𝕊ℍ𝔼'𝕊 𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔹𝔸ℕ𝔻 | h.s

❧ PROLOGUE ❧

Smoke filled the air in the room of the club, and even though Harry was used to it because he smoked himself, tonight he wasn't into it. He was in a bad mood, some would say. He chose to get fucked up and filled his veins with poison as he drowned in scotch and whisky. He wasn't one for a light drink, no. Tequila and Beer didn't do it for him, and even if they did, he wanted something strong. The feeling of the sharp burn that crawls down his throat each time he swallows the liquid sends shock waves through his body. Not even coke could do it for him, but still, he gave into his weakness and bent over in the booth he was seated at and held the rolled up paper to his nose while he whipped his head along the long strip of white powder. The burn shot through him so roughly that he had to tilt his head back and hold his breath while he came down from the shock of the white powder.

His night was like a broken record—playing on repeat because it kept skipping. He was on a never ending loop of his own personal Hell. When the woman who pushed her ass against him didn't make him excited, only made the woman from earlier in the night come to his mind; he was pissed. He never kissed and tell, and her never stayed around to hold someone after railing them until they couldn't even remember their own name. He wasn't happy about the fact that he hasn't even touched the woman who was on his mind, yet, she was all he could think about. The way her hips swayed from side to side innocently, not knowing that she had everyone's eyes glued to her body all night long, no matter what she did—everyone's eyes followed her every move.

When he knew for certain that he wouldn't get hard, he pushed the woman off of him and stood up from his spot in the booth. The lap dance was shit, and not only was he drunk and extremely fucking high; he was also exhausted. Exhausted from working all day, waking up early in the morning to go over things for the bands traveling plans, just to leave in the afternoon and do soundcheck at the Forum because they had a show right after they were supposed to perform at the bar. After that, all of the boys in the band rushed to the underground bar and preformed and now, here Harry was, not getting rest like he should be, no, he was walking down the stairs inside the loud, crowded club and made his way over to the bar. He drank some more, and when he knew he needed to call quits, he walked over to the his booth and whispered into Mitch's ear, "I'm ready to go to the hotel."

Mitch stands up from the booth and leads the way to the exit. Once they both step outside, Mitch asks, "What's got you in a pissy mood tonight?"

Harry's face holds a scowl, but he knows Mitch is just curious. He never asks a lot of questions or tries to stick his nose into Harry's business, so he knows he's just asking because he must be that readable. Shrugging, he says, "Nothing. Just tired, I guess. I shouldn't have gone out tonight, I have to be up early in the morning for soundcheck before tomorrows show."

Mitch's eyebrows shoot up, a smile resting on his lips as he says, "Oh, yeah! I forgot you had two shows."

Harry chuckles under his breath, saying, "Not just two. We are doing fifteen nights here, fifteen nights in New York."

Mitch gives a shocked expression, but holds back his shock by nodding. They have always had a very good understanding between each other. Whether or not it was silent, they knew the unspoken words without speaking them. That's just how their relationship worked. They were close enough to read each other and never needed to push each other for answers or ever asked many questions, their friendship was bonded—they were pretty much one person. As they made their way to the SUV in the back of the parking lot, a bunch of paparazzi swarmed around the area, yelling at Harry to look over in their direction. He didn't, of course, he was focused on getting to his car so he could go back to his hotel room and get out of there.

Once he arrived at the hotel, he stripped clean of clothes and changed into a pair of sweats with a loose hoodie. Laying under the covers, he scrolled through Instagram for a bit before switching over to Twitter. He never payed Twitter too much attention anymore because the fans were constantly DM'ing and tagging him in their posts. He was fine with it, he loved his fans with his whole heart, it just got to be a lot. Scrolling through his feed, he sees pictures of him from tonight, leaving the club. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, walking back to his car. As he scrolls down more, he runs across a post of him inside of the club. It's cropped, his face not it but his tattoos and hand are clearly what scream, "Harry Styles."