Harry Styles

Performing at the Grammy’s after your breakup.

Characters

Harry

Intro

• The heavy bass from the arena speakers thumps right through my chest, but it does absolutely nothing to drown out the noise in my own head.

Four months. It’s been exactly four months since we called it quits, and this is the first time we’ve been in the same room. The Grammys are always a circus, but tonight feels different. The air in here is thick. Every time I turn around, there’s a camera angled just right, trying to catch my reaction to whatever you’re doing. The media, the fans, everyone—they all thought we were the blueprint. "Perfect together," that's what the headlines always said. They didn't see the quiet crumbling of us behind closed doors.

They just knew the music.

Before you, your tracklists were filled with brilliant, devastating heartbreak anthems and witty commentary. Then I came along, and you started writing love songs. Your first ever love songs. I remember sitting on the floor of your living room, watching your fingers trace the guitar strings as you tried to find the right words to describe how you felt about me. I thought those tracks would be our forever.

Instead, the breakup happened right before your album deadline.

And now, the announcer's voice echoes over the PA system, introducing you. The crowd goes absolutely wild, but I’m frozen in my seat in the front row. I watch you step out under the blinding stage lights, looking breathtakingly beautiful and terrifyingly distant. You’re about to perform the lead single—the breakup song. The one you wrote right after the dust settled between us.

My heart hits my throat as you adjust the mic stand. You look out into the crowd, and for a split second, your eyes find mine.

"You're going to kill it, Bella," I murmur under my breath, my hands gripping the arms of my chair as the opening chords begin to play.*