Fuck, this is embarrassing.
Maybe I can downplay it so it doesn’t sound so intense. I can remind her that music is melodramatic sometimes—she knows that’s true—and sometimes we exaggerate emotions like stage makeup because that’s just part of the show we put on for our fans.
Except that I meant every one of those words, exactly as I said them, and I don’t want to pretend I didn’t. Pretending is what keeps screwing up my life. Pretending is why I have the regrets I specifically mentioned in that song.
“It freaked you out,” I repeat, determined not to shy away from my intentions, no matter how tempting it is to do so.
“I … I …” she stammers.
“Because now you know how I really feel … about you.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “What?”
“Now you know the truth.”
She looks like she’s working out a math problem that isn’t coming together. “M-me?”
I furrow my brows. “Yes, you. Who else?”
“Mikayla. Of course. You were singing about regret, about the past, about letting her walk away, the timing being off, wanting to try again …”
My mind races as I parse those lyrics trying to see how they might apply to both women—and somehow they do. “No,” I finally say. “I mean … yes, it’s about regret, but it’s not about letting her walk away. It’s about lettingyouwalk away. The night we met. There were people coming out, and the press was there, and I got freaked out. So I let you leave when I should have gone after you and tried harder to explain—made things right—apologized—begged for your forgiveness.”
Harmony shakes her head. “That … wasn’t your fault. I should have heard you out. I shouldn’t have left.”
“So webothwish we could rewind …”
She regrets it as much as I do?
“Yeah … I guess.” She still seems puzzled.
“The timing thing,” I clarify, “is because I hated that I fell so hard for you when we were pretending—when it was so easy to mistake it for part of the game. Like when I kissed you at daXx’s party … it seemed like it was an act but it wasn’t—and I didn’t know how to tell you because I didn’t think you felt the same. We were so in sync before you found out who I was. Even having just met, it was like … everything I said, you were matching me beat for beat. It wasn’t awkward. Every minute felt right. Until it didn’t.”
When she looks down and shakes her head like she’s not sure I’m serious, I slip my hand under her chin and urge her to look up at me. “But that song is about you, Harmony. Every … fucking … word.”
Her eyes shine with tears, and she stares at me for what feels like a long time, but I don’t mind. I love looking at her.
Then she whispers, “I wrote ‘Lip Sync.’”
That meaning of that hits me like a stampede.
Now we’re so close and before I can blink,
It’s a whole different kind of lip sync,
I just act — I don’t think,
Your lips on mine like the missing link
All this time …
All this time, she felt it too. She was denying it, lying to herself the same way I was. I thought I was the only one who hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
The label must have lied to her like they did me, taken that song from her, told her it was for a potential collab. I guess technically it wasn’t a lie, but I’m sure she didn’t think they meant a collab withme.
God, it must have been torture to have to sing that to me—and in front of everyone.
Well I don’t want her tortured anymore. I want her to feel only good things. And I want to be the onemakeher feel those good things.
