A/N- Hello guys! So as you can see, I updated a day early because I was feeling nice and all that jazz. This chapter is just kind of a filler, it's a flashback into Harry and Sydney's first real fight which will be shown in chapter 8. Hope you all like it! x
OH, and the sidebar manip is NOT MINE. I REPEAT, NOT MINE.
December 23rd, 2011
Holmes Chapel, England
It was a winter night in the quaint town of Holmes Chapel. Snow was falling delicately on rooftops, kids squealed with glee as Christmas break ensued and blissful adults knocked on doors singing the usual tune of "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire." It was tranquil and peaceful, just like an old Christmas classic you watch drinking your seasonal hot cocoa and eggnog while curling up wearing warm stockings.
A mere two miles away, that blissful silence was interrupted. Loud rap music repeated, drunken teenagers yelled and hollered and the bass pounded on the paper thin walls of the frat house. It was Kappa Beta Omega's annual self-proclaimed "Christmas banger" where the eggnog was replaced with bourbon, comfy pajamas were substituted for nudity and the holiday classic was a stoner comedy. It was belligerent, blatant, rambunctious and crude.
So why out of all people, was Sydney there?
"What do you call yourself?" The man asked as he lowered his hands to her butt.
He had dark hair that was half slicked back, half tousled, verdigris eyes and olive embellished skin that graced his impressive physique poking out of his gray t-shirt. He was undoubtedly sexy.
But he didn't have curly brown hair, cheeky dimples, and eyes of the Mediterranean or well-defined abs gracing his beige skin.
"Sydney," she giggled as she placed another hickey on his neck. "And yourself?"
"It's not important," he replied huskily, but not naturally. "Just take these."
Sticking out his tongue to reveal four purple pills and two capsules filed with a blue powder, she stared at him doe eyed hesitantly. Before she could deny it, he reassured her.
"It will make you feel better."
Leaning upon the tips of her toes, she laced her tongue with his and swallowed the pills, feeling the lump of the medication sliding down her throat.
This was completely out of her character, for she was the type of girls that would rather read James Madison's Federalist Papers and drink lukewarm coffee than mingling with frat guys and soaking her vodka induced tongue with their equally alcoholic ones. Despise the lip-biting smiles and hickeys she left on the frat brothers necks, she was lonely.
Harry had left for London five days prior, to do publicity for the boy's first studio album. Even though they had talked whenever they could while he was gone, it wasn't the same. Harry wasn't her goofy, caring best friend any more than only she could cherish. Now, millions of girls would practically give up their virginities just for two minutes with him. Her best friend was not only famous, he was astronomically famous.
Besides this, he had still recited to her his classic brotherly rant last night on their daily phone calls.
"Don't do anything stupid Sydney, at least not while I'm thousands of miles away."
"And by stupid you mean don't have any sort of fun?"
"If the fun you are referring to are drugs and alcohol, then 100% yes."
"You're such a cock block," she joked.
"And you're perfect. Don't ruin it," he replied seriously before hanging up.
This was a complete paradox of his words.
Sydney smiled at the recent memory before she was jerked out the frat boy's hands that roamed her body and into the face of her friend Camila.
"What the hell are you doing?" She asked anxiously, feigning anger in her voice.
Moving her disoriented eyes from the frat boy stomping away to the upset face of her friend, she noticed how her friend's vibrant green eyes would blur into dingy, solid stones.
"Harry's eyes do that," she said to herself mutedly before the shakes on her shoulder became more rapid and tense.
"Sydney, are you high?" Camila asked astonishingly.
"And you're not?" she asked the frightened girl, her eyes maximizing in drug induced redness and size.
"Who gave you the drugs Sydney?"
"Some really nice boy way over there," Sydney said as she flailed her right arm in the air failing miserably at pointing at a specific person.
"He told me it would make me feel better."
"And how do you feel?"
