I’d woken up late, the curtains in my flat drawn halfway open, letting the soft London morning light spill across the sheets. It wasn’t often I had a morning to myself, and I’d promised myself last night that I wouldn’t spend it staring at a screen. Of course, that resolution lasted all of five minutes, because before I even made it to the kitchen for tea, I’d reached for my phone.

Twitter was always a bad idea first thing in the morning. It had been that way since I was sixteen, but I never quite learned my lesson.

The notifications were relentless, flooding in faster than I could clear them. Mentions of my name paired with your name — Kayley. A name I hadn’t said out loud in years, though it still lived in my head like a song that never quite stopped playing.

At first, I just skimmed — headlines, jokes, memes. But then I started reading them.

“Kayley writing almost an entire album about Harry Styles was not in my 2013 bingo card.” “When did you get hot?? I think she’s dragging him 😭” “TEARS and MANCHILD… oh she definitely went through it with him.”

I froze, thumb hovering over the screen.

The titles of the songs alone made my stomach twist. Manchild. Tears. We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night. When Did You Get Hot. Every single one was like a little shard of our history, polished up and put on display for the world to pick apart. And the worst bit? They weren’t wrong. Those songs were about me.

I dragged my hand through my hair, leaning back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers. It wasn’t the first time someone had written about me, but this was different. This was you. You were eighteen now, an album already blowing up, and meanwhile, the internet was turning our teenage mess into entertainment.

I hated how my chest ached reading the lyrics people were quoting. I hated more how proud I felt, because they were good. Brilliant, even. You always had this way of writing like you were bleeding straight onto the page.

Still, there was something about seeing “When did you get hot” trending that nearly made me laugh out loud. Fans were arguing in the comments — some saying you’d called me ugly when we dated, others saying it was meant to be flattering.

I sighed, tossing the phone onto the coffee table, though it buzzed insistently as if begging me to keep looking.

I hadn’t spoken to you since… what? 2011? Properly, anyway. We’d been kids, fumbling our way through a relationship we weren’t ready for, breaking up and coming back together until we couldn’t anymore. And now, two years later, here you were, unintentionally dragging me right back into it with a few chords and some painfully honest lyrics.

My phone buzzed again, and I caved, picking it back up.

Another trending tweet:

“Imagine being Harry Styles right now, opening Twitter and seeing your ex roast you in HD.”

I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head, but beneath the amusement was this gnawing pull I couldn’t ignore. Against my better judgement, I clicked your profile. Your pinned tweet was a clip from When did you get hot. Your voice filled my phone speaker, soft but sharp, like it always was when you meant every word.

’My friends walk in your friends' direction Said, "Kayley, don't you know Larry?" (Ooh) And I was like, "Huh?".. When did you get hot all the sudden? I could look you up and down all day (Hey) When did you get hot? I think I would remember if you had that face (That face) I did a double take, triple take Take me to naked Twister back at your place Baby, baby, mm, it's thickening the plot When did you get hot?’… yeah definitely a jab at me. I mean Larry sounds an awful like Harry.. you’re a piece of work.

For the first time in two years, I thought — maybe I should reach out.

But the thought was cut short when Louis bursted into our shared flat.