Laurel walked out the door and Harry crumpled to his knees. He had not a clue as to what was going on. She'd barely spoken a word while she was in his house but was clearly distressed.  At first he figured she was just torn between him and Willy. Laurel was a good girl, he was surprised that she had even come on to him while she was clearly with someone else. Whatever was going on though, it seemed a bit grander than just a decision between two boys.

Harry hauled himself up from his knees and took a note from every romantic comedy his family had 'made' him watch. He opened the door and went after her. "Laurel!" he rushed into the rain and felt the chill of the stones seep into his bare feet. He ran anyway.
"Laurel," he called louder, but by the time he reached the street he couldn't see the silky black fall of her hair. There were cabs on the street, but he couldn't possibly stop them all, had no hope of picking the right one. His shoulders deflated and his head dropped on his neck.

He trudged back into his house and nearly cried when he caught her scent in the air. All that was left to do was try. He picked up his phone and pulled up her contact. "Laurel, I've no idea what is going on. Please let me know you are ok. I'm here, whatever you need," he meant every word but was sure this was all just to little to late.

Harry made his way back up to his bedroom and continued his packing. He had an early morning flight to begin promo. It was the culmination of a year of extremely hard work that he was proud of. But, it didn't sit right.

The phone was in his hand before he had made a conscious decision to call. "Jeff, something has come up. I need a day to try to fix it. Can you make it happen."

Harry could hear Jeff's sigh from 4,000 miles away. " you have an extremely early interview in two days Harry. I can't change it. If we cancel it'll diminish your credibility. Zayn has already burned some bridges for you."

Harry grit his teeth. "Can I take a red eye, I'll go straight from the airport to the appointment."

"It's that important?" Jeff asked.

"It's that important." Harry said with unmistakable intent.

"As your manager, I advise against it. As your best friend, I'll make it happen. Hope it works out with Laurel," Harry could we jeff's grin.

"Who said anything about Laurel?"

"Harry, I know you think you hide things well, but you are as subtle as drunken toddler. I've heard her name nonstop lately. I'm booking you flight out tomorrow night. Don't miss it," Jeff hung up and Harry threw his phone down before changing into street clothes, his ever present grey hoodie, sunglasses and a coat.

The black SUV purred to life beneath him and he text Ed.

"Do you know where Laurel is?" Harry rushed out.

"No mate, she called in today, sounded like proper shit," ed confided.

"Look, I know this is a shit request, but I can't find her and need to. I need Willy's number."

"The hiss ed exhaled made harry shake his head, "I'm worried. She came by and broke down and left. Something is wrong. Never seen her act like that. Please Ed," Harry's voice had an edge he hadn't heard since his mom told him no about trying out for ex factor until he passed his GSCE's. This was a tad more serious.

"Ok, I'll send it to you. Don't fuck it up mate, he's good for her," he warned.

Calling Willy was a last resort, he went to her apartment first. He banged on the door until the neighbor came out, a curse on her lips until she got that shocked look people got when they looked at him.

"Have you seen Laurel, the girl who lives here," he asked politely.

"No, been home all day, she left early," the blonde returned.
Harry turned to go, "Harry, can I have an autograph. I love you," she flapped her hands and he saw it coming. He really didn't want to, but he stopped and signed and kissed her cheek.

"Please, tell Laurel I was here."

"I will, I even have proof," the neighbor girl hopped onto her toes.

He wanted to smile, but, bone came too.

After he left her place, he was at a loss. He was shit, and he knew it, but when you couldn't find the girl you loved and realized you had no idea about where she might be, who she saw, where her family was, you realized how shit.

He tried social media and sent Hail Mary messages to several people who appeared on her pages often. But, who would believe Harry Styles was messaging them. It was funny, it was apparently so many people's dream, but no one believed him when he did it.

When no leads seemed promising, he headed home and opened a bottle of whisky. He needed a pain eraser. He steadily made his way through the bottle.

By 3AM, no one had gotten back to him and he was a drunken mess. Harry stumbled to a guest room, he didn't want to see the mess they had left behind any more. Her wet clothes were strewn about and his bed look like it had seen a reconciliation.

