Falling | h.s

nineteen

JANIE'S POV

Don't you call him baby

We're not talking lately

Don't you call him what you used to call me.

The ocean waves crash quietly as Harry strums his guitar. We sat next to each other in separate chairs, our knees are touching, as he sings the words he was afraid to say out loud for so long.

Does he take you walking 'round his parents' gallery?

He pauses before adding a quiet "one, two, three, four," before we erupt into song. He's playing furiously, and I can see his emotions being put into the song. I'm impossible for me to fight a smile at I watch him. 

We sit quietly, just listening to the waves. We'd been sitting out here for hours, working, our dinner completely forgotten. His confessions of vulnerability floated over us and made me feel vulnerable myself. 

"I'm sorry about dinner," I say suddenly, making him jump in his seat.

"What about it, darling?" 

"That we didn't get to finish it. I could tell you worked really hard on it and we barely got to eat it," I explain and he laughs loudly. 

"You just helped me write a song that I thought was completely unwritable, and you're apologizing for not eating my chicken breast?" He says with amusement and I nod. He laughs again, shaking his head. "You are something else, Janie Williams." 

Silence captivates us again as the crashing waves soothe us. I turn my head to watch him, the way the stars twinkle in his eyes. The small smile tugged on his lips. The overall sense of relief. It was like I could see a weight lifted from his shoulders as he stared out to the ocean. He looked beautiful. 

"Do you feel better?" I ask and he nods, turning to me with a content smile. 

"I do. I feel a lot better. I knew I would once I wrote about it, but, I just didn't know how to start," he explains and it's my turn to nod. I rest my chin in my hand as I watch him talk. The smallest things about him completely hypnotize me. His lips, his hands, the small amount of scruff growing on his chin. 

"Harry?" I call out quietly, but he hears me. He turns his entire body towards me, eyes staring straight into mine. That's something I love about Harry; when you're talking to him, he maintains eye contact the whole time. He gives you his full, undivided attention. 

"What happens now?" 

"Well, we can go inside and finish eating, if you want?" He offers. The look in his eye tells me he knows what I'm talking about but doesn't want to answer me quite yet. He wants to prolong this blissful state. 

"How does this end?" I gently ask again and this time, he can't skirt around my question. He sighs deeply, settling back into his chair, his leg still touching mine. 

"I don't know," he says honestly. "We write so well together but you're leaving me tomorrow," he adds and I don't miss his slip of the tongue. "You're leaving me tomorrow." 

"I don't want to leave," I sigh deeply, inhaling the fresh sea air I've grown to adore. He's quiet for a moment before turning to me.

"What if you don't?" He says and I scrunch my face in confusion.