Please Post More Of Writing Fine Line Series!! I'm OBSESSED

please post more of writing fine line series!! i'm OBSESSED

Writing Fine Line: Canyon Moon

A/N: Hey lovies!! What do we think about Harry’s House? Favorite songs? Tell me all the things 💚

SUMMARY: YN and Harry have known each other since 2010 when they were put in a band together called One Direction. Since the band split up, YN and Harry have kept in close contact, may or may not have grown deeper feelings for one another and have continued to help each other create music. After having helped Harry with HS1, he has invited YN back again to Malibu to help make Fine Line. This was how Canyon Moon was made. (6.3K)

GENRE: harry x 1dbandmember!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn, 

WARNINGS: lil angsty? side note: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary)

Since 2010 Masterlist Previous Song Here 🍄

It’s been two days since YN has taught Mitch her stoned solo from She and has helped produce the song to its completion. 

YN had mentioned to Harry later that day about needing to go back to her house soon to give her overnight bag another refill before spending another week at Kid’s Malibu home. Although she drove herself, he offered her a ride over with no hesitation, taking the opportunity to suggest a mini road trip on their way to LA.

So now YN sits in the passenger seat of Harry’s yellow Ferrari with the windows down and a pair of red heart-shaped sunnies on her face. 

Sea salt, The Flamingos, Tom Ford cologne. 

Harry sneaks a couple of glances at her from time to time from under the protection of his Ray Bans. He can’t help but admire how beautiful she looks as she rests her chin on her crossed arms on the window sill, the wind blowing across her features as he drives them down the PCH. She looks peaceful, unbothered, and absolutely stunning under the clear California sky.

She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she’s been stealing glances at him, too. His hair messily yet perfectly tousled on top of his head, a pair of sunnies resting on the bridge of his nose. The way he grips the steering wheel with one hand while his other is to his lips as he casually rests his elbow on the window ledge. The slight stubble covering his jaw and upper lip is just begging for her to run her fingers across the skin, longing for her lips to be brushed up against.

She shakes herself from those thoughts. She reminds herself that they’re just friends right now...but could they really be considered that after writing Adore You? Does he still feel that way? Was he simply writing from a place in the past? Things have changed. She wants to set some boundaries between them from the amount of whiplash she gets from her contradicting emotions towards this man. 

They’re both undeniably competitive; it’s a game of ping pong that neither one of them is willing to lose.

YN loves him—more than a best friend—but she’s paralized by fear. Fear of loving someone so much to the point where you can’t even tell which way is left or which way is right, where it’s physically impossible to be away from the other, where you can’t even breathe. Fear that she’s already there.

Maybe she knows Harry feels the same way but she’s too scared to ask about it. Instead, she'll just sit quietly in the comfort of friendship.

YN has her phone connected to his stereo, some of their favorite music sounds through the car’s sound system. It’s a mix of songs the two of them like. 

After some time, YN rolls up her window and lowers the volume on the music to let some of the quietness come back into the car.

“Think the album is coming along really well so far.”

“Yeah? Not just saying it cause your names in the credits.” He teases.

“Pft. If there was something wrong with it, you know I would have told you already.”

That’s one of the things Harry respects YN for as an artist and as a friend. She isn’t afraid to sugar coat anything when something’s not right. It’s one of things that made Harry know he wanted to bring her back to work for him. She was—and still is—pushing him to create music out of his comfort zone, to have another take in the recording booth because she knows he can hit that note better. Nudging him to write from a deeper place within himself that he was too scared to look at.

“There’s no denying that. But, yeah I think She turned out really nice—”

“Woah, woah, woah—”

“What? What?” Harry’s panic soothes over as YN reaches forward to turn the volume up on his stereo. The song You Don’t Have To Be A Star (To Be In My Show) begins to play through the small space.

He takes a glance over to YN to see her moving her upper body along to the hippie song. Her arms push and pull in front of her with her eyes closed. It’s one of the songs on their karaoke list, having sung it on countless, drunken occasions in an undeniable duet.

He’s about to start singing with her but the words get caught up in his throat as the sound of her singing.

Baby come as you are with just your heart

And I'll take you in

You're rejected and hurt

To me you're worth what you have within

Her fist appears in front of his lips as if she’s holding an invisible microphone. “Sing it, Harry!” 

“Dunno know the words.” He shrugs, a smile sitting comfortably on his lips.

“Liar.” YN yells back with a beaming smile. 

Now I don't need no superstar

'Cause I'll accept you as you are

You won't be denied 'cause I'm satisfied

With the love you inspire

As YN continues to sing, she makes her movements dramatic. Pointing out in front of her like she’s on stage, her “microphone” in her other hand. 

Oh honey, there'll be no cheering from the crowd

Just two hearts beating out loud

There'll be no parades, no tv or stage

Only me till your dying day

It’s ironic how differently those lyrics ring true to their lives now. From their two hearts just trying to find a heartbeat to the sound of their beating hearts becoming loud enough for the world to hear. 

Despite the fame, the tour, the spotlights, they’re each other’s other half. That’s something that will never change. 

“You don't have to be a star, baby, to be in my show.” The two sing together, repeating it with smiles bright enough to outshine the sun. 

It’s like he’s hearing the song for the first time again. It’s sweet, heart-wrenching, and fitting. 

Another half hour goes by before Harry’s pulling into a backlot of an all too familiar café on the corner of Beachwood street. 

"Figured we should get a bite to eat before heading to your place. Dunno about you but m’starving."

The two walk the short distance around the small building before the sight of the huge sign reading "CAFÉ" and its royal blue door adjacent to it.

After Harry and YN order their food at the front counter, they take a seat at one of the only open seating in the busy café. She thinks her favorite thing about the café is the secludedness of it all. Although LA can be anything but discreet—with its paparazzi constantly seeking the opportunity to pounce from the depths of any shadow on the street and the looming, persistent need to have a perfect exterior acceptable by the stupid standards of society—sometimes the community likes to keep to themselves, too self absorbed to bother looking anywhere other than their phone screens. 

That and the yellow and blue triangle tiles littered across the ground. Those are really cute.

As the two settle into their seats, a waiter delivers their drinks.

“I’m a Brit at heart and am always gonna love my tea but the coffee comes out whenever we come here.” YN lifts the wide mug to her lips, blowing the steam off the top before taking a sip. She hums, licking her lips as to chase the sweet taste of the brewed beverage. YN looks around to take in the small cafe. The sound of soft chatter and utensils clinking against dishware fills the space. “We used to come here quite often, didn’t we?”

The Beachwood café was discovered on a rare day off during the band’s third tour. With the itch to be anywhere but a stuffy hotel room, the two went exploring the streets of LA in search of somewhere to eat with the hope of not being spotted by fans or paparazzi. The café was small but big enough to not get noticed, cozy enough to lose track of time, and coffee good enough to break a Brit. 

