A Shot of Reality [Harry Styles]

IV. Beaten

"Oh babe," he whispered out sympathetically as he wound his hands around her petite figure, bringing her sobbing mouth into the crook of his neck.

"It will pass, I promise," he spoke in a hopeful tone.

She lifted her head up, looking at him as the choppy sunlight exposure from the venetian blinds danced on her tear stained face. Looking her longingly in her beautiful yet exhausted eyes, he decided her and him were just going to lay there for the day, never getting up until she felt one hundred and ten percent up to par.

And that's exactly what they did.

"Harry?" Sydney mumbled into his fore arm after a while.

"Yeah?" He murmured back with sleepiness lacing into his husky voice. He circled his thumbs on her olive hips.

"You mean the world to me, you know that right?" She spoke, slowly making sure he grasped onto every word.

"The absolute world."

He kissed backside of her neck, wondering what kind of luck possessed in him that he managed to get such a beautiful girl as his best friend. Intertwining his long fingers with her delicate set, he whispered into the back of her neck.

"I can't believe you're my best friend."

An hour later with a plastic bag of Midol and a two liter of ginger ale for Sydney in tote, Louis found the two on the small lounge couch; intertwined fingers, bare legs tangled together and his brown curly mop nuzzled in the back of her neck. Just as he was to tap on Harry's shoulder to wake him up, Harry unconsciously kissed Sydney's neck longingly with such tenderness he resisted the urge to awe at their presence. He thought he had been awoken for a moment before his bones returned to his previous position in his sleep induced state.

Smiling, Louis returned to his bedroom leaving Harry and Sydney with hands being held ever so softly, legs ignoring any possibility of personal space and a beautifully crafted friendship that wouldn't seem to die.

Among the normal suburban sounds: dogs barking, car horns blaring from the main road over and the crickets chirping with great ease another noise came into play. It was one of repeated car screeches as Harry Styles twisted and turned the wheel of his all black Range Rover in the small gravel street of Harrington Avenue.

Harrington Avenue was somewhat of a prestigious road in the tiny village of Holmes Chapel. With deep green and plum colored vines intertwining around the corners of colonial brick houses and resisting against tall iron fences, it was a place young Harry dreamed about existing in. Now, he had all the currency in the world to buy, heck, build the biggest house on that street.

It was all surreal, two years or so ago he was a scrawny, awkward sixteen year old boy seeking any chance he had in making it big and if he made it, he wasn't sure if he could handle it. After not making past boot camp, he was gutted to say the least. He felt like all candles of hope had been blown out by the simplest breath of life and prepared himself for a long life of law enforcement. But in a blur, he was plucked by Simon into a group of four other guys and voila, One Direction was formed.

He had made it, massively, and he still didn't know how to handle it.

After screeching into the dirt driveway of Sydney's brown stone she shared with an older mystery author, he slammed the black door and sprinted to the front door. Fumbling in his pockets for the key Sydney had gave him to the apartment under the dim porch light, he finally caught a grasp of the clinging copper.