Falling | h.s

forty-two

HARRY'S POV

The room is dead silent as everyone waits, hesitantly, and worriedly, for me to say something. Anything.

I sat at the end of the long table, with Mitch to my left and Jeff to my right. The record label representatives sat in the remaining sets, waiting for me to speak. The sound of the clock ticking fills the empty silence. 

"Harry?" Jeff says softly after a moment. I lazily lift my eyes to look at him and he forces a smile. "Are you ready to start?" 

"I guess," I shrug.

"Okay, then!" A perky blonde claps excitedly from the other end of the table. "Let's get started!" I fight the urge to roll my eyes as she shuffles through papers in front of her; notes from the label.

"First, we want to say how much we love the album, Harry. It's very mature, honest. Raw," she explains and I nod once, curtly, in response. 

I mumble out a quiet "thank you," to which she shoots me an enthusiastic grin. 

"But there are only nine songs here," she adds, crossing her hands over the papers. 

"I have a tenth," I grumble. "I wrote it the other day. There's a flash drive with the recording on it in the studio."

"Here," Jeff says, fumbling through his pockets until he retrieves a sleek black flash drive. He slides it down the table and the man sitting next to the blonde catches it. 

"Wonderful!" She cheers and makes a quick note. "And what is it called?" 

"Falling."

"Beautiful," she encourages as she marks down her final notes. She crosses her arms over the papers again and shoots me a fake smile. "I'm very excited to give this a listen."

I hum in response, not wanting to speak unless necessary. 

"The label was actually hoping for twelve, however," the man next to her hesitantly adds, clearly more affected by my unwelcoming mood. 

"We can do that," Mitch speaks for me with a nod. 

"Write two more songs by the deadline?" Jeff clarifies.

"Yes," she blonde nods, confirming his words. 

"That won't be a problem," Mitch says, looking at me. "Harry's always writing. You have that other one you've been working on. What's it called, Honeybee or Honey Baby or something?"

"That's not for the album," I hiss out at my best friend. "That's just for me." 

The room falls silent at my words. Mitch shoots me a look, half confused and half hurt, and I regret my tone already. 

"We'll have two more songs ready by the deadline," Jeff says after a moment, speaking for me. 

"Sounds great!" She chirps again, still trying to defuse the tension in the room. "Finally, about the "Lights Up" music video, we were wondering if--"

"I'm not talking about that," I state firmly, catching her off guard. 

"H, it's your first single. We have to," Jeff attempts to reason with me. 

"I'm not talking about it today," I repeat and Jeff sighs. He turns towards the woman with a forced smile of his own. 

"That's fine," the woman clears her throat before turning to address Jeff. "We're filming it next week, so as long as you and I speak beforehand about Harry's wishes and ideas, we should be fine." Jeff nods with a smile in response. With the meeting coming to an awkward close, the record label representatives nod warily before beginning to pack up their things. The move quickly, trying to get out of the lion's den as fast as possible. 

"We'll be in touch," she blonde shakes Jeff's hand before fleeing the scene with her colleagues. 

I take a few deep breathes before pushing my chair backward with a huff and exiting the room. But just as I reach the door, I hear a quiet voice behind me. 

"Harry," Mitch calls after me sternly. I turn around and face him with a hardened expression. His eyes are telling me to sit, to shut up in listen, so I cross the space and take the seat next to him once again. 

"When is this going to end?"

"What?" I ask, but already knew what he was talking about. The clipped tone. The snarky comebacks. The silent treatment. I wasn't myself, anyone could see that, and I could tell it was killing Mitch. 

"Moping around," he replies calmly. I shoot him daggers. 

"Moping around?" I all by snarl at him. When he nods in response, I let out a dry laugh. "She left, Mitch," I hiss. "The love of my life walked out without saying goodbye. So, I would argue that my 'moping' is warranted." He looks unaffected by my words, knowing that I'm acting and speaking out of spite that is not directed towards him. 

"I guess I just don't understand," he shrugs. 

"What is there to not understand?" I snap back irrationally and scold myself for how I'm speaking to my best friend. 

"I just didn't know you had changed this much."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I snap again. He rests his forearms on the table and leans towards me. 

"When have you ever not gone after what you wanted?" His words punch me in the gut as they wrack through my brain. When I don't respond, he continues. "Look, what she did was wrong. All kinds of wrong. She should have at least said goodbye. But, it's not like she died. It's not like she's fallen completely off the map. You know exactly where she is."

"Rosie said she didn't want me to come after her," I grumble in response. 

"And?" He retorts. "When do you ever listen to Rosie?" He jokes and a small chuckle releases from my lips. 

"She left. I told her that I loved her and she left." 

"I think she was scared," he explains. "I think she knew things were ending and she got scared. And I think she loves you, too." 

"Do you really?" I ask, begging that he's telling me the truth. 

"I really do. You'd have to be blind to not see how crazy you two are about each other. How perfectly you two mesh and work together. I've never seen you like that anybody else before," he says softly. 

"It's been a month," I shake my head again, still looking for excuses. Mitch is quiet for a moment, pondering my words. 

"I think," he says after a moment, "that this is killing her just as much as it is killing you." His words sink in as I feel my stomach sink.

"So, what," I sigh. "What do I do." 

"Do what you do best," he smiles. "Fight for what you love." 

His words send a surge to my heart and for the first time in a month, I feel a sense of motivation swirling through my body. 

"Where's my phone?" I ask suddenly, patting each of my pockets to find the device. When I find it, I open it quickly and begin swiping and tapping. 

"What're you doing?" Mitch questions, peering at my phone screen as I type a mile a minute. 

"Booking a flight," I say before looking at him with determined eyes and a hopeful smile. "I'm going after her."