Blood Moon | Harry Styles

Part 1: Kidney

The telltale signs of fall have truly begun to reveal themselves. Along every sidewalk, there seems to be chunky knit sweaters and scuffed Chelsea boots, pumpkin-flavored snacks and mulled apple cider. Normally, Harry would roll his eyes at the widespread commonality of it all, but he's too preoccupied. He's got his nose buried deep in a page of words that he can't seem to make out, nothing more than a bunch of gibberish.

If anyone was watching, they might notice that the heavy library door swings open before Harry has even made contact with the handle. They might catch the way his eyes seem to glow as this happens. But no one is watching and no on notices.

The thick heels of Harry's boots click against the stone floors. He carries himself across the deep lobby, eyes still perusing his sheet of paper, until he reaches the stairs that will lead him to the library's next level. At the top of them, he swings left, maneuvering between shelves so effortlessly that it's like he's in his own home. Books on Latin language are tucked away in a dark corner, one that he's very familiar with. He spends large portions of his free time here. And he's never worried about books being checked out, because after all, Latin is a dead language. But Harry is confused when he reaches reflexively for the book he always uses, the one that's easiest to navigate, and his fingers find nothing but air.

His eyes finally lift away from the paper in his hand. Layers of dust have settled over everything in this section, but in the empty shelf space for his book, there are tracks through the dust from his constant readings. It's coated the tips of his searching fingers, and he wipes the residue on the side of his jeans, sighing. Frustrated and disoriented, Harry yanks another book from the shelf and retreats from the corner, back into the main walkway. He taps across the room to his usual spot, at a table disconnected from the main reading area, but again he's surprised.

Your foot is bopping out of beat to the song playing through your earbuds, and a ready pen is caught between your teeth as you skim a few pages of text. You don't even notice that someone has approached you. You don't notice the man leaned up against the edge of your table until your music suddenly begins to cut out. You jump when you do notice him.

"Jesus!" Without even removing your earbuds, you can hear your own voice echo off of the stone floors. You clap a hand over your mouth. You're not supposed to make noises that echo in a library.

Pulling your earbuds out, you take a moment to examine their cords, looking for any damage that might explain their spotty sound. You find nothing. The stranger clears his throat and when you look up he's staring at you. His eyes are bright, almost glowing in the dim light from a wall sconce.

"Can I help you?" you ask when he still hasn't spoken.

"Yeah. Are yeh gonna be usin' tha' book for much longer?"

You notice his gaze divert to the thick Latin book you'd been studying. Your fingers splay over your page to make sure that you don't lose your spot.

"Um, yeah. I was gonna be here for a few more hours."

You can see the man grit his teeth, see him twist to stretch his neck. The wall sconce, your only source of light in this corner, flickers momentarily. It draws your attention.

"You read Latin?" he asks, pulling your gaze back around to him. Maybe you imagine it, but you're sure you can hear sarcasm, condescension in his voice.
"Yes, a bit," you answer, shifting in your chair. "I'm a language major."

"Are yeh?" The man seems to consider this, glancing down at his own book. Then he settles his mind and looks back up at you with challenging eyes. "Yeh think yeh could try t'translate this for me?"

He holds out a piece of paper to you. After a brief hesitation—you have an exam coming up later this week—you take the sheet from him. It's scribbled across with sloppy Latin. You flatten the page out on top of your book.