oh, anna [-hs]

come into the water

26.
QUINN'S POV

He whirls around, the guitar smacking lightly against the table. His eyes are wide, his mouth partly open in fear, shock, I'm not sure.

I look between the two of them. My absolute best fucking friend in the whole world, and this guy I feel an unsuppresable urge to be with. They're sitting at my kitchen table, singing a song about me. Together. I feel betrayed by both of them, but mostly by Emma. She looks down at her hands on the table. Harry just stares at me, dumbfounded, a deer caught in headlights.

It's not that I don't want him to sing songs about me. I do, that was the whole point at the beginning. And I still do. I want to hear the songs he's written about me. It's his Cherry, his way of seeing me as art. Just like how he melts when he's on my camera, I feel warm when I hear a song he wrote about me. But why did he have to sing it with her?

I sit down backwards in one of the kitchen chairs, my arms resting along the back of it. I look Harry squarely in the eye, he doesn't shy away, but I can tell his bracing for my response.

"Play it again," I demand.

"What?" He blinks, his grip on the guitar loosening.

"I want to hear the song," I whisper. He presses his lips together and shakes his head.

"I don't think I want to," he eyes me cautiously. I roll my eyes and climb off the chair, walking to the front door and pulling Cherry out of my bag. His eyes follow me. Emma's stay trained on her hands in front of her.

I sit down back in the chair and unceremoniously flip her open, pressing record and carelessly training the lens on him. Something desperate changes in his eyes. "Play it again," I command. He pauses, staring straight down the barrel of the camera, tired and guilty. But then he moves his hands along the neck of the guitar and slowly begins strumming out the chords. As his hands move up and down his shoulders relax. He calms down as he plays the music. Before he begins to sing he looks back up at me and his eyes are softer, a quiet excitement sitting behind them.

"Don't know where you're laying," he starts the song again. And then he truly relaxes. His fingers loosely play the chords. He looks shyly up at Cherry, and then to me, before closing his eyes to feel the music deeper.

Out of the corner of my eye, as the song builds, I can see Emma tapping her fingers along. I sit back, holding the camera farther away to get both of them in the shot. She notices, but refuses to look up at me or the camera.

"I don't want your sympathy but you never know what to do to me, oh, Anna," he softly sings.

"Oh, Anna," I echo back. Emma's eyes widen and she glances up. I nod gently to her, offering that she sing the song.

The next time the chorus comes around, she sings the part she made up to compliment his melody. The song comes to a close and Harry plays the final chord, finally opening his eyes again. He looks at me expectantly. After a moment, I end the recording and set the camera on the table. She sits between us all. I rest my arms on the back of the chair again and set my chin on top, looking down at her. No one says anything for a while.

The creaking of the window disturbs the quiet. We all look over at Wes, who is climbing over the frame and back into the apartment. He glances between all of us and smirks.

"It's been fun, night all," he sticks his hands in his pockets and wanders over to me, kissing the top of my head. Harry and Emma watch him carefully as he heads across the room and out the front door. Harry's jaw is shut so tight, the muscles in his face are rippling.