told Harry everything. Spilled the whole damn plan like I'd rehearsed it in front of a mirror. Marrying her. The ring. The hope. All of it.

And the truth is, I don't even fully understand it myself; how I've landed at this decision, how I've come to the edge of something this big with someone I've never even officially dated. Just years of being best friends and pretending that was enough.

Perhaps, that's the thing. It was more than enough to be her best friend for years.

Because I know her in ways people spend lifetimes trying to reach; the way she overthinks in silence, the way she tucks her lip in when she's trying not to laugh, the way she always reads the last page of a book first because she needs to know how it ends.

And me?

All I know is I love her.

Enough to throw away the rulebook.

Enough to stop hiding behind what ifs and almosts.

So, perhaps, it's true that I have never asked her to be my girlfriend. But I'm damn sure that I want her to be in my life. Forever.

I know every time our eyes meet, I remember that night after my birthday. She still keep her promises. I know it. I just know.

She looks me every time as if she's still waiting; waiting for me to finally set myself free from the lingering of past and eventually move on from it.

She sees through every version of me I've tried to be and believes there's still something worth saving underneath it all.

I used to kiss her like a promise.

I used to touch her like she was mine, like I had every right.

I used to hold her close, whisper things that lovers say, and then let her walk away without even asking her to stay.