"Fantastic if you ask me," Sydney replied in non-reasonable laughter but then her high complexion faded into a pale morbid color. "I feel a bit sick though," she mumbled as she felt her knees shake beneath her.
"Sydney?" Camila asked as she noticed her friend's drastic demeanor. Snapping her fingers in her face in hope of some sort of sign of coherence, she got none. Sydney's eyes sunk into their sockets, her skin turned into a repulsive pasty hue and her legs gave out like dominos beneath her small frame.
Like the cliché snap of the fingers, Sydney's distorted view of the scene became consumed by blackness as her body slammed on the sticky wooden floor. Before her sense of hearing faded into the same blackness, she listened to the tense silence and frantic pleas to call 911 from her friend and people she didn't even know.
Rapid fingers were placed on her neck, she guessed to try to find a pulse. But it was faint, according to the multiple voices overcoming her. As her hearing was giving into the saturation, she heard Camila shrieking for somebody to call Harry.
Harry.
The boy who made her heart beat faster and slower at the same time and the one that made her pulse weaken the same way it was right then.
Same time
Paris, France
"So boys, you've certainly had a hectic couple of weeks; first the United States, then Australia and now us. How is it all feeling?" The well-groomed reporter asked her French accent hiding under her accomplished English.
The boys all looked at each other, cracking smiles and settling on Liam to reply.
"To be honest, it's hard to even comprehend how this whole journey even feels. We just know we're so incredibly blessed and just taking it how it comes to us, not trying to force it or anything."
The reporter nodded satisfied with his answer before jumping into the next one.
"Does this journey include any significant others, girl or boy?" She questioned, pointing her gaze at Harry and Louis sarcastically.
Harry boomed in laughter as the other boys followed, realizing she was referring to the so-called "Larry Stylinson" romance. The whole thing had steered from innocent friendship to a full-blown fantasy for many of their fans. It was a tad ridiculous, but Harry and Louis knew they just had to laugh it off.
"Yes, I and Harry are fully committed to each other," Louis said resting his arm around Harry's shoulders jokingly. "Sorry Caroline."
"Would you be referring to Ms. Flack?" The reporter said laughing along with the rowdy bunch.
"No, no. Louis was just shutting up now," Harry said with false anger as he placed his hand around Louis's mouth in a means to keep the loud boy quiet. His mechanism was instead slobbered over.
"You're gross," Harry whispered to Louis as he dried his hands on his burgundy pants.
Louis just smirked cheekily, shifting his attention back to the reporter.
"But all jokes aside," the reporter interrupted as she pulled out a magazine cover for the French version of People. "You aren't seeing someone by the name of Sydney, are you?"
All the boys laughed as Harry blushed nervously. The photo placed on the cover was him and Sydney walking along a London street, with Starbucks Lattes in their hands and smiles and laughter etched on their lips.
The headline read boldly in French:
"One Direction ou celle prise? Harry Styles prend rues de Londres avec une fille mystère."
In English, this translated to:
"One Direction or 'One Taken'? Harry Styles takes streets of London with mystery girl."
"No, no. We're just friends."
"Really, really good friends if you ask me," Niall interjected laughing as Zayn high-fived him in approval.
"How good of friends are you Harry?" The reporter asked determinedly.
Harry looked at all the boys around him, giving them dirty stares and rolled eyes. All the boys knew Harry didn't like talking about Sydney in publicity related objectives. After all his life had rolled out into a red carpet, he needed her to be a reminder of his previous normalcy. He didn't want to drag her into rumors that the paparazzi conspired. According to him, she was "too perfect and nice for that kind of exposure."
Add to the fact that the fans were undeniably insane about who the boys dated or even seen with. Although most were perfectly classy and nice to any of the girls in the boy's lives, a few couldn't even be called fans for the amount of unspeakable hate and cruelness directed at them. He had seen Danielle cry over it and Eleanor contemplate breaking up with Louis about it. He couldn't lose Sydney, at least not that easily.
