dorothea | h.s.

eminently magnetized

February 21st, 2013. Eight years ago.

I never knew a gig without nerves. I didn't perform well without them, in all honesty. I did all of the tricks in the book, including the ones even voice teachers wouldn't recommend, but I could never shake the restless feeling under my skin whenever I was within fifty feet of a stage.

Even then, I wasn't the worst in the band.

"Harry, we don't have time for this. Get up." Niall wasn't as forgiving as the rest of us when it came to stage fright. He himself never got afraid.

Harry's eyes screwed shut, and both of us standing around him probably wasn't helping. "I don't wanna go. Just do it without me."

"We can't do it without you, Harry," I spoke up, and Harry's eyes opened in my direction, laced with a known fear in the space between his and mine. I knew he'd regret it if he let us go out there without him.

His features curled in on themselves dismally, begging in a small voice that I swore was meant just for me by the direction of his eyes. "Please. I don't wanna hold up the show." His hands were tucked sternly under his thighs on the couch backstage as if he was afraid he wouldn't be able to control their actions if he let them go.

"You've already held up the show, asshole," Niall groaned, and I turned just in time to catch his eye roll to the ceiling. "Dottie, you're playing. Get his guitar."

I didn't have a chance to oppose or respond at all before Niall was storming out of the back greenroom of this tiny venue.

We didn't perform very often, which was why Harry's fear was entirely valid. We were still at the point where performances often ended up with money coming out of our pockets rather than in. Niall's aunt was dating the guy who owned this bar, which was the only reason a random group of high schoolers was allowed to perform here on a random Thursday afternoon. There wasn't much of a crowd out there, but I knew exactly who it was in this building that had Harry so caught up.

I watched him, but he stubbornly stared at the ground, his hands now crumpled together between his knees.

"Harry," I caught his eyes when he quickly looked up, but the expression on my face had him turning away again, knowing what I was going to say. "Why are you overthinking it?"

He sighed, letting his back hit the dusty couch, palms covering his eyes. "I can't help it."

"You can!" My knee hit the cushion next to him as I sat down on top of it, facing his side. "You said you weren't going to let him get to you."

Harry's dad was coming to the show today. He didn't live close to Florence, but the venue was an in-between. Most interactions with his dad weren't even memorable, and if they were, he didn't speak of them. I was surprised when he told me he invited him and even more surprised when he said the rest of the boys didn't know.

Nonetheless, I was grateful he felt comfortable enough to tell me, but seeing the state he was in now over it, I was more worried than anything.

Harry didn't say anything back to me. His face was covered, so I couldn't even try to read his emotions like I was so used to doing. He never explained himself, so I had to figure out how to tell what he was thinking on my own. It wasn't an easy task with such a boarded-up person.

His voice had passed whisper, reaching a volume I had to lean in to hear when he let his hands flop down into his lap.

"What if he's not even there?"

His words stunned me. I didn't know what to say to that. "Then all of this worry for nothing...?" It came out as a question when it wasn't supposed to.