Incandescent | H.S

Part Forty: Vodka Sunbathing & Vibrant Sunsets

Los Angeles. A city of sunshine and pure bliss. Over the years, Harry's attachment to it grew more and more. It was easy to say it was his second home. First came wherever his family was. But if there was ever a contest as to where he craved to be most in the world was, it was with you. Every damn time.

After finding him in L.A the week following your movie night, you were a bit vexed. You knew it wasn't his fault and that it was his job but you missed him like crazy. Seemed just as you got used to him in one spot, he was transported to another one before you had a chance to blink.

So, you'd taken it upon yourself to catch a flight out to L.A to surprise him. Your assistant juggled around your work schedule and found three miraculous days for you to take off. You didn't plan anything out past the flight, which in hindsight wasn't the smartest move. But as you got a ride to his L.A house that you'd been to once early on in your friendship, all was well. You'd worried he wouldn't be home, that he'd be at the studio or out busy with friends. However, he was home. He answered the door with a surprised yell.

"Special delivery." You smiled sweetly, a bundle of sunflowers in your hand while he stood there in shock.

"What are you doing here?" He lifted you in the air with a bear hug that almost squeezed the life out of you.

You shrugged, giddy, and simply said, "I wanted to spend some time with you."

Just like you did with your little cherry heart, you handed him the bundle of sunflowers to say I love you, I cherish you, I think of you always.

He got you settled in, already mentally planning the itinerary in-between his workload. You assured him that you just wanted to spend time with him where he was available. That you could keep yourself busy when he was working. You'd actually been wanting to see a few galleries over there and maybe extend your L.A clientele. You'd done a few events overseas but London had kept you so busy for the past few months.

There was that pressing guilt again. For the most part, it sat dormant in Harry's chest. It was heavy and constant. But hearing the tone in your voice wrecked him. Like you knew his hands were tied.

It was like you felt like an afterthought. Almost as if you were saying work first, me second.

Yeah, that really fucking wrecked him.

Harry took you to the studio, showing you bits and pieces he was working on. He played you samples and unfinished choruses. But no full song.

"When will I hear another song?" You wondered aloud as he fiddled with the dials on the soundboard.

"I want them to be perfect. I'll have one ready for you to hear soon. I promise, sweet cherry."

He was working on one particular song but it didn't have what it needed like it was missing something. It was a strange, foreboding sensation and it misplaced the usual pride he felt over his profession.

You were his muse, yet this one song he just couldn't finish. It needed something that he didn't have. So he left it as was. Partial lines little plucks on his guitar and sensations of love and heartache.

Because you didn't want to stunt his workflow, there were moments where you'd leave Harry alone to write. To play his guitar or tap along the ivory keys of his piano. Jotting down heartfelt lyrics and delving into painful memories. And while you loved him and his craft, something made you feel uneasy.

He pulled away from you when he wrote. Like he was so lost in his own mind that he almost forgot anything else existed other than his thoughts. You don't know if you'd ever tell him but it scared you.