Narry: One Shots

When I Close My Eyes, All the Stars Align

by: FallingLikeThis

Summary:

Harry Styles looks out the windowed wall of his penthouse apartment, staring down at the teeming masses that bring life to the streets below. Any one of the people down there could be his soulmate. Or, who knows, his soulmate could be halfway around the world. Or dead already. There's no way to know, really, since Harry's affliction is so rare. He bears the soulmate mark. It occurs in maybe one in a million people. He's one of the chosen few who has one, single person that's meant for them. Everyone else has the freewill to love whoever they want but if Harry ever hopes to find true love, he'll have to go through a damn scavenger hunt to get it. And as if that wasn't enough, he has a time limit.

Or a Beauty and the Beast Au in which Harry's only beastly qualities are his hair and his bad attitude and Niall arrives to spy on him for his sister but ends up staying for so much more.

°•°•°

Harry Styles looks out the windowed wall of his penthouse apartment, staring down at the teeming masses that bring life to the streets below. Any one of the people down there could be his soulmate. Or, who knows, his soulmate could be halfway around the world. Or dead already. There's no way to know, really, since Harry's affliction is so rare. He bears the soulmate mark. It occurs in maybe one in a million people. He's one of the chosen few who has one, single person that's meant for them. Everyone else has the freewill to love whoever they want but if Harry ever hopes to find true love, he'll have to go through a damn scavenger hunt to get it. And as if that wasn't enough, he has a time limit.

The mark, a rose tattooed across his wrist, burns as four more petals fade away and Harry blinks down at it, unbothered on the surface. He'll never voice how it makes him feel deep down, how scared he is of ending up alone forever. He's only twenty-three and he's got maybe a year left to search, if he's lucky. His gaze travels to the people far below his window one last time before he steps away and goes to ready himself for bed. Who gives a fuck about love? Harry doesn't need it, he thinks as he curls up in his too big bed.

But somewhere deep down, he knows he's just giving up. Because he's already been down that road more times than he can count, the one filled with hope and the willingness to keep trying. And he's sick of being let down.

@}------

Harry,

Missing you loads while I run TwistCorp over here on the other side of the pond. How are you, baby bro? Please tell me that you're living it up in America. Parties every night, dating an abundance of boys and girls, lots of non-platonic kissing. Well, okay, I don't want the details on that. I just worry about you, Harry. I know things have been difficult for you since Mom and Dad died. And even worse, since Heather left (I told you she wasn't good enough for you). I wish that I could be there but work is just too hectic to get away for more than a day or two. I really hope that you are doing well, baby brother. Tell me everything.

Love, Gemma

Harry stares at the email on his computer screen with his trademark scowl marring his features. He loves his sister, he really does, but it would be nice if Gemma would stop worrying about him so much. Since the death of their parents, she's been like a very nosey mother hen, and it's only gotten worse since Harry's last breakup. He had been devastated when Heather dumped him, claiming Harry wanted something far more serious than she was looking for. Harry had been certain that he had finally found his soulmate. Turns out what Heather was looking for was his wallet and no strings. Still, that was nearly a year and a half ago, Harry's gotten over it now (mostly). He's told Gemma time and again, he's fine.