Flicker 》Harry Styles x Kennedy Walsh {COMPLETED}

26: Reunited

We've hit 10k!

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They've figured it out.

I honestly shouldn't be surprised by now. I've watched that tweet blow up from a mere hundred to well over fifteen thousand likes in less than an hour. More and more fans find my accounts, DM after DM pile up in my inboxes—it was getting crazier by the minute.

"I shouldn't have posted it," Claudia says dejectedly, her eyes turning glassy as her phone pings again and again. She's resorted to just looking at it from across the bed—dread, annoyance, and guilt written on her face.

I nudge her slumped shoulders, hating that she's putting all of this on her. "Stop that. Neither of us knew he was going to make a spectacle out of it."

"But I should have known better. All you ever asked for was a bit of privacy with him and I've ruined that over a stupid Instagram story," she angrily wipes a tear away.

"Stop crying!" I yell at her, breaking into a laugh as I wipe at my own wet eyes. Claudia chuckles for a bit at the silliness of the situation and tries to stop the tears from flowing by fanning her eyes. She fails, and so we both end up crying-laughing.

Brandon passes by that same moment. He pauses by the door and hesitates. Then, appearing to have fully made up his mind, he steps back. "I don't even wanna know."

"Some brother," Claudia mutters.

Brandon smirks. "I'll get involved some other way." He looks like a psycho when he says that.

"What?"

Confusion fills me. It was normal for Brandon to not make a lot of sense, but today was different. He was being extra weird and it was very unsettling. It almost seems like he's scheming. Weirdo.

My phone rings and I can't control the smile on my face. "Hi." I send one last look to Claudia, assuring her with my eyes that I don't hold any grudges over it. My feet seem to have a mind of their own, already moving towards my room for more privacy.

"Talk to me. Tell me how you're feeling," he says immediately, his voice was thick with anxiety. I pause for a moment, trying to discern how I feel and step into his shoes at the same time.

It doesn't get any easier, I'm sure. No matter who or when he dates, there will always be eyes and conspiracy theories on his trail. Every relationship will be dissected, scrutinized, and analyzed. When was the last time he'd experienced a semblance of normalcy? When was the last time he took someone out to breakfast or lunch without worrying about the lurking paparazzi? Even going out with his girl friends was constantly taken out of context.

My heart actually hurt for him. But what did I feel? This was an entirely new experience. It feels like I've been walking blind—taking every step with my hand on the wall to keep myself steady. I had no idea how to work through this; no idea how to deal with certain things. Is there even any guarantee of coming out of this intact?

I tell him the truth. "Terrified."

"I know this is difficult for you, Kennedy," an audible sigh escapes him, "I can't even imagine—they . . . they could get vicious."

"I know." They already are. The amount of hate I've received had only doubled, if not tripled, overnight. Although the support has increased as well, it was hard to see the silver lining in this one—not when everything I'm seeing shatters my insides more and more.

"They might hurt you." They might, but not as much as you could.

"I'm aware," I answer instead, unable to keep the melancholic tone off of my voice as my mind wanders more. It really didn't take much to hurt a Kennedy Walsh. The tough act I was putting on for everyone to see was getting tiring. Often times, I really just want to scream and cry out of frustration. I hated feeling helpless and defeated—it's one of the worst feelings I could ever take.