This Thing Upon Me [Order The eBook] [Harry Styles]

Chapter 4

I sat my phone aside to keep from dropping it, and clenched my fists so that my fingers would stop their trembling (I fumbled a lot when I got like this). I scanned the room and—despite all the moving bodies—found him immediately. In a fraction of a second. It was as if hundreds of tables had parted to lend me an unimpeded vantage. As if a shaft of light had fallen to illuminate him in the distance—like a ship moored in the moonlit offing.

His white shirt glowed in the low-light, a beacon at the end of my tapering vision. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and the buttons were undone around the collar, lending the look a casual air. My buttons were done up around my throat, and I had gone for the full black jacket and trouser. He had skipped the former, and opted for a funky belt instead. For f—ks sake, I was already fixating on his clothes. I was already comparing us.

There was a woman with him, probably a manager, but there didn't appear to be anyone else. I waited, expecting HER to come strutting in and taking the seat at his other side, but she never did. At the mere thought of her, I grew overheated, the flush traveling down my spine and back up to burn my neck and the tips of my ears.

Tugging my collar away from my throat, I rasped and played it off with a hem. He was there. In real life; in the flesh. Just seconds ago, I had no f--king clue I would ever see him again, least of all here. But there he was. And I couldn't fathom why. This wasn't his thing. This wasn't his scene. What the hell was he trying to prove?

A quick recline in my chair ensured I was covered, since I intended to study him and not be seen. My eyes strained with the effort, since the lights in his area were low, but I refused to forfeit the opportunity. His hair was relatively long, since it always grew rapidly. The sides were faded from what I could see, and the front was quiffed and died as usual. Months ago, he had shaven it all off, down to a buzz-cut that hardened him and lent him the look of someone from the streets; and I had marveled at how good he looked bald. It was a drastic move implemented as the final nail in the coffin of "1D Zayn" or "Zayn from 1D".

This new Zayn? This man? I knew nothing of him. He was a free agent with a killer record deal—with lots of rings and a faultless wardrobe. From what I could see, he still worked with Caroline for major events, and she hadn't failed him yet. But there was something else I couldn't quite make-out in his demeanor. Disdain? Pride? Arrogance? He had always been vain, so I ruled that out right away. It must've been confidence. Newfound confidence, particularly after that crazy debut on the Billboard. Number f—king one. Blowing One Direction's Billboard record out of the water in a single try. Who knew this guy possessed that kind of power? Part of me did, so part of me was proud of him, but the rest of me had begun to see him as competition.

With him out of my life, he was dangerous. Intimidating, even. Outrageously good-looking, fashionable, in high demand, and his music was better than I imagined it would be. I knew in the months to come that everything I did, and everything I tried to create would be held under a microscope for him having done it first. We would be compared without remit by every opinionated fan and media publication looking for a hot take, and in that case, someone would always have to come out on the losing end. For the life of me, I couldn't imagine him losing, so that left it to me.

I envied him in the sense that he got to set the precedent, and it would be his bar that I aimed for, hoping to even come close. But I was also excited. I wanted our music to be mentioned in the same breath and compared for the rest of our lives, because even if we were estranged, our legacies could be remembered in conjunction with one another. And in that regard, I felt no envy. I longed to hurry in his wake. I didn't mind walking in his shadow. And maybe one day if I were lucky, he'd slow down and look back at me and smile. And he would tell me he liked my work just as much as I liked his.