Shatterproof: Harry Styles One Shot
“Harry! C'mon mate, you better get going." Harry continued to dwindle nervously, despite Paul’s best efforts.
Los Angeles, home of the rich, famous and the beating sun. Surely he would be dying to have his break here. Apparently not. In fact, Harry would do almost anything not to go there, the dreery rain of England beckoning him back home, away from his hectic life, the press, that annoying girl they call his girlfriend.
Sheesh, can’t say I blame him.
Unfortunately, Harry was stuck here for the next two weeks before he would continue with the tour before finally returning back home, two months later.
Dragging his suitcase up to the escalator, Paul breathed a sigh of relief at the timid popstar that looked formerly stricken, like a rabbit in headlights or a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. The last one suited him better, of course it did. Paul knew better than Harry that he wasn’t quite ready to face the bright lights of America without the rest of the guys, supporting him as the youngest.
He was never allowed to forget that, that little fact that made all the difference. The youngest.
Adjusting his navy beanie that was perched perfectly on his slightly unrurly curls, he began to climb the escaltor’s stairs as Paul became a smaller and smaller figure until he was out of sight. Harry really was going to brace this all alone, but you know what?
He was going to make sure he enjoyed it.
As his strides grew larger, so did his confidence as he began to battle his way through the crowd. No one was yet to spot him but he kept his head low all the same, not wanting to have to make a mad dash from papparazzi or crazed directioners. Not yet, anyway.
The further into L.A he went, the taller and busier it got, shops bursting with customers and cars trailing down the road, taxi’s and car’s beeping at each other ferociously. Despite the noise, he was almost beginning to enjoy himself. It was nothing compared to the screams of hundreds of girls.
He could never get used to that.
As the sun beat down on his back, Harry hurried to find his hotel ‘the View.’ Sounded posh enough but was it bad that all he really wanted was a motel wear he could rewind, chill out and pretend his life was somewhat ordinary?
As the grand hotel (which looked more like a palace which fazed him a bit) came into view, he quickly scanned the local area for places to rewind later. No starbucks, costas - no big name brands but there was a small tea shop; small and original against all the other well known labels.
It looked quiet enough.
Speeding up once again, Harry pushed open the tall silver doors of the hotel before many a bell boy came rushing to his assistance already.
"Don’t worry about it,” he signalled to his only bag, “I’d just like my room key please.”
Walking up to the front desk, his beanie seemed out of place in this world of the superior. As smaller a issue it is, he still couldn’t stand it; he was Harry, he wasn’t just famous. He hated that, the loss of substance; of being.
Even the word drove him nuts.
Collecting his keys from the seemingly polished hand of the receptionist, he made his way up the many flights of marble stairs, suitcase banging against the polished stone and multiple stares following him.
He hoped he’s chipped at least a little bit.
The hotel room was as he feared.
It was one of those that was extremely posh, with the little bars of soap you could never really use and all the extra adornments any high class businessman would need. Only, he wasn’t a high class business men, not even just a posh teenager. It was already all wrong, wrong, wrong; he couldn’t wait to get out, to break free; even if it was for only a few minutes in a slightly haywire tea shop.
Grabbing a pair of shades from the top of his case, he left the rest unpacked and over flowing drastically on top of the unecessary king sized bed as he made a beeline out of the room, hotel and towards the tea shop.
The only problem was, those trendy Raybans were a tad restricting on his sight, and as the sun glared from above, his run was halted as he came into a very rushed contact with something.
Or rather, someone.
Removing his glasses, his looked down in horror to find a rather cute girl sitting huddled on the floor after a fall, tea spilled freshly by her side.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Harry began, kneeling beside her and offering her his hand, “I shouldn’t of worn this damn glasses in the first place and - ”
“Don’t worry, Harry. I wasn’t looking either.” She interrupted him, his name sliding off her tongue sweetly, like honey.
“Wait, how do you? Wait - are you a fan? I mean, I’m really sorry about everything and… Oh God!” He sighed again, exasperated as he knelt down, picking up both the empty mug and the sketch book which had gathered it’s remaints.
