GOLDEN (harry styles)

on ne parle pas ces derniers temps ...

(31/12/18)

HARRY'S P.O.V.

It's New Years Eve of 2018. It's been exactly nine months and 15 days since Nixie and I stopped speaking. I wish I could say I've tried reaching out, but she didn't, and so I didn't. I'm giving her space. That's what she wanted.

The distant sounds of partying can be heard from just outside the glass screen door, a group of about thirty people all crammed into my family's small backyard. My mum stands in the centre as always, dressed in a stunning blue dress. Gemma is dressed in similar attire, but she has given into the cold and now has a coat around her shoulders.

It's strange. It's so busy, and full of life, yet there is something missing. I can't help but think to myself that that missing piece, is Nixie.

She would love this. She would look at all of the people unknown to her and see a group of new friends, instead of seeing strangers like me. Nixie would have a ball dancing and swaying her hips to the beating Christmas music, even though it finished on the day it started. Her dress would be red, the same shade of cherry as her enticing lips. This would bring out the purple tints in her deep eyes, no doubt dragging me down further into the spiral. God, it would be amazing.

But it's not real. It's all just a fever dream on this cold, English evening.

I sit by the warm fireplace, an orange shadow projected on my face from the burning flame. It's so alive. The different shades of temptation and life swirl in their reds, yellows and scarlets, dancing happily in the pit. It's mesmerizing.

I let out a long breath, withheld for too long. A blank sheet of paper lies in my hand, taken from the old printer in my house. The top left corner is dogeared and damaged from years of being tossed aside, and an aged thumbprint of chocolate has been printed onto the back. It's all there was left.

I've wanted to do this for a while now. Not to get Nixie back, because I've come to terms that that probably won't happen. She seems happy. Apparently there's a new guy at university. She went back quickly after, and from what Griffin told me she's made some new friends instead of being by herself like before. That's good for her.

Maybe she really was right about this break.

I will admit to searching this guy up. He's tall, blonde and tanned, the perfect Australian surfer you could say. His name is Daniel unsurprisingly. His instagram is public obviously, so I had a look and to no surprise saw hundreds of photos of him surfing, fishing and cooking barbecues.

I even saw one of Nixie. She still looks the same, beautiful as ever. Her ginger hair is longer, and she wears thicker mascara when she's with him, I noticed. I smiled when I saw she still wears the same lipstick, and when I saw the 'golden' tattoo on her skin. She hasn't changed a bit, which hurts I guess.

Daniel's parents are quite wealthy, from what I saw. He always seems to be on a fancy yacht, or hanging around the art gallery they own in Sydney. But otherwise he looks to be the typical, drunk uni boy, a beer in hand for the majority of the day and partying until 2am.

I force myself to stop thinking about them with a sigh, rubbing my fingers against my temples. The paper is still a sad picture of emptiness, no inked words or thoughts. I don't know what to write. All I know is that I want to write to Nixie, just to see if she responds.

I breathe, chewing on my bottom lip nervously. It's a habit I picked up from her. My legs shuffle to sit directly by the fireplace, the fire tipping my toes with an aggressive heat. With a blue tartan blanket around my shoulders, and my back slumped against the couch, I start to write.