Flicker 》Harry Styles x Kennedy Walsh {COMPLETED}

16: Basically, Just Fuck It

His fans know. How dumb and unrealistic could I be? Of course, they'd find out—they like, hold more power than God himself. There isn't anything that could go unnoticed by those people. They even hacked into an airport's security camera system, for fuck's sake!

"I'm really sorry," Harry grumbles, sounding melancholic.

I let out a sigh. "Not your fault they're doing a great job at being detectives."

"I just wish they'd at least give me some privacy, you know? I hardly get to do things by myself these days."

The tone of his voice and the look on his face sent a heavy pang of sadness to my chest. I reassume my spot beside him. "You're their sun, of course your sunflowers would turn their heads wherever you are."

"An occasional eclipse wouldn't hurt."

I lie on my back, at a loss for a reply. Who would've thought that the boy who has both fame and fortune wants nothing more than solitude? You truly couldn't have it all.

"Wait until they write fanfiction about us."

I shoot up from the bed, eyes wide and a mere second away from a whiplash. "You read them?"

He smirks coyly. "What do you think I do in my spare time?"

I sit still, mind running. He's read fanfiction? My cheeks flame up at the thought of him going over endless chapters of the smut I myself had read.

He chuckles at my reaction. "That Hardin guy was pretty intense."

"Oh Jesus," I can't help facepalming myself, "you've read After?"

He hums. "The movie. . ."

A face-splitting grin is on my face when I see the expression on his, I scrunch my nose, "No?"

He shakes his head, laughing. "Not my favorite, no."

"Amen," I say, laughing with him.

"Do you have Netflix?"

"Oooh," I drawl as I reach over for my laptop, "Netflix and chill, my kind of thing," I say, immediately breaking into a snort when I realize how dumb I sounded. When I look at him, his lips are pulled up at the corners. "Kidding. Take your pick."

He takes the laptop, scrolling through the various lists. But accidentally, by the hand of some unknown vile and vicious being, he mistakenly presses the sleep button, and the screen immediately alternates pictures of him and Timothée Chalamet.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I snatch the laptop off of his hands, chuckling nervously. "I—that's—"

"For your dignity, I'm going to pretend I didn't see that," he says, sounding like he's biting his cheek. "And we'll go back to going over Netflix movies." His pitch rises in faux excitement.

My face is currently sporting the shade Flaming Hot Embarrassment, complimenting the sensation of a thousand ants crawling over my skin. "I'll leave you to it then." I avoid his face, setting the laptop on the bed after reverting the screensaver back to its original settings, and making a move to leave.

"Where are you going?" He loses the internal battle, his bellowed laughter filling the small room.

"To evaporate somewhere," I slip on my fluffy flip-flop, the one left since I'd hurled the other at Nick earlier. He chuckles at my retort.

"Can I come with?" He asks, the smile still in his voice.

"Nope. I need to soak up on Vitamin Dignity before facing you again."