Part Of My World | H.S.

She plays songs I never heard

"Make it up and surprise them. Tell them all my secrets but disguise them. So they dance on the tongues of the very people that they're secrets from", I sang loudly, aggressively mixing sugar, butter and flour together in a huge bowl that I had found in one of Harry's dozen kitchen cabinets. Speaking of kitchen, that's where I was currently making a mess of baking ingredients in order to prepare for opening night. What baking can do was especially hard for me because it involved a lot of coordinated, well, baking. "Make it soon. Make it better. Though, better never lasts forever. I'll make it small so it fits"

"Even this. Even now", I continued, making full use of the opportunity that I had been left alone in Harry's flat with no one around to distract me or to be distracted by me. My roommate, what I jokingly called him sometimes, had gone to the studio hours ago and I hoped for a few more hours to go, so he wouldn't walk in on this catastrophe. "Even as the walls come tumbling down. Even as I can't stop remembering-", I went on, trying to add an egg to the mix in front of me on the counter but instead of gently cracking it open, I smashed it with full force so its content splashed everywhere, including on me, and stopped singing to curse, "Sh*t!"

"I hope that wasn't meant for me", I heard as the door diagonal to me was shut. A deep sigh escape my lips when I looked up to meet the ever so mesmerizing eyes of my roommate, knowing my plan to clean everything up before he would get home failed as miserably as my sixth attempt of the musical number. "Hello", he said with a welcoming smile despite the condition of his kitchen, probably because he could see the frustration in my face. Hopelessly tiptoeing around the flour all over his wooden floor, he made his way towards me and pressed a sweet but short kiss on my lips. "Are you actually baking or are just throwing stuff around?"

"I'm practicing my routine", I groaned, sitting down on one of the bar stools behind me, that were covered in white. Harry removed the pink beanie he was wearing, revealing the slightly flattened curls that had been hiding underneath. His presence lifted my spirit, but not enough to not be completely stressed out. "It's opening night in one week and I haven't even had the chance to rehearse the show with the whole cast. All my movements need to be perfectly timed or else I'm gonna embarrass myself completely", I explained to him, grabbing a paper towel to deal with the sticky egg white. "They think I'm a professional, but I can't even crack an egg"

"You are a professional!", Harry assured me, throwing his beanie on one of the bar stools that was mostly spared to place his hands on my legs. "You took on the role with like a month notice, not many people would do that. And you're not doing it for money and fame, you're doing it because you love it with your entire heart. In my opinion that's more important than perfectionism", he encouraged me and I nodded thankfully, wishing it was easy for me to internalize his kind words. Brushing some flour off my shoulder, he suggested, "Hey, why don't you take a break? I could you run a bath for you."

"That sound amazing", I admitted, taking his hand. A bath really did sound amazing, not meaning it sounded realistic in that moment. I appreciated his proposition though, I guess my condition must have seemed worse than the one his kitchen was in. "But look at the mess I made", I pointed at the counter with the mixing bowl of unfinished cake mix and most of the ingredients scattered around it. "I got so much more numbers to go through, and the flour doesn't sweep itself of the floor and every surface in my reach."

"Don't worry about it", he said chuckling, but he was dead serious, he didn't want me to worry about it, but I DID worry. Although his flat, here in London, felt as close to home as it got, I was still somewhat only a guest, who needed to keep up their manners. Harry tried his best to convince me that I was a in a five star hotel though, and he was my maid. "I'll clean it up", he told me, driving his hand up and down my arm as if to keep me warm, although it was probably only meant to calm me down. "You're not gonna see an ounce of flour in this kitchen, when you get out of the bath."