Over the years, the walls of the space have seen the two come here as friends, lovers, and anything in between.

“Things have gotten a little hectic since then, huh?”

“Just a little.” YN says with a scrunch of her nose. Both of them know their jobs come with a heavy price of little to no down time but neither one of them would choose a different career path. With that also comes the little room for relationships. It’s one of things that Harry finds some comfort in with YN. They both have a clear understanding of the demanding work hours and the long travels that there’s no need to have a sit down and explain to one another about it; they both just knew.

A waitress sets down their plates before giving the two a kind smile and leaving them to enjoy their meal.

When YN looks down at her healthy, kale wrap and sweet potato fries, she instantly regrets not ordering a plate of chocolate chip pancakes like Harry instead.

“Do you want a fry?” 

Harry looks up from grabbing his utensils to his friend’s raised eyebrows and wide eyes. His eyes flicker from her face to her plate before giving her a knowing smirk. From an outsider’s perspective, her offer is simply a kind gesture to share her food. An invitation to let him snack on her plate while he eats his (a given for the two of them in any meal hour, but nonetheless). He knows her better than that.

Without a word, Harry moves his iced tea out of the way before he picks up her ceramic plate and swaps it with his. 

He plops a fry in his mouth and gives her a cheeky smile. “Yeah, I’ll take one.” YN giggles at his gesture and takes the fork from his giving hand.

“It’s kinda freaky how well you know me.” YN stabs the fluffy food before waving it towards him like a magic wand. “It’s like you can read my mind or something.” She says before sticking the fork in her mouth.

If only I could. He thinks to himself. Then I would know what’s racing through your mind all the time.

Harry kisses his teeth. “I knew you would find out sooner or later. Just don’t blow my cover, yeah? Have to keep my superhero identity a secret and all tha’.” 

“Roger that.” YN pretends to zip her lips shut, locking it at the end, and handing him the key. He plays along, leaning back in his seat to put the imaginary key in his front pants pocket, smiling at the sound of her giggling. 

Harry takes the fork from her hand. She tries her hardest to ignore the way her skin tingles at his touch or how mouth watering his jaw looks when he chews on a piece of her pancakes. 

“Oh shit, that’s good.”

“You kiss your mum with that mouth?” 

Harry wipes his thumb against the corner of his lip before bringing it to his mouth, licking off the sticky syrup there. He gives her a laugh through his nose as he looks down at his plate and begins to tear the white paper the wrap is covered in.

“My mum has been asking for you actually.”

“Been meaning to pay her a visit.” YN leans over to grab a fry from his plate. 

Harry accidentally bumps his foot with hers underneath the table. He's about to give her an apologetic smile but he just sees her head down as she cuts another piece off of her pancake stack and feels her sneaker slide further next to his.

"Do you remember that one time we did a show in London in like 2014? And had our families backstage? It was the time Anne wanted to see the tour bus."

"And then that made all the other mums want to see it too?" Harry moves the tip of his shoe along the side of hers.

"They way we all ran to the bus and chucked everything off the ground and into the spare bunk beds and the cabinets." YN giggles into the back of her hand. 

"I saw Louis throw a pile of Niall's clothes out the window." Harry chuckles. YN fully laughs at the memory. She remembers the absolute chaos that she and the boys went through to clean the nasty tour bus. YN was an organized person for the most part, but when you live in a confined space with five brothers 24/7, tidiness gets kicked out the door.

“He was so confused when he saw it outside.” She musters out through her laughter. Harry squeezes his eyes shut as he laughs, the skin beside his eyes wrinkle at the action.

Shared pancakes, coffee, and easy conversation.

On the drive to YN’s house, with a full belly and the sound of soft background music in the car, she fell asleep halfway there.

Harry pulls into YN’s secluded driveway and turns off the car. The sun was beginning to settle down for the night and so was he. 

He doesn’t have the heart to wake her; he even entertains the thought of just carrying her inside. He carefully reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of her face. 

He looks out the windshield to her front door. Despite the sleek wood and brick modern architecture of her home, he looks fondly at her pastel yellow door. 

He always appreciates her touch in everything she owns. Hell, she’s the reason his own front door to his London home is pink. 

Her yellow door gives him comfort, a warm gooey feeling in his tummy, and a place to physically call home. 

...

Jenny paces around in front of the sink as YN sits comfortably on one of the bar stools on the kitchen island. Her manager looks over to YN with a dramatic roll of her eyes as her ex-husband rambles on over the phone. YN tries to hold back a smile as she goes back to her plate of fruit in front of her. 

Her and her manager are in the kitchen of YN's LA home and she has a couple days off before she has to leave for her next show. The two women were going over some documents, scheduling, and vague plans for her next album before they were interrupted by Jenny getting bombarded with phone calls.

"I just told you that the babysitter just called me saying that she can’t make it and I don’t have time right now.” Jenny points over to the slide glass doors that leads to the backyard and YN gives her a reassuring wave of her hand while munching on a piece of watermelon. “Go get the kids from school, Andrew...”

At the sound of one door sliding closed, YN turns her attention to the sound of keys opening her front door. She certainly wasn’t expecting anyone else over today. She’s close to calling her manager back in but her panic quickly dissipates at the sight of a head topped full of familiar brown locks, a dimpled smile, and the smell of Tom Ford cologne.

“Hi, baby.”

YN is off of her seat in an instant. Her bare feet quickly pad across her hardwood floors before she crashes her body with Harry’s. She wraps her arms around his neck and Harry bends forward enough to wrap his arms around her lower back, lifting her from the ground in a much needed hug.

“What’re you doing here?” YN softly asks into the crook of his neck.

“Wanted to surprise you.” Harry whispers into her hair. There's no other course of action but to melt into his embrace. “Did it work?”

“Mhm.” YN pulls back slightly to see his face, as if she’s making sure what she’s seeing is real. He’s supposed to be on tour right now, thousands of miles away and singing to crowds of devoted fans. Yet here he is with his arms clasped around her, clearing her of any doubt that this is a dream. “I thought you weren't coming over for another two weeks.”

“Hmm. Couldn’t wait any longer." Harry whispers, rubbing his nose with hers. Loving the way the action makes her lips tug up in a soft smile that would bring any man down to his knees. "Missed you.”

"Miss you more." YN gently runs her fingers through his hair to push it away from his eyes.  

She can’t wait a second longer before softly pressing her lips to his. “Welcome home,” She hums. She can feel him smile into the kiss and she lets out a giggle, too giddy to contain her emotions.

Home. He thinks. I’m finally home.

...

Harry's gaze turns to his right at the sound of YN stirring awake from his passenger seat. 

“Hmm? We’re home already?” YN rubs her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

“Yeah, lovie.” We’re home.

