Flicker 》Harry Styles x Kennedy Walsh {COMPLETED}

37: Cover Your Ears

Don't hate me for this. :D Also, for 1D stans, how are y'all feeling about the rumors of the Mcdonald's footage supposedly being released at the Late Late Show tonight? Lmk.

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My butt called Harry. My butt—a fucking ass cheek—dialed Harry while Cory was confessing to me. I try to reach him again, this time using my the pad of my finger, but instead of hearing his voice, I am welcomed by the voicemail beep.

Jesus Christ.

I shoot a text to Harry—I promise, it's not what it looks like. Please let me explain.—before trying to call him again. Frustration washes over me when it goes straight to his voicemail, again.

Before I even realize it, I'm pacing, back and forth and back and forth, trying to get my thoughts in order. How much had he heard? With almost three minutes... fuck. He must've heard everything.

I'm fighting back tears, picking up on the idea that he might take it differently. He must think I'd done it on purpose—to make him jealous, or to rub it in his face that I have a back up plan if he fucks up again. God knows that's what I would think.

Good news Harry, I messed up this time.

Call after call gets sent to voicemail. Text after text is left unanswered. Fuck, he has a show tonight, hasn't he? He must've been backstage when I had accidentally dialed him.

Unwelcome images pop into my head: Harry hyped for the show, beaming with excitement when he receives that call from me and thinking it's to wish him more good luck. He must have answered it, voice full of teasing and fond, but then he hears Cory and I's conversation.

Hears the part where Cory implied that he's there for me if Harry decides to flake out.

God, no.

Frantic, I pull up his tour dates, my fingers shaking over the screen.

Arizona. He's in Glendale, Arizona. Then tomorrow and for the next four days, he'll be in California. Fuck. I'd never been to California.

Just then, my phone buzzes in my hand and I almost drop it in my haste to check the text.

From: Harry 👃

After the show.

I try to blink back the wetness in my eyes at the icy tone of his message. Three words. Just three bland words that could mean so much.

After the show I'll end this with you.

After the show I'll be gone from your life.

After the show I'll be reevaluating what I feel for you.

Everything under my ribcage shrinks a hundred sizes smaller, and my breathing comes out a little rougher.

That in mind, along with paranoia and the strongest fear of losing the person I just realized I'm in love with, I book myself the soonest flight to California. The girls perk up upon knowing my impulsive decision while the boys remain asleep on the floor.

"Don't you think that's too rash?" Claudia asks, "You've never been to California, Kennedy. Do you want me to come with you? I'll book a flight right now."

"You will?"

"Of course I will," she asserted, giving me a look that says 'why would you think otherwise?'. "Which flight have you got?"