“I can always do another one.” She said, tracing the lines of her previous drawing, now ruined, as much as neither of them wanted to admit it.
“I’m really sorry, and I don’t know - ugh, I mean. Can I at least buy you a new drink?”
She shook her head playfully but finally replied, “It’s fine, I’ll pay but I can’t refuse a coffee with Harry Styles now, can I?”
He had hoped she couldn’t.
The tea shop, warm and cosy, provided them with what they both needed; an opputunity. Two adventurers for different reasons, two hearts in our world of hate. A table for two on Valentines day.
“You never answered my question…” Harry mused as they took to a table together, “Are you a fan?”
“Not exactly,” she giggled, a musical laugh that had him caught already, “Bet you don’t hear that often.”
He shook his head bashfully, dimples appearing in both cheeks as she carried on, “I just… Know of you and your existence.”
That caught him too.
“Wait… But… All the art, moving to L.A, the… But is it?”
“It’s Alex, Harry.” She had answered his forever know question.
The penny had dropped, the smiles gone but their eyes remained in contact, silent meaningful stares enough communication for the both of them.
She had remmbered as soon as she saw him, of course she did. How do you forget someone like Harry? They were never an item or the best of friends but they were friends alright, trips together dotted here and there. They both remembered now.
“I’m sorry… Again… I should of remembered but I guess I was just distracted…” He cracked her a grin, and his right eye fell into a wink; a Classic Harry Styles move.
“Distracted?” she laughed, “Of what?”
Her cheeks flushed pink as she giggled quietly again, “That wasn’t cheesy at all, now, was it, Mr Styles.”
He shook his head, “Well, would you like to come back to my hotel so we can hang out? Then would I be able to be forgiven?” He winked again as she pushed his head back again gnetly while she shook her own, dismissively giggling.
“Or maybe you could come back to my place, and you can assist me; just a little bit?” She winked too while he smirked, both of them flirting for the full game, no matter how uncharacteristic it may be.
“And what could I assist you with?”
“Now that would be telling.
As Harry followed her into the apartment complex, he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d forgotten someone like Alex; she hadn’t forgotten him.
He wondered how he could forget a laugh like that; light and care free as if it carried all the happiness in the world while it danced around in your head and with the breeze. How he could forget her eyes, their rich green pulling him under as the brown sparkled too, like stars. How he could forget the artist, the friend and the girl that made everything seem rose coloured.
Maybe it was the Raybans.
She seated him on her couch as he took in the painted walls, sketches pinned up here and there. She offered him a drink politely but he just watched all the characters communicate from their papery homes.
It was pretty damn cool.
"Harry? Could I draw you?” She asked, equipment ready on her lap, hair in a bun and eyes staring intently back at his, awaitng his answer.
“Why, well I mean, of course,” he replied feeblishly, dimples appearing, “It’ll be like Titanic, our own secret fairy tale.”
And so their story was told, Harry’s own self portrayed onto her paper, free of media perception and left with just the few bold streaks of pencil. Then there was Alex, her mind caught in between her reality and dreams as her hand flew gracefully around the page, the model opposing the threat to her logic, to her mind.
Two weeks; maybe it wasn’t enough.
Two weeks could change a lot of things and, of course, a lot of things could happen. They could get together, fall in love, declare an oath to each other for the existence for forever.
That could of happened, but that wasn’t them, that was too mediocre, to unoriginal.
Two weeks could also hold a lot of things, a lot of memories. A kiss, shared under the moon of Los Angeles on valentines day, perhaps? A date of roses and wine, too? Or maybe just a sketchbook, left to rest on the fourteenth of February for the brighter star of life.
Alexis, please be my valentine - until the last star’s fire shatters in your heart.
The fourteenth page, she knew what it meant, even if no one else did. She knew the promises that were protected within every word. Now all she needed to do was to return the promise to him.
Her love for him… It was shatterproof.