#dialogue provided by my lovely wifey once again

[ghastigiggles]

Suddenly had a thought.

...well, lee!Sebby ofc but

Ler!s-qs?(Squddles or what they were called..)

-🌠

the big friend is passing through! hi big friend!! hi hi hi!!!!

[urflowersdied]

soft sounds from another planet

In which you get called in to help Harry’s writers block and become his new creative muse in the process.

A/N: Hello, hi, how are you? January’s been a bitch of a month for me, and even though I wanted to work on another part for Cold as Ice(d coffee), it just wasn’t happening. But I pulled myself together and wrote this 2.4k word one shot. I basically told dialogue to go fuck itself on this one, but I still hope you guys will give it a read! (Oh, also I guess this is mature-ish?)

Special thanks go out to the wifey @theasstour and writer extraordinaire @meetyourmouths for dealing with my insecurities while writing! 

Hope you enjoy!

Sophomore albums were a difficult hurdle to overcome. Harry knew that. Had been warned by everyone - from his best friend and manager Jeff to artists he had been idolising since childhood which had now become wonderful mentors to him, even his mother, who had a weird knack for pretending to be some sort of music journalist, had tried to lower the expectations he had set for himself. And he had tried to keep all of their advice in mind when he travelled to Tokyo in late December to begin the creative process, but, staying true to his overachieving self, Harry quickly fell back into old patterns of stress and anger whenever he couldn’t quite get the sounds in his head onto paper and into the microphone.

Tonight was one of those nights. The kind of night where his hair resembled a likeness of Medusa rather than Cupid, and where his roots ached from the constant tugging his own hand had performed - and not, as he would have preferred, out of pleasure. Instead, frustration had fuelled his actions. Thomas, leaning back in a swivelling chair next to him, lit the end of a joint. The previous hours had not been productive in the slightest, and the collaborator was desperately looking for a way to get his artist… relaxed. Out of the prison his own mind had created for itself.

Tom knew that the weight of huge expectation was resting on the young man’s shoulders. Not necessarily pressure induced by his record company - Harry was basically another member of the Azoff family, and anything he would create would be received with welcoming arms and exclamations of love -, but rather from critics. Fans. Friends and foes.

For every admirer Harry had gained throughout his years in the music industry - and there were a lot of them - another individual could be found that was just waiting for him to fail. Anticipating for him to create something they could turn their nose up at. At least, that’s the impression Harry often got.

Inhaling puff after puff of smoke, Tom debated his next move. He knew the guy next to him well enough to be aware of how deep he could descent into minuscule cavities in his psyche. Once he had fallen, it was difficult to pull Harry out of these depths. “Think you shouldn’t stress about it, mate. Let’s just call it a night and then… we’ll try again tomorrow. One bad day doesn’t ruin the album.”

Of course Harry knew that. He was painfully aware that, in some weird way, an artist depended on these bad, horrible, dreadful sessions to create something even more vibrant the next time around. The issue was that Harry didn’t want to rely on them. Wasn’t too fond of needing to endure these kinds of emotions and feelings to create a musical experience. He had enough experiences to draw inspiration from. Ones that were difficult to revisit, but that he knew would ultimately help him create the vocal pictures he aspired to paint - with melodies serving as the canvas and words as paint. What he didn’t thought to be necessary was the grievance of writer’s block robbing him of these crucial tools.

Massaging the corners of his eyes with his right thumb and pointer finger, Harry let out a sigh. At the very least he could agree with Tom on one thing: it was time to let this downer of a day come to an end. “Yeah… Gonna turn in, I think.” Usually he would stick around, indulge in one of his bad habits with his friend - when Harry was in a good mood weed had established itself as a great way to unwind after a productive day, but he fears today the drug would result in a rather unpleasant outcome - and maybe even catch the sunrise casting a hazy glow on Tokyo. Right now, though, he just craved the comfort his bed could provide.  