When the two walk inside YN's house, he's immediately hit with her familiar scent of vanilla. It’s not strong enough for a headache or anything but he’s certainly overwhelmed. 

“Do you want anything to drink? A snack? Still have some of the smelly vegan chips you like.” Harry chuckles seeing her carelessly kick off her shoes as she walks into the kitchen space. After setting down her duffle bag next to the door he goes to stand next to her slouched figure against the open refrigerator. She looks up to him with heavy eyes, still a little puffy from her nap.

"S'time for bed yeah?" Harry cups her jaw, rubbing his thumb over her temple. She hums in agreement, not having the energy to give him a complete answer. He gives a soft kiss to her forehead before leading them both up her spiral staircase.

YN drags her feet further into her bedroom but stops when she notices that Harry's still standing in the doorway. He lazily throws his thumb behind his shoulder.

"M'going to sleep in the guest room tonight." As much as he would love to share a bed with her tonight, he's not sure if they're there at this time of their relationship. Sure, they've slept in the same bed countless times in the past as friends or more, but with the constant back and forth of their confusing feelings, it's probably for the best.

“Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun.” YN stands before him, craning her neck to look up at him.

“Of course. Missed our little getaway trips.”

Out of habit, like a magnetic pull, the two friends lean in and give each other a quick, friendly kiss. Despite their on and off relationship, in between the chaos, it’s just become a natural thing for them to kiss each other goodbye.

He’s the one to blame for her causal affectionate behavior, but is she truly mad about it at this point?

Still close enough to feel each other’s breath on the other’s lips, YN whispers a soft, “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, YN.” Harry tries to ignore the strain on his heart as she pulls away completely. Her hand rests on the door handle before looking at her friend as he walks down the hallway.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” 

YN hesitates with her next words. She wants to invite him in and spend the time together, like they used to. It doesn’t have to involve anything sexual, she surely doesn’t think she could hold herself back if one thing led to another but his company alone is enough. She just doesn't want this day to come to an end.

What is she thinking about? The words race through Harry’s mind.

“See you in the morning?” She utters out instead.

“In the morning.” Harry repeats, trying his hardest not to let his expression falter from his hopeful expectations.

He waits until she closes her door before unsticking his feet from the floor and carrying himself over to the room across the hall.

Harry rolls from his back to his side before rolling to his other side and then returning to his back. He looks at the digital clock on the bedside table and the bright red numbers tell him that it's a little past 3 am. He lets out a deep sigh as he runs his hands over his face.

As quick as the kiss was, his lips haven't been able to stop themselves from tingling all over. Although they've shared plenty of friendly kisses in the past, it was the first one they've shared since they've decided to end things for the time being. 

It was so subconscious that he doesn't think that even she realized what had happened when it happened. Was she going to invite him into her room? Did she want the kiss to last longer? 

He closes his eyes once again in hopes to drown out his loud thoughts only to be snapped back open in a roll of his eyes. He throws the comforter off of his body, swings his legs over the bed and carefully twists the door handle open. He passes her door with half the mind to enter her room but his feet carry him down the stairs to the kitchen. 

He stops in his tracks at the sound of a rerun from Friends, the light of the TV casting enough brightness to capture YN's facial features. She has her knees to her chest and her chin resting on top of them.

She turns to head to look over to him with a soft smile. 

"Told you I'd see you in the morning." YN pats the cushioned seat next to her. Coming into the light from the TV, it isn't until now that she notices that Harry's merely in a pair of briefs. She has his worn out Rolling Stones t-shirt on with a pair of pajama shorts.

Harry plops himself next to her and lazily throws an arm on top of the couch behind her. 

"Whatcha you still doing up?" She questions, keeping her eyes on the screen. She lets out a short laugh through her nose as Rachel pours marinara sauce into Monica’s handbag on the TV. 

Oh you know, I couldn't stop thinking about how your lips taste and have been going mad wondering if you've been thinking about me in the same way I think about you. The usual. 

"Could ask you the same thing.”

“But I asked you first.”

“Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Same." She rests her cheek on her knee to look at him. 

He reaches out and tucks a piece of her hair away from her face and behind her ear. She lifts her head before inching it closer to his. He thinks his heart may have skipped a beat and prays that she can't hear the sound of it beating out of his chest. He meets her halfway in a gentle kiss. It’s short and sweet. It makes him feel satisfied and unsatisfied all at the same time. When they pull away, her eyes flick back and forth between his before glancing down to his lips once more. 

Harry brings his palm to her cheek, thumbing over the apple of her cheeks. "What are you thinking about?" 

"Too much." YN puts her hand over the one on her cheek. "Help me turn my mind off?"

Harry pulls her into him with a seal of their lips. The TV show is long forgotten as she turns her head to the side, deepening the kiss. Their tongues dance around each other and fingers run across skin.

She kisses the side of mouth, down his jaw to the spot below his ear. He releases a shaky breath and slides his hand down the expansion of her outer thigh. As she continues to sponge her lips around his neck, Harry's eyes briefly open to be met with the couch beside them. The memories of drunken actions, jealousy and dependency flood his mind like a tidal wave. 

Harry brings her lips back to his in hopes to push back those memories and focus on the now. He kisses her slowly, kissing her top then bottom lip before pressing his lips fully on hers. He wants to savor this moment, to draw out and drink up each gasp and hum that she gives him. 

He brings his hand to the back of her neck and leaves a trail of kisses down her throat. She leans her head back to give him as much space as possible. When he sucks on the skin where her neck meets her shoulder, she sucks in a sharp breath and brings her fingers to rake through his hair. He can't help his eyes from flicking back to the couch. 

Alcohol breath, glossy eyes, the shake of her head.

He can't make her go through that again. He can't be the boyfriend for her. She doesn't deserve that.

"Harry? Are you alright?" YN leans back to look into his eyes. "Sorry, was that too much? We can stop if you wanna...”

"What? No—I mean.” Harry lets out a deep sigh. “Sorry.” He shakes his head with a furrow of his eyebrows.

"Hey, s'alright. Got a little carried away there." YN gives him a small smile, slightly out of breath.

Harry sighs and runs his hand over his face and through his hair. He wanted to kiss her for so long now. Stayed up all night thinking about it but now he's messing it all up. He doesn't deserve her. Her understanding, her kindness, her ability to make an uncomfortable situation feel anything but.

He loves her and, boy, is he in deep.

"Do you wanna finish the rest of the episode with me? Maybe have a cuddle?"

With her doed eyes and swollen lips, how could he deny her request? He'd do just about anything she asked, all she has to do is say the word.

"O'course. C’mere."

YN snuggles deep into his side and reels in the feeling of his hand running up and down her arm.

"Who got you being so cuddly nowadays, huh?" He teases her when she wraps her arm over his torso. He jumps a bit when she playfully pinches his side.

