Harry's POV
It's been one stressful week or two, honestly I've lost count of the days. I am in desperate need of some sleep which is exactly what I plan to do when I get home to my London flat.
I've been in the studio way too often this past month and recently it has been constant meetings with management and my promo team. We released my new single a few days ago and now it's all about making the perfect album or if we want more singles. It's quite stressful and frankly ridiculous.
My driver finally pulls into the flat car park and I've never wanted my bed more. If I'm honest with myself, the world flat doesn't accurately describe my place, it's luxurious. The apartments may as well be houses despite the slightly thin walls. I love this place, it's quiet yet beautiful, perfect for me.
I enter my apartment and head straight for the kitchen, searching for something to eat. My kitchen is great, it has two ovens perfect for cooking special meals, a big fridge and the counter tops are a beautiful black marble. It's gorgeous. I settle for eating a simple bagel and go to find my favourite book to read in bed. I've been reading it for a little while since I've rarely had any spare time recently, it's a biography on George Michael and I absolutely love it.
I'm reading for roughly half an hour before I finally feel tired but then as if God refused to let me sleep, my neighbour comes home and slams the door shut. It's the loudest bang ever and I swear it shakes the whole floor. Whoever they are, I don't like them already, they stopped me from sleeping. Suddenly they start to shout profanities to themselves, like who even does that. All I can tell about this person so far is that, they're rich - because they live in this building, they're super mad - the door slam and the swearing, they aren't from London - their accent is really strong and from the pitch of their voice I'm guessing it's a he.
He continues to yell and slam cupboards for about five minutes like dang how many doors can one person open and close. Finally the yelling stops and I finally feel like I can get some sleep until another noise fills the air.
Oh no please don't be that.
The familiar melody flows to my ears. I know it's exactly what I think it is when I hear my own voice coming from next door as I lay here silent. I'm proud of it and everything but I've heard it too many times now, it's so normal to me. Then I hear a sound unfamiliar to me mixed in with the notes. Tears. He's crying, to my song. They start as quiet sniffles but soon enough he's fully sobbing. I feel bad almost guilty, I mean I wrote this song with this intention, to be cathartic but it's different actually hearing it. It's like his tears are my fault. I know that isn't true but I can't help but feel that way.
It takes a while but with the melody on repeat the boys sobs turn quieter and it becomes almost peaceful. I try to forget everything as I fall asleep with the sound of this boys tears and my own song filling the empty air.
