high flyer // l.s

o n e

"Bye Harry!" Louis yelled out, over the crowds of people as Harry turned away to head home.

"Night Louis," the curly haired boy offered only a short goodbye; other things were on his mind.

Tonight he would do it.

The streets of London were crowded, but Harry was alone.

And that was fine. After all, it was what he wanted.

No one needed to see him like this.

No one wanted to see him alone, hurting, breaking.

Because, after all, Harry Styles didn't feel alone, he didn't hurt, he never broke. Harry Styles was perfect. Unbreakable.

And for so long, he'd sucked all of his pain in, he'd forced himself to feel nothing.

But nothing could be hidden forever. Nothing ever really left. It was always buried deep inside his chest.

So here he was, a broken boy, walking through the streets, alone.

There was nothing left for him. He didn't want to stay. It wasn't worth it.

And so, on that night, Harry stayed hidden in the shadows.

He bustled through the streets, head down, hood up because he didn't want to be found.

He didn't want to be saved.

He wanted to end it all.

Harry walked through dinghy back alleys, avoiding life.

He didn't want to feel alive. Not tonight.

Tonight was his night to die.

His only company was a bottle of pills and a bottle of gin.

He didn't need anything else.

He knew he would be found eventually, but he wasn't going to be around when they found him.

He had nothing left to stay for.

He only wanted to be able to fly.

Was that really too much to ask? To be alone and to be forgotten?

For now, at least.

And when the morning came round, everyone would know his name. Not like they already didn't.

But it wouldn't be for his singing or his 'relationship' with one of his band mates.

It would be for the pills he swallowed, the liquor he drank, the sins he committed.

Everyone would know what he had done.

And he just couldn't bring himself to care. Not during this night.

This night was where he would learn to fly and he was so excited.

He was happy about something, for the first time in so long.

It was so beautifully twisted.

And so, as Harry put the keys into the lock of his apartment and turned, he smiled, the grin of a man with nothing to lose.

He was home and he would be able to fly.

Soon.

Not long now.

Harry made his way into the bathroom.

He could feel the alcohol flowing through his system, making him drowsy and hyper at the same time.

The pills were in his hand.

How did they get there?

Harry didn't know. He didn't care.

Not about himself dying or his heart beating out of his chest or the flush of crimson under his skin.

He was too far gone and he hadn't even taken the fucking pills yet.

He'd lost himself in his mind.

Everything was hazy, blurring into each other.

Colours were so bright.

Too bright.

It hurt to look at them.

Make it stop.

Please.

And with that thought, Harry dry swallowed the pills.

His hands were shaking.

He could barely keep his eyes open.

It's kicking in.

The effect of the pills surged through Harry's bloodstream, heating up everything in it's path.

At least that's what it felt like.

He was burning.

His skin was tearing and flaking and burning.

It was too tight.

He wanted to get out.

This isn't what it feels like to fly, is it?

And as Harry shook and burned and faded, his phone started to ring.

Harry didn't care.

He wouldn't be able to answer it anyway.

Instead, he let it ring out and go to voicemail.

Louis' voice rang through the appartment.

"Hi Haz, I'm sorry I didn't get to tell you earlier, but Merry Christmas."

And that was the last thing Harry heard before blacking out.

-s