Falling | h.s

five

JANIE'S POV

I haven't been this drunk in months. I was falling-over drunk, call-your-ex-boyfriend-from-3-years-ago-drunk, do-a-handspring-because-you-did-gymnastics-in-8th-grade drunk. And yet, all I could focus on was him.

He wasn't what I expected. He was gentle and kind. Slow spoken. More emotional than I would have thought. He was smart. Really fucking smart. And he showed his intelligence with every word he spoke, whether or not he realized it. He was a poet.

He was also too drunk, falling-over drunk, sharing-his-deepest-darkest-secrets-with-a-stranger-in-a-bar drunk. With every drink we had, he dove a little bit deeper into his own head. I could tell this was therapeutic for him. He needed to talk, and I was more than happy to listen.

The girls sat at the bar as Bella continued to flirt with the bartender as they all giggled. Even from here, I could tell she was really putting on the moves, and I wouldn't be surprised if she went home with him.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asks, pulling my attention back to him.

"Anything," I smile.

"Why were you crying earlier?"

"I have a boyfriend," I hiccup. "His name is Charlie. He's a contractor. He was mean to me tonight."

He furrowed his eyebrows at this. "Why was he mean to you?"

"Because I don't want to go home. Or, I guess the deeper issue is, I don't want to go home and be an elementary school music teacher. I mean, I had such big dreams when I was little. I wanted to be a star," I say, taking another long sip of my drink. "I wanted to work with musicians, like you!" I exclaim, momentarily forgetting his profession. He laughs and takes a sip of his own drink. "I dunno, I guess I just always thought I would do more in life, is all. It was just a harsh revelation."

"Well, you're definitely talented enough to be a songwriter, Janie," He says and I feel my stomach jump.

"You're just being nice," I roll my eyes at him.

"No, I'm being serious! Look, can I be honest?"

"Of course," I smile and rest my head on my hands.

"I wish I had written your song," He states bluntly. I nearly spit out my drink, thinking he's joking. I laugh until I see his serious expression.

"What? Why?!"

"Because it's just what I'm looking for," He says, completely assured in his response.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means," he sighs, twisting his rings, "You just....it was honest. I could feel something from it. I can't really write like that. You're really talented, Janie." I scoff in disbelief at this.

"Are you kidding me?" I ask rhetorically and he shakes his head. "Sign of the Times" is one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard. Same with "Sweet Creature." I would kill for someone to write a song like "Carolina" or "Woman" about me. Harry, you're a beautiful songwriter." I place my hand over his and I see him smile. He looks up at me with troubled eyes, making me rub his hand comfortingly.

"That's the thing, though. I can write a song, but it isn't vulnerable. It isn't honest. I need to be vulnerable. I need to get these feelings out of me because if I don't I'll never be able to work through them," he explains, still twisting the rings on his fingers.

"It's just hard," he continues. "I don't open up like this usually. It's hard to admit that she hurt me and it's hard to admit that I miss her more than I want to. But more than that, it's hard to put it in words for a song, as much as I know it'll help." I nod, understanding the feeling and letting him rant. His eyes fall to the open notebook in front of him.