oddball, Styles. ≫ narry

one.

As my old worn-out and not-so-tidying shoes stomp and squeak on the hard pavement below my feet, I surround myself with the familiar empty streets of morning England.

The aroma of mint fills my nostrils, the scent coming from the medium sized cup of coffee I hold in hand. A long breeze of cool air hits my face, sending a small chill up my neck; causing the short dyed blue hairs that lay in that area to tense up. Under my arm, I hold an old shabby journal with a pen in between two of the pages inside.

As I slowly start arriving at my designated location, I finish up the remaining of my coffee before disposing it in a nearby trash bin. Finally, I reach the underground subway station. I walk down the steps one by one, calmly taking my time.

The subway, in the early mornings, is never at all full. Half of the time the only people who tend to ride the subway in the early am's, is elderly people, business men, a few wasted teenagers from the pervious night, and me.

Though, this time, there was an unknown little stranger wearing rugged jeans with scrapes on the knees, a rather dirty t-shirt, and a long hole-ripped trench coat with black converse at his feet. Atop of his somewhat curly hair, lay a simple pink flower crown.

I take the empty space beside the young boy, somehow intrigued by his odd lack of style. His head snaps up, vibrant green eyes meeting blue. He raises an eyebrow for a moment before sending an unsure nod at my direction and quickly turning around, his attention being focused elsewhere.

I watched. My eyes traveling to his hands where he held a small notepad and a dark pointed pencil. His pencil traced along the blank page, steadily drawing a large round circle.

The subway was on the rail now. Traveling fast inside and out, dark and bright long tunnels. I still had my full on attention on the boy as he drew.

After a rather long forty minutes or so, he signed the bottom of his notepad with the signature Styles. The drawing was small, but noticeable. The large round cheese was obviously represented as the moon, and arms were wrapped securely around the shape. In large lettering the words 'he loved the the moon like brother.' were written on the piece of art.

I ask, "You draw?"

His attention on me, now. His eyes, though, focused on my journal and pen. "You write?"

I say causally, "Cool painting."

"Cool journal." He nudges his head at my shabby journal.

"Can you draw me?" I question.

"Can you write about me?"

I frown, "Why are you mocking me?"

"Why do you keep asking stupid questions?" He throws back.

"Touché."

"Mhm."

A silence goes from there.

"Hey?"

"Yeah?" He answers, somewhat of pure annoyance in his voice.

"Nice crown, flower boy."

"Says you, blueberry." He throws back, once again.

I nod, " I like you, flower boy. You're mean, but different."

"Different how, blueberry?" He asks with an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"You're like, an oddball. Yeah, an oddball. I mean, I don't know much about you, but judging by your horrid taste in clothing, your obvious love for that cheese, your pink flower crown, and how your personality is quite off, you seem like an oddball to me."

"What cheese?"

"That moon." I say, pointing at his drawing.

"The moon in no way looks like cheese."

"In my eyes, it does."

He rolls his eyes at my comment, "And you say I'm odd."

"Shut up. What's your name?"

"Harry."

"Styles? Harry Styles? Can I call you flower boy?"

"Only if I can call you blueberry."

"Just because I have blue hair doesn't mean I'm a goddamn blueberry."

"Just because I wear flower crowns doesn't mean I'm a goddamn flower boy."

"So then, what are you? (I used a word/term I shouldn't have used, I apologize to those who read it and were offended by it. Closed.)"

He shrugs, "No. I just like flower crowns is all."

"Well I like the color blue. I don't know, dying my hair blue made me feel really cool. I'm suppose to be this 'sophisticated writer' and all, but really, I'm just a guy who likes to write. And if I am ever to become an author, I want to be one of the unique ones y'know? So people won't know me as 'Niall Horan, sophisticated author!' Instead, they'll know me as 'The once struggling writer with rad dyed blue hair!'

"Your name is Niall?"

"Yepers. Niall Horan, but you probably already caught that earlier."

"Well Niall Horan, I'm Harry, but you already know that. I like to draw, and wear torn shabby clothing like your shabby journal. I have a great unexplainable desire for the moon. I like wearing flower crowns 'cause I think I look pretty decent in them. And I also think you're a way too talkative person that annoys me, and that you should dye your hair blonde one day; I truly think it would look nice on you, blueberry."

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So that was chapter one! I was planing on making it longer, but I'm too lazy and I have exams tomorrow so what even.

I actually like how this story is coming out! Y'all's support is so amazing!

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Please vote and comment!

-K x