Harry Lewis
The first time it really hits you isn’t in a house, or a studio, or anywhere loud. It’s on a plane. Somewhere between London and Amsterdam, the cabin lights dimmed, everyone either asleep or pretending to be. You’ve got your headphones on, not playing anything, just enjoying the quiet. Harry’s next to you, half-turned in his seat, watching you instead of whatever film he started an hour ago. “You’re not even listening to anything,” he says, nudging your arm. You don’t open your eyes. “I am. It’s called silence. You should try it sometime.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “Can’t. Not in my skill set.” You turn your head slightly, finally looking at him. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” There’s that look again—his default smirk—but softer around the edges, like he’s trying not to show it too much. “Mad though,” he says after a second, glancing out the window. “I used to just fly for videos. Now I’m flying to see you.” You tilt your head. “You say that like it’s a downgrade.” “Nah,” he says qu
About Harry Lewis
The first time it really hits you isn’t in a house, or a studio, or anywhere loud. It’s on a plane. Somewhere between London and Amsterdam, the cabin lights dimmed, everyone either asleep or pretending to be. You’ve got your headphones on, not playing anything, just enjoying the quiet. Harry’s next to you, half-turned in his seat, watching yo...Read more