Reign || Harry Styles

07: Red

When Harry arrived at the set, the crews were already up and ready for the shoot.

It was very early (at least, for Harry) and the sun had only begun to rise above the horizon.

An outdoor shoot.

And Harry only liked the outdoors when it had something to do with his favourite sports. Or her.

He came in five minutes early than the appointed time, which wasn't so bad for such short notice. And Harry was rather confused when he arrived at set, really. Because everyone was just so busy with their own given jobs while he stood there with his camera and the abundance of supporting equipments in his hands.

At least, he spotted a familiar raven-haired chap walking towards him.

"Zayn!" he called the British-Pakistani, waving at the guy simultaneously.

"Harry!" Zayn replied excitedly, a few sheets of paper stapled together was clamped in his hand. He had this indescribable wide grin on his lips, and Harry instantly knew what was going on in his mind. After all, they had been friends for a while now, with Zayn landing him a few photoshoots in the past few months. But never an editorial.

Well, not before this one.

And Harry couldn't be more grateful to have a friend like Zayn.

"Can you believe this?" Zayn said in an ecstatic half a whisper.

Harry fist-bumped the overjoyed raven-haired guy. "You're the luckiest Bradford boy I've ever known, Zayn."

"I was just a simple kid from Bradford and now I'm art directing Jean Franco's editorial shoot. Sick!"

Harry twitched a faux smile at the sound of her name.

Jean Franco.

Her name alone made the blood in his arteries rushed faster.

Because her name sparked the image of her, and the image of her was the image of the most impeccable woman Harry had ever seen in his lifetime.

And he was given a task to shoot for her editorial.

How was he supposed to do that when the blood in his arteries couldn't even stay calm at sound of her name?

And clearly, how was he supposed to do that when his hands couldn't even stop trembling at the visual of her?

"Yeah. I-I don't think I can do it, mate," he stuttered, sudden nerves flushed into his system.

Zayn furrowed his eyebrows in response. "No. No, no. You're doing this shoot."

The pitch black hole in Harry's eyes diverted away from Zayn. "I-I just-"

"No," Zayn's tone was undeniably stern. "You said you'd do it, mate. This is, like, your first editorial shoot. Ever. And I could give this job to tenths of other photographers out there whose experiences are far wider than you. But I chose you, mate. Like, I didn't even think about it. I just chose you. Because you're, like, a best friend of mine, y'know?"

Harry found it rather flattering that Zayn considered him as a best friend. And to be honest, it wouldn't be fair for Zayn if he––all of a sudden and without clear, apparent reasons––refused the job.

So Harry sucked in a breath and exhaled a sigh. "What's the concept?"

Satisfied by the outcome of his motivational slash rather emotional speech, Zayn flashed a broad smile at his photographer best friend.