"S'all your fault. Don't act like it's anyone else’s."

Harry smiles and brings down the throw blanket behind the couch and lays it on top of her curled up figure.

With one hand caressing her arm wrapped around him, his other hand is brought up to her head as he mindlessly massages her scalp. It doesn't take long until he hears her breathing even out.

The couch taunts him and it makes his heart sink to his stomach. 

...

YN’s eyes flutter open and she has to squint a bit from the bright ceiling of her living room, letting her know that the sun's already out. The sound of a random sitcom plays quietly from her TV.

She feels hot, a little too hot. Along with a knitted throw blanket, Harry has the majority of his body laying on top of hers, his neck comfortably tucked into the crook of hers as he softly snores.

She runs her fingers through his hair. It has its desired effect as he gently stirs awake.

"Harry?" YN whispers. He hums, cuddling himself further into her. "We need to get up."

"Five more minutes." He says into her ear, his voice is a lot deeper and raspier in the mornings. "Promise."

"But I need to pee."

Harry peels his head away from her neck and looks down at her with sleepy, hooded eyes.

Day or night, he wonders how she can possibly look so beautiful in any given moment. Her hair is spread across the cushion behind her. Her eyes blink slowly up at him as the sun makes the color of her eyes seem brighter, lighter. Her smile, gosh, that smile.

"What's the password?"

"Move, I need to pee." After a playful raise of his eyebrow, she gives him a knowing look. "Please."

Harry kisses his teeth. "Actually it was Harry's the best in the world but better luck next time." He lays himself back down only to be pinched in the arm.

"Ouch. So it’s like that? Y’know I like it rough."

"How's your mind in the gutter this early?" YN giggles.

"Ooh say it again. M'close." Harry laughs when she slaps his arm but he eventually rolls himself to the little couch space left and she wiggles her way out from under him. He lays on his back as he watches her scurry her way to the bathroom. 

When YN closes the door behind her, she leans back against it as she closes her eyes. Once she kissed Harry good night and laid underneath her sheets, she couldn’t get him out of her head. She wanted to physically be with him but had a feeling that he didn’t want the same. It must have been true since he felt so uncomfortable with kissing her last night that he literally just stopped. She didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable than he already was so she swerved past the speed bump and moved on. Ugh, she was so dumb for thinking he saw her as anything more as a friend at this point. 

After splashing some water on her face, she heads back out to find Harry in the kitchen. Her belly fills with butterflies at the sight of him moving around her kitchen with such ease. He opens each cabinet with the knowledge of what’s in it. After putting two mugs on the island table, he lifts his gaze to hers.

“Good morning, lovie.”

“Morning.” She hums.

Harry pours hot water from the kettle into their mugs and the two quietly make their cups of tea.

“Anything you need to do before we leave?” Harry says as he moves his tea bag up and down before taking a sip.

“Gonna have a quick shower and finish packing then we should be good to head out.” YN sturs her honey into her tea before tapping her spoon against the rim before sticking it into her mouth. 

“YN?”

“Hmm?”

Harry leans a little forward, unable to keep his body from being apart from hers. 

"Do, do you..." 

Do you regret the kiss? Do you wanna kiss again? Does your heart flutter every time I’m near you like mine does? Do you still have feelings for me?

She watches as he takes a glance somewhere behind her before looking down to his mug. “Do you mind if I have a shower first?” He internally cringes at himself.

“Course not. Go ahead.”

As Harry truges up the stairs, YN looks behind herself to see what he could possibly be looking at. Was there something out of place? All she sees is her couches. She brings her mug to her lips with a sigh.

What was he thinking about?

...

YN enters the studio space to find the rest of the producers talking amongst themselves as they sit in front of the huge console full with hundreds of buttons and sliders. Mitch and Harry are sitting on the couch that’s alongside the wall of the room. Mitch has an acoustic guitar ready to play as Harry sits writing down what she assumes is lyrics, the clipboard resting on his lap. He moves his head from side to side, like he’s singing the words in his head, before going back to writing.

She gives a friendly nod over Mike, one of the camera men that’s recording content for the Fine Line Documentary. It’s nice to only have one person recording the album process. It takes away some of the pressure of feeling like the team is supposed to act a certain way or hold back from conversations. YN thinks back to the times of the band’s This Is Us film and Harry's Behind the Album documentary back in 2017. 

Video recording an album is different in that it’s way more intimate than just following a couple of teenagers mess around on tour. By having just one photographer versus four in a room, being out of the way and almost forgetting that he was in the room brings a sense of ease and calmness to everyone involved. 

"Anything good?" YN plops down the coffee table in front of the two men.

"Maybe," Harry scratches his temple with the end of his pen. "Wrote it a while back but I added a bridge to it. Needs some work though."

"Can I have a listen?"

Harry nods over to Mitch and he begins his quick strumming. His fingers move sharply up and down the neck of the guitar. YN’s immediately transfixed on the upbeat melody. She can already hear the stacked harmonies, the layered guitar melodies, and the funky bass thumping. 

The world's happy waiting

Doors yellow, broken, blue

I heard Jenny saying

“Go get the kids from school.”

Mitch looks up to see YN’s reaction to the lines, she has a small smile on her lips, clearly knowing what Harry’s referring to. She has to admit, she’s a little taken aback by the lyrics. He was really all in wasn’t he?

I'll be gone too long from you.

Mitch switches from strumming to tapping the body of the guitar.

Staring at the ceiling

Two weeks and I'll be home

Carry the feeling

Through Paris, all through Rome

And I'm still thinking back to

A time under the canyon moon

He thinks she's his home? How has this become more intimate than Adore You? 

"Um, yeah." Harry lets out a nervous chuckle but tries to cover it with a cough. "That's what I got so far."

YN doesn't want to ask when he wrote it or how he meant by this random person named Jenny and her kids. She doesn't ask questions she already knows the answers to.

"I love it. S'like Crosby, Stills and Nash on steroids.” She looks at him expectedly, with a soft raise of her eyebrows towards the clipboard on his lap. "And the bridge?"

“Like I said, it’s still in the works but it goes like: Quick pause in conversation, She plays songs I've never heard, An old lover's hippie music...” He sings by himself. 

She’s back in the leather seats of his Ferrari, driving down the PCH and singing along to Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr.

"Pretends not to know the words." YN sings, making Harry's dimples dig into his cheek. "So I'll keep thinking back to a time under the Canyon Moon." YN continues. "And then you can go back to the I'll be gone too long from you part." She casually sings the last bit as Harry scribbles down the new lyrics. Maybe he wasn’t writing from a place in the past after all.

“I love harmonies and YN is just, she’s such an artist when it comes to arranging them and making them sound so cool.” Harry moves his ring-covered hands in front of him, emphasizing his points. “Like, I’m just the guy who sings and she’s the one to make all of it come together to make it be one of the greatest things I’ve ever heard.”

