high flyer // l.s

t e n

Harry stumbled back, his feet tripping him as the book floated to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I've got to take you to purgatory now," Death frowned.

"Purgatory? Isn't that where monsters go? Like vampires and shifters?"

Harry was a nerd, apparently.

"No," Desth scoffs. "This isnt an episode of Supernatural, though Julian Richings and I do share a striking resemblance. It's like the waiting room of heaven or hell. Hell adjacent, almost. It's where you'll repent your sins."

Death reached for Harry, but he scrambled backwards.

"No! Get back!" Harry frowned. "I don't want to go to purgatory! I want Louis and Zayn and Niall and Liam and my life!"

"I'm sorry. You made your choice."

Harry shook his head, glancing around the room again.

"I don't want to die."

He fell to the floor, legs falling out from under him.

"No one ever does," Death said, voice empty of compassion.

He was too experienced to care, but he still did. He cared so much it ached in his chest, like his unbeating heart. But he would never show Harry his compassion.

Never show anyone, especially his victims.

"You lied to me, you know," Harry mumbled, staring at his palms.

"When?"

"When you said it was my choice. Looks like it was yours after all," Harry laughed, humourless, crawling forward to grab the book from the floor.

He read over the page once more.

Fight.

Harry set his shoulders, determined to live. Not for himself, but for Joe and for Louis and for Gemma and for Zayn.

Fight death.

Harry stood up, frowning.

"Can I see my body once more?" Harry asked, lip quivering.

He certainly wasn't giving up and he only had Joseph to thank for it.

Thanks, man.

Death smiled, a somber and deadly thing, and nodded.

"Sure, Harry."

Death reached forward, touching his fingers to Harry's forehead.

He felt the rush of air past his ears, and then he was in his bathroom again.

There he laid, body still convulsing.

What happened? He was dead last time he checked.

"What?" Death frowned, standing next to Harry. "You're still alive?!"

"Yeah," Harry breathed, smile engraved softly on his cheeks. "I am."

Harry turned to grin at Death, breathing deep.

"Anything is possible. It was my choice, after all. Your brothers told me that. Not you."

"Harry, I'm not going to tell you to go...but I'm not going to tell you to stay, either. You're right. It is your choice," Death said. "Choose."

Harry glanced at his body, eyes rolling under his closed eyelids, pulse pounding under his skin. He could practically feel it.

Pound. Pound, pound. Pound.

"I choose..." Harry started, thinking of the pain of living.

After all this, how could he stay? Or worse - go to purgatory?

He couldn't.

"I choose life."

And so, Harry Edward Styles did overdose on the twenty-fourth of December, but he did not die.

He lived.

-j