After offering some more words of encouragement, Tom whirled his chair around to watch the retreading figure of a defeated man. As soon as Harry’s hunched back was out of vision he grasped his phone and sent a little prayer out to everyone that would lend an open ear. This little plan of his needed to be set in motion, immediately. Because if he had to deal with this version of his mate for much longer he might actually get bit by the same bug that had infested Harry’s trains of thought.

You were a godsend. Harry was sure of it. Whichever lightning bolt had sparked the idea in Tom’s mind to invite one of his wife’s acquaintances - nevertheless a simple university student currently on exchange in Tokyo -, he was grateful for that weird force of nature and had even toyed with the idea of sending a grateful letter to Thor.

Because it really shouldn’t have worked. When his collaborator first introduced you to each other it had taken all of the will power Harry could muster up to refrain from scoffing. Sure, you were in the process of following a musicology program, but he knew enough professional musicians and producers that he could have contacted. His problem really didn’t lay with the array of creative minds available to him, but rather with the barricade that had erected itself within the confines of his own head.

It only took a few short days for him to realise the purpose of your presence. How the sound of one simple giggle leaving your vocal chords chipped away at the frustration his mind had been housing. How the sheer joy displayed across your face as the inner workings of the music industry and the process of creating an album were introduced to you brought fresh wind into Harry’s own perception of his career. He really was grateful to possess a quite established name at his age, even if it brought some unwanted side effects like pressure and contempt.

But your mere presence in the studio hadn’t been enough - at least not in your own eyes.

It had started with a late-night trip to a small hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar in central Tokyo. You were absolutely certain spending a few hours not worrying about his own music, but instead imitating what other songwriters had created before him and singing his “pretty little heart out” - these were obviously your words and not his - would turn out to be restorative for his soul. And Harry thinks that, yes, perhaps that could have been the case… had you not been there to shift his focus from the stage and glaring stage lights to the way your eyes seemed to droop ever so slightly as you fought the exhaustion creeping up on your. He knew that your schedule was particularly busy nowadays, not only having to focus on classes, lectures and projects but now also on this nuisance of an artist who couldn’t seem to get his shit together companionless. So, the outing was cut short - Harry opting to get you safely back to your accommodation in lieu of downing another alcoholic substance in the karaoke establishment.

Then you had felt bad for “ruining his night” - once again, these were your words as he would never get the impression that you could ruin just about anything -, organising another get-together later in the week. Harry couldn’t really claim to be an avid concert goer. He loved taking time out of his days to treat him and his friends to shows put on by icons such as Paul McCartney, Fleetwood Mac or The Eagles, but being at his level of celebrity attending other gigs was more difficult. That you would actually drag everyone to the first random concert which took place in Tokyo that night was definitely not something Harry had expected. It was of course just his luck that it happened to be some kind of EDM show, but no matter how little the thumbing bass and flashing lights interested him, keeping a watchful eye on your enjoyment left him feeling thoroughly inspired by the end of the night.

It wasn’t as though Tom or anyone else that spent time around Harry and you in Tokyo didn’t notice. No matter how slick he thought he was, heart eyes were incredibly difficult to hide. So nobody could say they were surprised in the slightest when your visits to the studio became more frequent over time. And when you started keeping him company for late night studio session after everyone else decided to call it a night, none of them bothered to do a double take. Tom hadn’t necessarily planned this outcome - Harry looking at you as though you hung the start up in the sky and you being equally as infatuated by him -, rather just thought you would be a wonderful friend to a stressed out young man and knowing you had also been in need of a friend apart from all the stress university put you under, but he would not be caught dead complaining about the situation. His collaborators creative drive was back on track, and he was looking forward to his wife thanking him for keeping an eye out for her friend when he arrived back home.