YN has her big, studio headphones on as she bobs her head along to her newest vocal arrangement of all of the harmonies Harry just sang for her. His repetition of “I'm going, oh, I'm going home” that plays along with some of the added adlibs brings a smile to her face.

“I don't think a lot of people know that Harry can really reach those high notes." YN motions her hand, palm down, above her head. "Like he can get up there when he wants to. Can put Mariah Carey to shame—” YN can’t hold back the laugh that erupts from the back of her throat, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. The crew members behind the camera can’t help but softly chuckle along.

From her spot on the editing desktop, YN turns her head to look to the window that’s above the studio console desk. Harry’s on the other side with headphones similar to hers as he claps rhythmically into a microphone. He catches her gaze almost immediately, a smile already tugging on his lips. 

He matches her head bobbing motion before moving his entire body to the beat of the song, never stopping his clapping.

“No, but in all seriousness,” YN sighs and wipes her watery eyes with her thumb. “He’s an amazing singer. Truly. Could he be the next Ariana Grande? Who knows—” YN bursts into another fit of laughter when Harry quickly comes in from the sideline and tucks her neck in the crook of his arm. 

“Take it back.” He laughs.

She squeals out his name as he nearly pulls her off her interview chair but she’s quick to pinch his side, making him let go immediately when she touches his ticklish spot.

YN sits on one of the chairs inside the recording room. She has a leg on top of the other with Harry's clipboard in hand. She bounces her sick covered foot up and down to the sound of Harry singing into the padded microphone who's only about an arms length away. Both of them wear their studio headphones to listen to the music.

When he finishes singing the first verse, Harry decides to do an experimental whistle riff instead of scatting it like his last take.

While still looking down at Harry's written words, YN mindlessly harmonizes his riff. 

They both look up at each other with wide eyes and curling lips in a playful scoff. She meets his outreached hand with a slap before sliding her hand down to his fingers and pulling it back with a snap of their fingers.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” YN snickers as he walks away with a hand to his side. The rest of the crew members chuckle, making sure to capture every bit of their interaction. As she fixes her hair, you can hear him distantly say ‘brat’ from his spot somewhere behind the camera.

“Wanker.” She smirks at the camera.

Taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee

Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that. 

Genre: Famous Fake Dating! 

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries​) and Lu (@meetmymouth​) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

Continuar lendo

Other Mama

in which you come home early as a surprise but Harry seems to have an even bigger one waiting for you..

The hotel beds are always stiff.

Continuar lendo

Writing Fine Line: Golden

A/N: Hey everyone! I cannot believe how much love I received from my last post, you all are so ✨golden!✨ Any song you guys wanna hear next?

Summary: YN and Harry have known each other since 2010 when they were put in a band together called One Direction. Since the band split up, YN and Harry have kept in close contact, may or may not have grown deeper feelings for one another and have continued to help each other create music. After having helped Harry with HS1, he has invited YN back again to Malibu to help make Fine Line. This was how Golden was made. (3.2K)

Genre: harry x 1dbandmember!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn,

Warning: none :)

side note: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary) bold are things Harry actually said irl

“YN helped me with my first album as a songwriter and I‘ve hired her back now as a songwriter, vocalist, musician and music producer, I mean the list goes on.” Harry laughs. “She’s grown so much in this craft of making music it’s honestly pretty insane. We’ve known each other for about nine years now—being in the band and all—and I think when you’ve worked with someone for so long, you kind of know what’s best for each other, how you work and what works best. There’s sort of a sense of nonverbal communication between us that she just knows.”

“Just checking for the last time, are you sure you want me here?” YN asks as Harry closes the trunk to his car.

Today marks the first day of recording and writing new songs for Harry’s next record. YN had felt honored when Harry had invited her back to help make his second solo album. She felt the exact same feeling when he asked her to come to Jamaica with him and the rest of his crew to write his first one. The only difference being that YN and Harry are currently on their off side in their on and off relationship. The two went into Jamaica with the status of best friends and ended the trip with blurry boundaries. The line crossing between friendship and something more has continued to thicken and thin itself since then.

From late night phone calls to spontaneous surprise visits on each other's tours. From platonic brunches to writhing bodies underneath hotel bed sheets. It doesn’t matter if the situation called for a need for someone to hold onto, kisses until they forgot their own names or sitting next to one another in total silence, the two would be by the other one’s side in a heartbeat.

So after talking with her manager and moving some things around her never-ending busy schedule, YN finds herself driving up PCH to a home studio in Malibu being pulled back to Harry’s side by their vigorous magnetic pull.

“And for the last time, yeah, I do.” He bends down to pick up his duffel bag off of the ground. “Despite us not being together anymore, I think we are both mature enough to be able to be professional while we work together, let alone be around each other.” Harry takes one of YN’s guitar cases from her hand before she can get another word out and he motions for them to begin their walk up the driveway to Kid’s Malibu house.

“And I completely agree. Although, I’ve never been one to be professional per say, anyways.” YN smiles softly at Harry and can see one appearing on his face, too. “And neither have you, Styles.”

“Me?” He playfully scoffs, loving their playful banter. “I’m a serious musician, thank you very much. It’s you that’s always bein’ unprofessional.”

“Name one time.”

“Jamaica.”

Harry regrets the words the second they left his mouth, knowing full well that was a particular sensitive time for the both of them. He’s as much to blame for everything that happened during that trip and it makes him feel like an ass for bringing it up like that. Knowing that he’s probably ruined their joking moment, Harry’s surprised to hear a chuckle tumbling out of YN’s mouth.

“Enough said.”

“She’s the best, like she’s actually the best.”

Harry joins in on her laughter but is quickly interrupted by the sound of the front door being thrown open. Jeff stands at the entrance of the house with his hands in the air.

“Welcome, love birds!” Well this is off to a great start.

“We’re not together anymore, Jeffery.” YN reminds Harry’s manager as she sets down her luggage to embrace his open arms.

“Still haven’t kissed and made up yet?” He tells Harry over YN’s shoulder.

“Made up, yes. As for the kissing...” Harry playfully smirks to the woman beside him, “Well, that’s still up in the air.”

“Hey, none of that. I’m here to work and work I shall do.”

“Sounds a little Jamaica-y to me.” Jeff playfully tsks. YN’s jaw drops in a humorous scoff but before she can go to answer, she hears her name being called by someone further inside the house.

“Rowland!” YN laughs as she meets him halfway and wraps their arms around each other. “How’s the coolest guitarist in all the world doing?”

“Well, it looks like she’s doing just fine by me.”