"Sydney and I are best friends and have been for 10 years now. She's, uh-"
Harry looked around the white painted room where seven camera lenses were pointed at him along with the intent stares of his mates and the French interviewer. Should he reveal his feelings about Sydney? It certainly would be much easier; telling the world rather in the face of the one he loved so. He imagined her face, precious gems as a set of eyes, messy dark hair falling in front of those same eyes, beautiful in imperfections, smiling at him almost reading:
"Finally, you admit it."
But there was an even more apparent thought plaguing his lucidity. That same face, gems crinkling in revolt, hair standing stiff in disdain at the revelation, scary in perfections glaring at him clearly saying:
"I don't feel the same."
With that startling thought, he completed his sentence.
"-Very special to me, but not in the way you're thinking."
The boys stared at him in distaste, seething in the fact he didn't just admit his feelings. He may not have told them officially yet, but the boys knew. It was unmistakable from the very start of their path to stardom that Harry had loved Sydney with everything within himself, when the boys first saw her and made pools to decide which guy would shag her first.
When Harry found out about the bet, he became so livid to the degree of him threatening to "beat the living shit out of all the guys at once to a bloody pulp," even contemplating quitting One Direction.
The awkward silence was interjected by the noisy vibration of Harry's phone in his pants pocket. Staring at his pocket, puzzled at the fact someone was calling him during an interview where he told practically everyone in his address book to hold off any sort of communication till after wards. And out of all people,Camila was calling him. Strange, considering she was way more of Sydney's friend than his.
"Excuse me for a second," Harry said slowly as he stalked into the background where he heard disgruntled mumbles from the news outlet and concerned talks among the boys.
Ignoring this, he slid the answer button on his phone and answered, pressing the phone tightly to his ear.
"Hello?" He denounced cautiously.
"Harry! It's Camila," the girl rushed out despite the short amount of breath she seemed to display.
"I, uh- noticed. What's up? I'm kind of in the middle of-"
"Sydney's in the hospital."
"What?!" Harry yelled, stopping any other conversations taking place in the room.
"Please don't be mad. One second she's fine and the next-"
"What happened, Camila?" Harry said anxiously, running a rigid hand through his hair as his eyes stared wide open at nothingness.
"We were my brother's frat party and I left her alone for five minutes, tops! I come back from pouring drinks and she's making out with some guy, swallowing pills from his mouth. I pull her aside, asking what the hell is wrong with her. She was beyond high, her eyes were bloodshot and her pupils were the size of fucking bowling balls. She said that the guy said they'd make her 'feel better' but then she started saying she felt sick and before I know it she's on the ground with a pulse almost convincing me she was a goner-"
Harry felt his stomach churning in the acidic sea with disease, outrage and distress. On a matter of three hands, he evaluated his state of mind. On the first hand, She took pills from some strangers tongue, who could've had god-knows what kind of STDs inflicted on it. Secondly, he then leaves her alone for only a few days, and she already manages to land herself in the hospital.
That itself infuriated and irritated him more than he thought he could ever be. But besides all of this, she was still as he only said a few minutes prior, very special to him and the simple thought of someone extremely special to him hooked up to machines specialized to keep them alive and tubes running all throughout their body worried him just as extremely.
He took the third hand. He darted out the room, hanging up the phone with Camila as he ran down the long corridor. Ignoring the shouted questions of the boys and the cursing in French of the interviewer, he only ran faster to the point of full out sprints in the cold December wind. As he ran mindlessly, he noticed the shouting in both French and English shrieking:
"Look, It's Harry Styles!"
But he ignored them, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him until he hailed a cab and eventually reached the Charles de Gaulle International Airport.
Falling onto the ticketing desk in complete exhaustion and energy exertion, he managed to mumble out some partly coherent French for the young confused airline worker.
"Un billet pour le prochain vol pour Londres, s'il vous plaît."
"One ticket for the next flight to London, please."