So, here you found yourself. Sitting next to Harry on the couch that was placed in the studio space to offer its inhabitants a small sense of homeliness and comfort during close-to-frustratedly-ripping-your-hair-out moments. Earlier in the evening you had helped him record a demo version of a possible album song, humming the melody quietly into a second microphone as he sang some lyrics he was quite honestly still struggling with. Now you were just casually scrolling through your various social media timelines, completely encompassed in words written by one of your friends. Harry had attempted to get some shut-eye but no matter how often he tried to force himself to look at the inside of his lids, he couldn’t.

His eyes simply couldn’t not focus on you when you took up space in his vicinity. The way your hair fell in front of your face, but still didn’t completely succeed in obstructing his view of your features. How you continuously either hummed or whistled his previously recorded melody, so softly that he wasn’t even sure you were aware of your actions. Your fingers handling the mobile device, how soft he remembers them to be from previous interactions and how he longs for them to touch him. He was utterly intrigued by your whole being, no matter how hard he sometimes tried to deny it. Harry had already noticed the addicting feelings - whatever they may be - he harboured for you seeping out of multiple lyrics and chord progressions he had generated recently.

After weeks of struggling to keep emotions at bay, he felt like he couldn’t contain them any longer. And once you’ve noticed a shift on the couch cushion next to you and switched your line of sight from your device to his intense gaze, you weren’t sure restraint belonged to your vocabulary either.

There was no need for words between the two of you. Not in this situation. Not when this captivating young man was in such close proximity that you could feel the rapid puffs of his breath on your face, aiding the blood currently rushing through your veins in warming up your entire body. You were convinced you wanted to live in this moment for the rest of your life - but then his breath disappeared and you wondered how foolish you had been to long for the previous moment to last.

Because this one… this new scene you found yourself in surmounted the previous one by miles. This was the kind of moment motion pictures tried to recreate. The kind of moment authors longed to emulate. The kind of moment that stuck in your memories like taffy to teeth. Harry’s lips delicately pressing down on yours would serve as fuel for daydreams for the rest of your life, you were sure of it.

And Harry… well, he felt like he had won the jackpot. That you reciprocated his outpour of emotions, kisses and touches was a bewildering reality to grasp, but he welcomed it nonetheless. As his hands slid down the sides of your waist and helped you settle comfortable onto his lap - a space he had imagined your figure perched in for a while now - he tried to decelerate both of your movements. He wanted to make the most of this exact place in time, not knowing when or if it could be recreated.

The kisses exchanged between the both of you soon became too many to keep count. Even though the pace had slowed, the heat infiltrating the studio air rose quickly. Nothing mattered more than the other person participating in this encounter. Lost in fingertips tracing lines and shapes into skin, the gentle movement of hips trying to create friction, soft sounds escaping two sets of plush lips.

Harry was convinced that coaxing out sighs of pleasure from deep within your figure would become his favourite past-time activity. He experimented with every spot imaginable: enveloping your earlobe with his tongue, pressing passionate kisses down your neck, smoothing his ring-clad hands up and down your thighs to ultimately let them rest on your backside. And each time he discovered another part of your body you awarded him with yet another noise. Not before long he wouldn’t be able to remember the melody that had been established earlier in the evening, your sounds transcending any tune his mundane brain could have envisioned.

Just before he got too carried away, Harry forced himself to create the tiniest bit of distance between your physiques. He wanted to continue - god, did he ever want anything more? - but he was also set on gradually progressing with this relationship in its early stages. Giving both of you some time to get acquainted a little more instead of diving in head first.

Reaching his hands up to grasp your flushed face, he couldn’t prevent the boyish grin spreading across his own. While you were still attempting to catch your breath Harry racked his brain for a cheeky comment to break the silence which had seeped into the room. It wasn’t an awkward situation - far from it, because he felt incredibly comfortable right here - but if there was a way for him to tease out another onslaught of your giggles, then he would do everything in his power to do just that.

“A little out of breath, are we? There’s more where that came from, but we’ll save that for another time, love.”