YN playfully rolls her eyes as they pull away and she can’t seem to wipe the smile off of her face as she sees Harry and Mitch embrace one another. They first met Mitch when making Harry’s first solo record and the three of them instantly clicked. YN and Mitch bonded over playing guitar and the two men developed what YN likes to label as a bromance. It was refreshing to work with someone who had never worked in the industry before. Mitch hadn’t really heard One Direction’s music before and had no preconceptions of who the two were; they were just two people wanting to make music to him.

YN had looked forward to seeing Mitch’s reaction to the actual magnitude of her and Harry’s career, seeing as he would be performing alongside her best friend to thousands of fans almost every night on tour. In turn, she was the one who was surprisingly amused that the amount of crowds, shows, and fame didn’t seem to affect Mitch. He merely just stood off to the side, out from the spotlight and absolutely shredded on his guitar every single performance.

“Come on, everyone’s in the kitchen.” Jeff begins to leads YN through the massive house. “Y’hungry?”

“Starving.” YN looks back over to see Mitch helping Harry set down their bags inside.

“Go ahead, lovie. I’ll be there in a sec.” YN nods and heads towards the kitchen to catch up with everyone.

“Got to hand it to you, mate.” Harry breaks his lingering gaze on his ex and looks to Mitch. “Don’t get me wrong, I love YN and love that she’s here. But I don't know if I would have the balls to bring my ex back to work with me, so intimately at that.”

“I’ve brought her back to help us with the record. She’s an amazing artist, you know that.”

“I do, yeah, I just,” Mitch sighs, putting a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I just don’t wanna see you get hurt. We all know what’s happened since the last time—”

“Well, it’s not gonna be like that this time. We’re keeping things platonic right now. I think we’re in a really good place.” Harry wraps an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Now stop worrying about us, yeah? Let's eat. M’starving.”

The two men enter the kitchen to the sound of laughter. YN is seated at the long kitchen table with the rest of Harry’s recording team. Harry is so captivated by her cheery expression and the way she’s immediately enjoying herself that he doesn’t care what has been said as long as he gets to see her this way.

“Hey, it’s the man of the hour!” Kid Harpoon exclaims and everyone in the room cheers as they see Harry. He’s forced to break away from his gaze on YN and greets everyone with a hug and bright smile. He slyly makes his way over to the back of YN’s chair. He squeezes her shoulders with his large hands and the warm action makes YN look up at him with a smile.

“I already fixed you a plate, H. Sit down and eat, yeah?”

Harry pushes down the thought of how domestic this feels. YN making sure that he’s fed by fixing him a plate to eat and pouring him a drink in a red solo cup makes him want to lean forward to plant a kiss to her temple as a thank you. Harry and YN’s relationship—even when they were in the band together—consisted of affectionate touches like that. It’s no secret that Harry’s love language is physical touch and he takes a secret pride in the fact that he was able to make it hers too.

But things are different now.

Lingering touches like these are limited but longed for by both, yet not actually voiced by either party. Instead of seeing it as an act of close friendship, it just made them confused. Contemplating what the other meant by intertwining one’s fingers when they’re holding hands or tightening an arm around the other’s back.

“Thank you, darling.” Harry says instead, pulling up a seat to sit down next to her as the rest of the room falls back into conversation.

As YN continues to eat, chat, and laugh along with everyone, she still continues to look at him as if she were making sure he’s still here from his lack of commentary. Just as he thinks he’s going to chim into the conversation, he’s at a loss for words from her smile. All Harry can do is simply smile back and continue to gaze at the woman fondly.

She’s like the sun, he decides. He thinks about how too bright she is for him in comparison to his broken and fearful thoughts of being alone despite having the world in the palm of his hand. Yet, the world is nothing to him without her. How he longs to be closer to her in every way possible, like a stupid moth to a flame.

When his eyes squinted with laughter when they were talking in the driveway, the light beams from the sun behind YN created a glow—an aura around her that made her look no less than angelic. He thinks she holds onto that same ambiance. So much so that when the table erupts into another fit of laughter and when YN’s hand lands on top of his on the table, his skin burns in the best possible way. It's intoxicating and suffocating and Harry welcomes it every change he gets.

“My favorite memory from making this album was the day we wrote ‘Golden’. We were all sat in the kitchen at [Rick Rubin’s recording studio] Shangri-La, having dinner, and we played it on one guitar while everyone sang around the table. It just felt really good.”

It’s not long before someone brings out an acoustic guitar and they begin a spontaneous songwriting session.

YN is reminded of how much they would do this when they were in One Direction: everyone sitting together in the living room area of one’s hotel room in whatever part of the world they were in, ordering an obscene amount of room service. The band, delirious from staying up into the early hours of the morning after performing a show. She remembers fondly how she and the boys came up with the melody of Midnight Memories one late night and how the original chorus went “I love KFC” instead.

So now with a guitar in hand YN’s hands and her voice notes recording, everyone sings a rough melody of “da, da, da’s.”

“I don't wanna be alone, I don't wanna be alone. When it ends don't wanna let you know. I don't wanna be alone.” Harry adlibs as YN continues her strumming. “But I, I can feel it take a hold.”

“I can feel it take a hold,” YN echos.

“I can feel you take control.” Harry continues, a smile etching on his face.

“I can feel you take control.”

“Of who I am and all I've ever known.”

“All that I’ve ever known.”

“Loving you's the antidote.” Harry sings directly to YN. Her eyes doe eyed and piercing right through him. “Golden.” YN quickly looks down at her fingers moving on the neck of her guitar in hopes to distract her body from rushing the blood to her cheeks and joins in with the rest of the group as they continue to riff the melody of the chorus again.

“You’re so golden.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” YN repeats, knowing full well that there’s truth laced within the words. “You’re so golden.”

Harry’s now breaking out into a full smile. He stands up from his seat and begins to dance around the kitchen with Jeff, repeating “you’re so golden.”

“I really love the sound of that.” Harry sighs, wrapping an arm around his manager.

“Should we pick this up tomorrow in the studio?” Mitch suggests from his seat across from YN.

“Works for me.” Kid says as he lets out a yawn, stretching his arms above him.

“You guys go ahead and get to bed,” YN waves the group off. “I can pick all this up. S'only fair.”

“I’ll help,” Harry chimes in, already collecting the plates from the table. After hugging everyone and bidding them to have a good night, the crew begins to file out of the kitchen.

"Goodnight, Love Birds.” Jeff sing-songs out of the doorway, only to let out a yelp at the incoming dish towel thrown by Harry. The couple falls into a comfortable silence as they begin to maneuver around the kitchen. Harry bumps his hips with hers whenever they briefly stood next to one another or puts a hand on her lower back, muttering a soft “s'excuse me, love” as he goes to grab something in front of her.

YN has to keep reminding herself that Harry is her friend above all else—her best friend really—and that these mundane interactions are nothing more than a sign of their long friendship. She knows that Harry would never want to make her uncomfortable in any way and will back off completely if she asked him to.

