The glass in his hand was cold even though the ice had melted a long time ago. Harry’d told himself that he’d finally delete your number, finally let go. He was pretty sure you’d changed it a long time ago anyway. You’d really embraced the whole “clean slate, fresh start” thing after the band broke up. And after you and Harry broke up.

He watched you from afar. He watched as you left London and moved into an apartment in Paris that was so nice, the media couldn’t stop talking about it. He watched as you graced the cover of every magazine while promoting your first album. He watched as the album made up of songs about the end of your relationship, the end of the band, and the beginning of your new life won award after award. And now he just watched your number on his table.

Harry would be the first to admit, he’d had a little more than a little to drink tonight and when he picked up his phone he almost dropped it and his thumb hit “call” instead of “delete”

“shit, shit”

Harry muttered to himself

He panicked, until he heard a little “Hello?”