𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌 {𝑯.𝑺}

Chapter Fifty Three | Playgrounds

"So this is it?" I murmured, glancing around me. "This is where the magic happens."

Harry's lips tugged into the hint of a smile as he nodded. "Yep."

The air fell into silence as I sighed softly. My feet dragged me to a nearby soundboard. It was filled with gadgets and buttons that I didn't quite understand, long enough to fill up a quarter of the room. A glass window separated us from an attached soundproof area, which consisted of microphones and instruments.

It was surreal to be in a place like this.

"Why'd you bring me here?" I asked, slightly intrigued. Out of all the places he could've taken me...

"For bragging rights of course."

"Valid."

"And I take it that you are jealous?"

"Only a bit."

"Good. That's exactly what I wanted."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was smirking. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh.

"But on a serious note," he continued. "You showed me your playground. So I guess I wanted you to see a glimpse of mine."

I rubbed my lips together, nodding in response.

Harry seemed most alive when he was on stage, in front of thousands of people, singing his heart out with his band mates and best friends. The recording studio was definitely secondary to that. They both were a part of his playground.

It flattered me to realize that I'd now seen both aspects of his life.

I could feel his gaze burning into me, prickling my skin and lighting my insides on fire as he observed every move I made. I traveled to the wall adjacent to us, admiring all of the plaques of legendary musicians.

"What are you thinking?" He questioned, picking my brain.

"Nothing in particular. Just taking it all in."

He didn't say anything for a while, simply basking in the silence that surrounded us. I could hear him shuffling faintly in the background, but I was too preoccupied with my thoughts to pay him attention.

"Our lives are so different." I whispered to myself, not expecting an answer.

Minutes passed by, before I spoke again: "How many songs have you recorded here?"

"Just one."

I felt a spark of courage rise within me, and held onto it tightly. "The song about me?"

"Becoming a bit bold, aren't you?" His eyes sparkled when he glanced at me, red lips rubbing together—causing dimples to appear. I rolled my eyes, choosing not to reply.

He was seated in an office chair by the soundboard. I decided to take a seat in the couch positioned across from him, taping my foot absentmindedly.

"I did record your song here," He confirmed.

My heart fluttered at the thought. This is where he was, months ago, when chaos had been the beginning of something that I would have never even imagined. "Why?" I breathed, glancing over at him.