When he woke up, hungover and humbled by the pool of vomit nearby, he opened his phone with hope of something.

None of his messages had been returned. He tried Laurel once more. It went straight to voicemail. Harry flopped his way through a shower and left with wet hair, running through a drivecthru and choking down fast food to try to cover up
Last night' sins.

At laurel's apartment there was no answer. It was nearing on 3 and he needed to get his bags and go. Harry swallowed his pride and climbed into his truck to make the call.

"Ello," the pretty slur met his ears.

"Hi, is this Willy?" Harry forced out.

"Yes, who is this?" Willy responded.

"This is Harry, Harry Styles. Listen, this is strange, but, I can't find Laurel and I'm worried about her."

"Laurel, why are you looking for her?" Willy's voice had a bite to it now.

"Um....I saw her yesterday and she was upset. I just want to be sure she's ok," Harry finished lamely as he turned over his engine.

"I have not seen her, or heard from her. Did you upset her? How do you know her? She has been different since we met you at the show?" The accusation was e hard to ignore.

"No, no mate, she was already upset when I saw her, she was more upset when she left though--"

"Listen," Willy interrupted, "Harry," he enunciated the second syllable disdainfully, "I will find My Laurel. And if she wants to speak with you, I'm sure she'll call." And the line disconnected.

"Fuck," Harry hit his wheel, that door was closed. Could he have fucked this up more. He drove home distracted and grabbed his bag. When his car arrived he shoved it into the boot and did a final check that the house was shut up for the two months he'd be away.

On the way to the airport and while he waited for his flight, he texted and called Laurel.

He drank his way to sleep again as the plane took off. Harry made it to the interview, but it was not the conquering success it should have been. His bloodshot eyes and whiskey breath led to more press speculation than when he'd gotten on that yacht.

His debut single came out and was met with acclaim and sales. Thank god, because his promo was abysmal. He was distracted and half drunk for a month. If the music hadn't been so strong, he may have been classified another boy band flop.

Still no word fromLaurel.

The first month of his solo career it was another pill to take the pain away. Another drink to erase the pain. All his hard work was buckling and he felt like even people who should be proud weren't.

After 5 weeks of bad behavior he woke up to a cold glass of water thrown on his face and Gemma's cold eyes.

"Get up, you arse," she said when she saw him turn back into the pillow.

In the living room of his hotel suite sat his mum, Gemma, and Jeff.

"Alright, enough feeling sorry for yourself my boy. What in the name of God is going on?" His mother asked without so much as a hug.

"I can't find her, she's disappeared," he whispered.

"Who?" Gemma asked.

"Laurel."

"Who," Gemma asked again.

Harry shook his head and began, "my, my, I don't know, the girl I love. I broke her heart I think. But the. She seemed ok, moved on, but then she came to me and something was wrong. But I can't find her. No one seems to know where she is or they are not telling me. I'm so fucking worried."

"This the girl you came home to lick your wounds about, love?" His mom asked.

Harry nodded.

"You couldn't fix it?" Anne's voice was soft.

"I don't even know what to fix," Harry croaked.

"Harry," Jeff sat up straighter, "do we need to get you some help buddy? We," he pointed to himself and the seated ladies seated beside him, "are worried about you."

"No, no, I'll pull it together," he promised. The conversation continued and over room service he explained the situation to his mom and sister. He never wanted to see their disappointment so plainly again.

Jeff went home and his mum and sister stayed the weekend. On Sunday, after he walked them to the door, he hugged them goodbye tightly saying his thanks. Gemma pressed something into his hands.

"Maybe find a better way to cope, arse face."

He looked down after she boarded the lift and found a new leather bound journal.

It took a few days, and a radical alcohol flush, of both his body and hotel room, but Harry was feeling better. He still hadn't heard from Laurel. But he'd found comfort in the writing, a new pain eraser. He wanted to check on her, but couldn't find it in himself to call Willy again.

He returned home in a few weeks. Harry promised himself he'd find her then.

Two days before his flight home, Ed texted him.

He'd found Laurel, but the press piece attached broke Harry's heart further.

Harry called Jeff, he needed to get home now,
Somethings could not wait.