Falling | h.s

fifty-one

HARRY'S POV

I'm alive. I'm on fire. I'm filled to the brim with endorphins. I'm only four songs into my show and I already know that I never want it to end.

As the fans scream the lyrics of "Lights Up" back to me, I can't help but feel like I'm on cloud 9.

"Sing it," I say before lifting the microphone in the air and let them sing the final words of the song. My mind flashes back to the bar, to her tipsy smile, to the first time I heard her sing. A small smile graces my lips as I hear 20,000 voices call back to me the words I wrote with her as joy blossoms in my chest.

She may not be here, but right now, it didn't matter.

"Cherry" comes on next, and again, my mind flashes to the night we wrote it. The way I opened up, the guitar riff she played so beautifully. The same guitar riff that Mitch strums out now. The fans cheer, clap, and sing along, and before I know it, yet another song has finished. And now, it's time for the song I was dreading the most.

"Um," I start, trying to stall some time. "Thank you all for coming out here tonight to listen to me sing. It means a great deal to me," I say and smile at the cheers I get in response.

"This album is...personal. It was quite the experience to write it and very odd to open up like this." I take the microphone off the stand and look to Mitch, who flashes me a look of confusion. It isn't like me to open up like this, but something about performing these songs without her for the first time is making me feel vulnerable and open.

"This album is..." I trail off and look into the sea of people in front of me. "This album is everything I wanted to say but couldn't. It was written alongside some of my favorite people and forced me to open up in ways I never thought I was even capable. So, this song is for one of those people."

As I tell the crowd to turn on the flashlights on their phones, I suck in a deep breath and prepare to sing the words that were so utterly painful to write. I turn back to look at Clare and give her a confirming nod. At this, she begins to play the heart-wrenching piano melody.

I'm in my bed

And you're not here

And there's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands

I all but choke out the words, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. Sadness washes over me as her face flashes through my mind. I try to shove the memories of our fight out of my head and focus on the performance, but the pain in my voice is undeniable.

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm fallin'

I grip the microphone tightly for support as I sing out her heartbreaking words. I keep my eyes trained on the middle of the crowd, not wanting to break my concentration. But as the song continues, I let my eyes wander. Throughout the second chorus, I let myself look throughout the crowd, from screaming fans to tearful eyes, until finally, my eyes float up to the box.

I only look for a moment, a split second, but when I catch a flash of a familiar face, I immediately do a double-take.

I feel a gust of air leave my lungs in disbelief as I stare directly through the clear screen separating the two girls and the rest of the room. My eyes must be deceiving me, I think distractedly, and am grateful for the brief solo piano riff between lyrics. But when I continue to look into the box and see her dirty blonde hair and face full of pride, giddy joy flows through my entire body.

She's here.

She's really fucking here.

Her hands are clutched to her chest as tears drip down her cheeks. Rosie stands next to her, a beaming smile on her face as she watches me watch Janie. At that moment, it clicks. Rosie, always the matchmaker. She did this. She brought Janie home to me.