But she doesn’t want that.

She wasn’t a very touch affectionate person before Harry. Growing up with a good chunk of women in her life made her feel that she somehow needed to be. Especially since she grew up being childhood best friends with Louis, always preferring to be around boys than girls in school, she felt like she was different—not in a good way—in that she didn’t want to hold a boy’s hand or share a hug with her family members.

Being respectful of YN’s space, the boys in the band always saw her as a little sister more than anything else. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t drag her into the pranks they would pull on their tour crew or annoy the hell out of her by trying to embarrass her whenever the opportunity presented itself. Despite all the irritating things that come with having five brothers, they all loved one another and expressed that love in different ways throughout the years; not just through physical touches.

Of course as the years went by, YN and Harry have grown further away from just a sibling love. They both knew that his love language comes in the form of hugs, kisses, and cuddles, while hers did not. After spending more and more time with Harry, however, YN finds herself missing the weight of his arm around her shoulder or holding his hand while they take a drive.

Whether she consciously knew about it or not, YN craves his body heat. Harry ties a knot on top of the large garbage bag on the floor and straightens himself up with his hands on his hips as he looks at the clean kitchen.

“I guess we make a pretty good team—” Harry’s words are cut off by the woman next to him sliding her arms through the loops made by his arms and wrapping them around his torso. YN snuggles her cheek to the middle of his chest and closes her eyes at the smell of his familiar cologne.

Harry doesn’t think twice about wrapping his arms round the tops of her shoulders, resting his cheek to the top of her head and sighing contently.

“V’missed you, YN.” He whispers into the top of her head.

“Missed you, too, H.” Comfortable silences are over raided anyways.

“Welcome back, YN.”

“Thanks, good to be back.” She softly smiles at the camera.

“So, can you tell us a bit about Harry's first track on his record?”

“Golden was actually a very relaxing song to put together. Since we already had the melody and the lyrics and what not, producing the instrumental was only adding to the masterpiece that is Golden. Especially those re-verbed guitar sounds that are kinda funky. Without ‘em the song wouldn’t be the same.”

The next day, Harry’s in one of the recording booths as he continues to sing various scales of the word “golden” over and over again through YN’s instruction.

She sits in front of the large mixing console along with Harry’s other producers. YN was lucky enough to have worked with Kid and Tyler Johnson from HS1 and was excited to work with them again. Kid presses one of the many buttons on the panel and tells Harry to come back into the room once he’s finished.

While remaining seated in her swiveling chair, YN spins herself over to one of the computers where the editing software is pulled up and begins to work.

“You finally gonna show me what you’ve been doing with all those harmonies or wha?” Harry places his hands on the back of YN’s chair like the night before. He watches the mouse on the screen move quickly around the editing software, the tight clinking sound ringing through the studio space.

“Slow your roll, will yeh? M’almost done.” YN smirks, her eyes moving round the screen as she stacks Harry’s vocal recordings. “Okay. Ty, mind hitting a playback a little bit before the second chorus ends?”

“You got it.”

With that, YN hits the space bar on the keyboard in front of her to play what she created for the bridge of Golden. The group listens to a mix of Harry’s vocals blending beautifully with the instrumental elements they recorded earlier in the day. The words golden that Harry sang mere minutes ago are rendered to have an echo-y effect, making it sound light and angelic.

YN keeps her back to Harry, too nervous to see his reaction so far. She moves one of the sliders up, making the “da, da, da’s” from the chorus slowly mix their way into the bridge. Everything sounds good so far, she thinks. YN moves another up another slider to add Mitch’s guitar melodies.

“I know that you're scared because I'm so open.” Harry’s voice continues through the speakers.

Kid and Tyler let out a sound of astonishment as they hear how graceful YN was able to incorporate her rendition to the outro. Once the song comes to an end, the three producers look to Harry. He stands with his arms crossed, a hand going up to fiddle with his bottom lip. There’s a line between Harry’s eyebrows and YN knows that he’s not mad—despite how it might look—but rather still trying to process what he just heard.

Having worked with Harry for almost a decade, YN knows that he can become quite picky to what he wants his music to sound like. With that being said, she also knows that she has his trust to try out things she knows he might like. It still doesn’t shake some of the nerves of anticipation to hear his feedback.

“I took about the lyrics from the original bridge like you wanted,” YN twiddles the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “And kept the riff of the chorus throughout the song.”

“Well, tell us what we’re thinking, Harry.” Kid says, just wanting to hear what the musician had to say.

“I think,” Harry looks to YN’s anticipating gaze, her eyes wide with a lip tucked between her teeth. A smile tugs on the edge of his lips. “That it sounds like track one.”

At The Brits

Based on:  Please can I request one where you’re performing at the brits as a well known artist and you and Harry have been seeing each other secretly for a while and he’s watching from backstage looking all lovey and proud and fans catch on?? Thanks so much, your writing is incredible!!

Word Count: 476 words

Warnings: fluff

Continuar lendo

billy hargrove | gone

masterlist | request

words: 1.7k+

warnings: reader's death, blood, angst, loss, a whole lot of pain basically. spoilers for the end of s3.

prompt: Ok but what about an imagine where reader and Billy are together and instead of Billy sacrificing himself to save El it was the reader and they ended up dying in the place of Billy instead. Don’t know if this has been done yet.

a/n: I'm finally trying to get out some of the requests in my inbox, though they are years old by now. i really liked this one and I'm a sucker for billy angst. feel free to request more! really looking to write for bucky barnes or other mcu characters right now but need some prompts please and thanks!

oh, also, I took the "i love you" back story from another imagine i wrote, which you can find here.

You know the moment you look into Eleven’s eyes and finally see that you won’t be making it out alive. You don’t know who you are, where you’ve been, these last weeks. You only know there’s been a darkness infesting your insides, and now it stands in front of you, a monster more terrifying than anything you’ve ever seen before. Eleven whispers to you, brings you back with a memory she shouldn't know about.

“You’re wearing his shirt,” Eleven says through a sob. Your hands loosen around her neck with each word. “He’s holding you and you’re…you’re happy. Because you know. He finally tells you. He loves you. He writes it on your arm because he can’t say it, but you know it’s true. You’re so happy. You’re home.”

You don’t know how she knows. Nobody knows but you and Billy and the moonlight you lay in that night. So many nights. It could have been any of them, really. All the nights he’s snuck into your room, bruised and battered and needing you, and you’ve fucked away his sadness and then lain with him, whispering to him how it’s going to be okay.

But you know Eleven means the first night he ever told you. The first night you really believed it. When he traced the letters I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U onto your skin with rough fingertips.

You choke on your tears, another roar rumbling through the Starcourt. And you know that if this thing can live inside of you, you can take life from it, too. Eleven knows it, too. You turn your head to it slowly, trembling, keeping that image of you and Billy entangled in your brain. You want it to be your last memory, your last taste of life.

