Author’s Note (please read before playing audio) -
Hello loves! So I wrote this for this contest. It’s a Harry Styles One-Shot and I would advise to listen to the audio to get the full effect. The audio is taken from here and I give full credit to the owner and their youtube video regarding this audio.
Without giving too much away, just would like to explain how in this one shot the ‘wind’ is really what love is. I figure you’ll understand it, but other readers may not. It’s important to read each word carefully and really grasp the concept to understand the whole one-shot. When Harry is flashing back to december & january & february he means of last year, not the present time. I apologize if the music does not last the entire time you are reading, please restart it when it ends (again to get the full-effect).
Now, I’d like to introduce my first One-Shot ever! Enjoy and thank you for considering me for this competition (: xx
please press play
“Wind” Harry Styles One-Shot (as narrated from Harry’s point of view)
Being in love is a funny thing, isn’t it.
It’s like when the wind hits your hair. You can try to stop your hair from getting tangled and sticking in your face, but it just won’t work. You’re forced to let the wind take you.
And strangely enough, you seem to like the way the wind runs through your hair.
Maybe it’s because of the pleasure it gives you. The mere pleasure of simply feeling something that has enough power to excite the world, the pleasure of knowing it can excite you as well, still as the miserable drones you remain to be.
The wind is a funny thing on some days, as it refreshes you from the hot sun. It cools your body and feels sensational. You feel refreshed, new again. Like nothing can hurt you anymore. You’ve finally found comfort and relief in something that appears to be so simple.
But like everything, there is a darker side to it. The wind makes you chilly sometimes. It blows harshly. Sometimes you’ll think it is going in one direction, but you’re wrong. It ends up swiftly changing its course and speed. Sometimes hitting you hard, knocking you off your feet. It makes you bitter and freeze on a dry winter day. It makes you just want to get out of it, stop letting it take its course and leave. Go somewhere else. Go to someone else. Just to get away from the wind, because it’s just all too much for you to handle.
She was the wind.
She was my wind.
But then she left.
Now I’m sitting here, alone.
They say Christmas time is a time to be joyful, a time to merry and celebrate. With the music, the presents, and the love. It’s the season of giving and a time of forgiving. But as I stare at the trees with their warm lights I can’t think of anything. I glance out the window at the snow softly falling and I’m expressionless. My mind is blank and my expression is dull.
I watch her as she gracefully floats, as the wisps of her stray blonde hair float in the gentle breeze.
The hair with the curls that I used to tug just to get her attention, even if the attention only lasted a second. The hair with the sweet smelling shampoo that used to satisfy my senses as I would bury my face in it, just to feel her warmth on the cold December nights. The hair with the tangled knots that I would stroke in the cold, early January morning as she peacefully slept with her fluttering eyelashes.
I continue to watch her. She smiles as she glides. Her crooked smile, with her pink lips slightly curling up to her right side of her face a bit more than the left.
The smile she gave me when I was drunk. That night in which I admitted that in fact, I did love her. The smile I saw as we jumped on the bed in the hotel room, chucking pillows at each other. The smile I saw as I kissed her forehead as we laid in bed intwined as I told her for the very first time that I truly loved her.
As I watch her, she quietly giggles. It sounds like a baby’s laugh, soft and sweet yet quiet and gentle all at the same time.
The sound that she made when I accidentally told her she was the prettiest girl I knew. The sound she made as we danced in the middle of the grocery store, as I would start twirling her down the isles. The sound she made as I carefully traced outlines in her back in the late December night before she drifted into a deep sleep, telling her that one day she would be Mrs. Styles.
I watch her eyes as she looks up. The light gray eyes that she always hated but I fascinated in their strange beauty.
The eyes I couldn’t stop staring at after I first met her last year in early December in that little cafe. The eyes that sparkled as we sang loudly driving in the snow as we tried to get lost. The eyes that would slowly close as I would quietly murmur a lullaby to her at the end of a long, hard day.
It’s funny to think that I made her happy like that one day. It’s funny knowing that somewhere along the lines, it went wrong. Something snapped. Something broke. But you then realize that you can’t break something without bending it too hard first.
The gentle breezes she once was to me turned to into harsh, bitter winds. The sky got darker as she got stronger. She realized that I wasn’t good enough for her.
And the truth was, I never was good enough for her.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that. But I let her drift in my winds. Until she finally realized she didn’t have to drift in my winds. She could fly on her own.
Once Christmas ends, the New Year starts. But what does that mean to us? It doesn’t feel much different. But it changed that winter. Instead of being a fun filled new year, it was just darkness and cold. Bitter winds arose and sleepless nights accompanied them.
Was it because I was too strong? Was it because I wanted more then I deserved? Because I blew her away or because I let myself be blown away by her? Was it because I didn’t hold my ground?
Or because I didn’t let her fly?
And I watch her now as she approaches him. I watch her as she says “I do”. I watch as she slips the ring on his finger. And I watch as he slips the ring on her finger.
I sit, silence in the air. The other boys merely stare at me, making sure I’m okay. They know how much she meant to me, hell how much she still means to me. Louis pats my shoulder, a reassuring gesture that this hell will pass over soon. I only stare. But behind my vacant stare is a man, alone, screaming at the wind.
I never understood her. The way she let go sometimes. How she couldn’t handle anything but then again she could handle everything.
I never understood the direction her winds would take me.
But I felt as if I was the only one who could understand its course best.
And I watch her now. Watch as the bright christmas lights reflect off her soft face. Watch as she smiles upon hearing the choir sing 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing’. Watch her as she notices the snow outside and giggles. Watch her as she takes his hand. Watch as they open the chapel doors to the clear autumn night, letting a cool new breeze in.
I watch as she lets his wind take her away in that cold, December night.
honestly, if louis would have included the word “love” or “xx” anywhere in his tweet, the larry shippers would have gone mad. no disrespect to any larry shippers, but do you see how ridiculous this is becoming now? where now even the littlest things have to be contained because people will overreact.