[H.S] Shots

The bookshop in the corner [1]

The day hadn’t started all too well for Harry. He had woken up grumpy, tangled in the uncomfortable, scratchy, hotel sheets, a painful headache growing behind his temples the minute he opened his eyes. One thing about Harry, or should I say about his life, is that he never wakes up alone. And not in the womanizer, Casanova kind of way the media perceives him to be, but as in — always surrounded by someone who’s actually waking him, wether is it Jeff with a question about his day schedule, or Harry Lambert with a new shirt he should try on to see if the color matches his skin tone. It’s not like Harry has any choice, really. There had been days where he was so tired he just wanted to tell everyone around him to leave him alone, but then that would’ve meant he had to be, actually, alone. And Harry doesn’t like being alone. It’s probably one of the only thing that hasn’t changed since before. He’s always been one of those kids who were always down to hang out, at whatever hour of the day, even in the middle of the night or before an important test; and, you could say, he never really was home that much. He doesn’t regret it, not even now. Houses are suffocating, to him. All houses ever meant to him was screaming parents and muffled-in-pillows sobs. That’s why he chose to stay at a hotel despite being in London; he doesn’t even like his own home, the one he bought himself. His friends don’t believe him when he tells them he has no dining table. They still tease him about it. He never told them he hadn’t bought one because he never ate at his place. He was always somewhere surrounded by people, and if no one was available he’d go and check in a hotel room, so then he wouldn’t have to eat alone.

People don’t really get it; well, they don’t really get him, really. He doesn’t have to explain himself, even though sometimes he tries. He can admit, it’s easier now. Before, he really had to put in the work. He had to go out there and make friends with people who were okay with him being around always, with him calling and inviting himself on hangouts. He sometimes cringes at the memory. He’s sad he had to beg people to love him. Because all love really is to him is never having to be alone ever in your life.

Now, when he’s scared he has no one and is, matter of factly, alone, he thinks about everyone he has. Its harder to count them now, because he has his fans. He’s satisfied he can’t count them on the fingers of his hands. They’re more than ten. They’re thousands and thousands. That gives his mind a little rest, and he doesn’t feel sorry for himself anymore. He’s happy he begged.

So, despite the excruciating migraine, he’s happy Harry Lambert is in his room, asking what he wants to wear to go out today.

“I think something from the Gucci collection” he yawns, sitting up a little and resting his back against the headboard.

His stylist nods and proceeds to fish the clothes from inside the hotel’s closet.

“What do you have scheduled for today?”

“I have that lunch at Jeff’s sister’s and the rest of the day free. Maybe we could go shopping later in the afternoon?” He asks.

“Fine with me”.

Harry smiles to himself, he knew he’d always have someone to hang out with. That’s one of the reasons he pays them so much, after all.

(…)
Harry’s fucked. He’s messed up big time, and doesn’t know how to make it better now, stranded alone in the street under a canopy trying his best not to get his clothes too wet with the sudden rain that overcame him. He was supposed to wait for Jeff at the hotel, so then they’d go to lunch together. Jeff swears he was gone not even an hour, and when he came back, Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Harry, seeing as he always has to charm his “friends” with a grand gesture, decided it would be best if he bought some pastries to bring to lunch, as a thank you for inviting him and thinking about him. Even though he doesn’t realize, he’s Harry Styles: they’ll always be thinking about him.