Chapter Text
It started out as a joke.
They were drunk on wine and vodka and takeout one night, and that was when he decided it was the best time to play her part of an unfinished track. He remembers needing her advice on how to finish it, because the missing lyric had been irritating him for some time, but the wine was getting to them and everything came out wrapped around giggles and hiccups. He loved her like that, though – completely unfiltered and unaware.
She motioned him to play the track again and again, on a loop, and he watched her get up and twirl around the living room, her skirt flared out around her, toes tripping every so often against the rug. It shouldn’t have been this adorable, sexy thing, it shouldn’t have made him want to kiss her, but it did all the same – everything she did reminded him of magic and he remembers mentally writing that down, wanted to remember her spinning and twirling, just like that, uncomplicated and free. She stumbled a little, bent down to pick up her fluffy white cat, and pranced over to him, presenting the animal like an animated Disney character.
“O-lee-vee-yah,” she dragged out the name in a slow, slurred attempt at a British accent and Harry laughed, felt it start deep in his stomach.
It was silly and stupid and pointless, but he needed that, so much more than he thought he did. He needed bottles of wine and In-N-Out burgers and a pretty blonde girl, presenting him with a fluffy cat, needed the unpredictability and spontaneity, needed a safety net in a New York apartment.
“That’s it! That’s the chorus!” she had screeched suddenly, dropped the cat and reached for her guitar. She ordered him to play the track again and in several seconds, she got it down, fingers flying across the strings expertly. It was something he’d seen her do a thousand times before – on nights like that, even – but it still baffled him, the way she picked up the melody so easily, the way the words she chose fit perfectly. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he did, her voice filled the living room – it was off-key, a little ridiculous, and way too giggly, but to this day, he swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.
“Please believe me, don't you see, the things you mean to me? Oh I love you, I love you I love, I love, I love Olivia!” she sang, a happy grin taking up the bottom half of her face, bright and brilliant.
It was quiet for a bit and then she burst out laughing, shaking her head, because it was a ridiculous lyric. It was smart and witty, sure, but it was about her cat, for goodness sakes.
“You’re mad. Absolutely mad,” he chuckled, taking the guitar away from her. She shrugged, plucked a fry off the coffee table, and leaned back into the couch, propping her bare feet up on his lap.
“If you find something better to rhyme with Olivia, then you let me know,” she smirked, assured and confident. It’s almost worlds away, the way she acted, compared to how he knew her before. But they’re both different, older, better versions of themselves, less intense and definitive about where they stand and what they mean to each other.
“That I’ll do,” he smirked right back.
Almost a year later, when the album comes out, he sends her a text message with two words:
Track 9.
He gets a reply, almost immediately:
Told you, you couldn’t find anything better. :P
It makes him laugh out loud, loud enough that Niall shoots him a weird look from across the plane – they’re hurtling towards Los Angeles and he’s pretty sure she’s in New York. They’re worlds apart now, so far from wine-drunk nights and midnight drives and someone else gets to see her unfiltered and unaware now, someone else gets to eat burgers with her in the New York apartment.
He reads the text message, over and over again, and he comes to the conclusion that as usual, she’s right – he couldn’t find anything better and he probably never would.