Billy is too late. He knows when he skids around the corner and finds you bent over El. He’s shouting your name, but you can’t hear him over the towering monster. Max is clinging onto him, begging him not to go to you, and he can’t manage to tear himself away in time. And then you’re rising from El, and he’s still screaming, but none of it matters. The monster reaches out its gnarled limbs, aiming for Eleven. It never gets that far.

You catch it first.

“No! No!” He’s roaring now, too, and you finally turn your head as the monster curls into you, until he can’t tell where you end and it begins. “No.”

You’re mouthing something, and he’s trying so desperately to get to you, but Max and Mike are using every bit of strength to keep him back, keep him safe. Your death is a necessity. His isn’t. He wants so badly for it to be the other way around, because he knows this is it for him, too. You die, he dies. He won’t be able to live his life without you. He can’t.

“I love you,” he realises you’re saying.

Your screams take over after that, piercing and haunting and something he’ll never forget the sound of. More limbs bite into you. Endless limbs.

It’s worse when you stop screaming. When your body turns limp as the monster sucks the life from you. He’s certain that in this new silence, he can hear his heart shattering.

“No,” he whispers over and over again. “No. No.” He’s frozen to the spot, begging his legs to move, to save you, but they’re stuck in the same tar that’s pouring out of your mouth—and he knows when he sees it that there is nothing left. Nothing. His soul is the colour of that blood, the colour of your death.

“No!” A final bellow, a final plea. But it does nothing. You let out a shriek as the monster plunges itself into your heart. He feels it like he’s the one standing there, sacrificing himself. But it would have to be you. The only good thing he's ever had. It would have to be you, because God help he ever had something to live for.

He tastes bile in his throat as the monster rips itself away, leaving you boneless and soaked in your own blood. It’s dying, now, collapsing and taking everything else in its path but he doesn’t care. Somebody is screaming your name and it takes him a moment to realise it’s him, watching you as you tumble to the floor. Lifeless.

As soon as the monster slams down, dead, he races to you, nausea twisting in his stomach. He’s certain he’s going to vomit when he sees you up close, rasping for breath. Still alive.

“Y/N,” he chokes, kneeling and gathering you in his arms. “Don’t you dare. You stay with me, baby. I’m here.” He lets out a sob, burying his face into your neck. The smell of blood suffocates him as he presses down on the wound on your chest. He doesn’t have enough arms for the rest. The life is pouring out of you. He’s trying so badly to scoop it back up and shove it in, like a teddy bear who’s lost its stuffing.

“Baby,” he’s whispering. “Please. Please. Don’t go. Don’t. I can’t… I can’t fucking…” And that’s the crux of it. He can’t. He can’t save you. He can’t live without you. He can’t see a future past this one moment. Only darkness and agony. Yours and his.

“Billy.” The whisper is weak, crackling, but he hears it and his eyes find your face again. Covered in blood, too, but still yours. Still beautiful. Still the one he fell in love with. He never fucking said it out loud. Just traced the letters into your arm with his fingertips like a kid playing games because he was too damn scared.

“I’m here,” he vows, his tears mingling with yours on your cheeks. You knot your hands in his hair, holding on for dear life. You know it isn’t enough. You know when you stop feeling pain, when your body becomes a numb slab of nothing, that it’s over for you. But you’re afraid, and you need to see him one last time, need to feel him, so you keep looking up at him and you keep forcing breaths out of your lungs and it has to be enough. Just another moment is all you want.

“I never told you I loved you,” he whispered, tears clinging to his eyelashes. “Not properly.”

“You didn’t have to.” Despite it all, you force a smile. “I knew. You told me your own way. It was perfect.”

His fingers lace through yours, squeezing tightly. “Don’t make me live without you, Y/N. Don’t fucking make me.”

“I…” It’s hard to talk. Your mouth is filled with cotton, and you’re floating, darkness spotting your vision. “I wish…” You choke on your own blood, and it tastes rotten. This is what you are now. Rotten. Expired. You hope to god he remembers you before this, the nights you made yourself up to look pretty for him. The nights you gazed at him in the moonlight. The nights when your heart still beat and you were still you.

“Don’t.” He shakes his head, desperate. “Don’t. You’re going to be okay. You are.”

“I wish we had more time,” you whisper finally. “I could have loved you forever, Billy Hargrove.” You smile as you remember it all. How special it was to be loved by him, the boy who hated everyone and everything else. To see the tender parts of him when he put his fists away. You’re the only one who knows how kind, funny, loyal, sensitive he is when he’s not pretending. You’re the only one who knows that he kisses your scars when he makes love to you, and that he sings The Cure in the shower.

“You’re gonna. And I’m gonna love you, baby. Forever. You just have to hold on.”

But you can’t. You’re slipping every second, and he knows it, because he’s slipping with you. He’s bleeding out on these damn tiles, holding your hand and feeling it grow cold. Your eyes shift to something past him, glassy and hollow where they once glittered. He sobs again. It should have been him. He wishes it was him.

“You have to let me go now, my love,” you whisper. It’s all you want. For him to be happy without you, to let you go, to live the life you’ll never have. Shadows come to trap you. You can’t see anymore, can’t even see him, but there’s still a tinge of warmth in your palm. Him. You hold onto it, knowing it’s for the last time.

“Never,” he croaks. “I’m never letting you go.”

But you are. You’re letting go. Your final breath is shallow and over too quickly. Life leaves you without a song and dance, without so much as a whisper. You’re just gone, and Billy doesn’t know what to do. He waits for you to blink, to splutter, to laugh, to tell him you love him, but none of it happens. Your eyes are grey, somewhere else.

You’re gone.

The pain falls out of him in a guttural shout that echoes around the Starcourt. Max’s hand is on his shoulder. He doesn’t know how long she’s been standing there, and he knows she should never have had to see it, but he’s too empty to get her out.

He keeps his promise. He holds onto you until they pry your icy hand from his and take you away in a white bag. And even then, he kneels in pools of your blood, soaking up every bit of it as though it will keep you here. Because once he walks out of those doors, that’s it. He’ll have to find a way to live without you, will have to accept it. And he doesn’t want to. He can’t.

“Billy,” Max whispers, kneeling beside him. He barely hears her, his ears ringing. “Let’s go home.”

She was home, he wants to whisper, but words are clogged in his throat, and if you’re not here to hear them, why speak at all? Why do anything at all? He doesn’t know when or how he gets up off that floor. He only knows the agony never ebbs. Every day he wakes up feeling the weight of you curled into him, and every day it takes him minutes, hours, days, to realise it’s not real.

He still traces the letters I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U into his bedsheets, pretending it’s your arms. Pretending you’re here. It’s the only thing he has to hold onto.

It’ll never be enough.