harry

"Thank you for this, for...everything." The girl whispers as she latches onto me. I nod into her neck before she pulls away and moves to be with her group of friends.

"Thank you, glad you had a good time. I love you."

"Oh...oh god yes please, I love you too okay I-I love you too."

The girls walk away with rosy cheeks and bright smiles as I run a hand through my long hair. Once they disappear, a security guard leans down to whisper that it's time to go. I bid the rest of the fans goodbye as each one of their faces fall in utter horror. I hear cries and calls for me to come back, to give them a hug or at least a kiss. I bite my lip and face away, not wanting to look into their broken eyes.

"Alright Harry, let's go. Where to?"

"I'm feeling a little party tonight," I say with a satisfied smile. Tonight's show was extremely successful, and I haven't properly celebrated my tenth Grammy win yet.

"Where to sir?"

"What about..." I ponder on a good club to drop by in, "Neon Grind?"

"I'll tell the driver."

I'm left alone with my thoughts as my security guard makes his exit. As I head out to the back door, I make a pit stop at the bathroom. The stadium itself is a maze, and I'm surprised that I managed to find a bathroom let alone the doors to the stage. My hands graze my freshly shaven chin as the men's room comes into view.

I open the door to be greeted by an empty room. I stand in front of the mirror, examining my physical features. With the makeup now gone, leaving only my natural appearance, I find myself taking notice to the small blemishes that seem to scatter my known to be flawless skin.

"Well..." I murmur to myself as I take one last look before turning away, "not everyone can be flawless."

In fact, no one is.

I mindlessly stagger my way to the black van awaiting my arrival. A few security escorts and groping hands later, I sit in the back of the vehicle, leaning my head on the leather seats with my blind thoughts filling the interior of the car.

"We're almost there."

"Thank you," I murmur, the update not really being needed. I suppose that the one downside of being recognized for fame is that people immediately assume you're incapable of doing anything. I can't begin to count how many times someone has asked me if I've wanted to be hand fed. I'm not an imbecile; I know how to operate and function like an everyday human being. Though this life makes me feel inhumane, I still harbor the ability to perform the tendencies of a person. In this case, I'm extremely capable of telling time.

By observing the constant traffic and hoards of people surrounding me, I can decode two things; one, I've arrived at Neon Grind, and two, others have noticed my arrival as well.

"Harry!"

The first shout comes from the left, where I happen to be sitting. I open my window, giving the girl behind the glass a small wave.

"Hello," I greet her with a smile.

"Harry! I--oh my god, you're--"

"Real?" I smirk, "Yes, I hope I am."

The car begins to pick up speed and I send her a sly wink before I disappear from her eyesight.

"She was a looker," I hear one of the guards speak up and I shrug,

"I have very specific types."

The car pulls into the back of the club, leaving me a private entrance.

"You'll be alright by yourself?"

"Yes," I answer, exiting the car with the little dignity I have left. Will I be fine by myself? I'm a twenty three year old man with a reputation of being diligent and nothing close to a party animal. Of course I can handle myself in a club. I open the car door, and cameras surround my path as soon as I'm visible. Lovely.

"Harry Styles! Tell us about Kendall Jenner?!"

Kendall Jenner is lesbian and one of my best friends. We have no relations and I wish people would stop feeding into the rumors and lies they're given.

"Are you looking for any engagement rings?!"

Our fake relationship is only two weeks in! Why would I even think of it?

I push my way through into the cloudy club, blessed with just a few partiers and no admirers. I show the bartender my ID and request a few shots of gin as soon as I'm in the private lounge. The man behind the counter nods and I take out my phone, scrolling through the endless notifications. Texts, tweets, tags, it seems to be on a continuous cycle. My entire life is a continuous cycle.

A small tray is placed in front of me and I smile, satisfied with the service. I thank the man that provided me with the alcohol and my first shot with ease.

My job is much more stressful than it looks. It's more than just getting up on any stage you're asked to perform on and signing girl's unmentionables. It's, making a name for yourself, and then maintaining it. It's years of media training, lying to the faces of those you love, and leaving things behind that you don't want to part from. The music industry is a fucking machine, and the artist is the power source.

I stare ahead, simply studying the brands of alcohol that are presented before me. Spirits that ranged from Jack Daniels to St. George to classic whisky, and the urge to surround myself in them all.

I fell in love with alcohol before I was legal; around seventeen. My best mate, Louis Tomlinson, had snuck me into a gay bar. Granted I wasn't gay at the time, I assumed it would be a good time.

Louis and I met each other when I was fourteen. He had a guitar, and I had dream. We used our hopes and tried to build something out of it. We stumbled into a few road blocks, but regardless, they're what got me here today.

And as for Louis? After San Francisco, I never heard from him again unless his name was in the news or plastered on the latest headline. Louis William Tomlinson III; a multi-billionaire, for all the wrong reasons.

We both grew up in off families, his of honor and mine of minuscule purpose. He always dragged me along with the wealthy life when we were younger, thinking it was all new to me. New to a point where it was foreign. But little did he assume, I knew what his life was like before he did. Money, drugs, and deceit. The three tiers to being a wealthy asshole.

He fell into it, and I got out before I could get in. I spent my time pouring my soul into music, trying to find some sense of a purpose in life. I didn't know where I would end up in the future, so I trusted my gut, and my guitar.

It was around my second year into my career when I tried weed for the first time. I watched some other rising artists partaking in the smoke fest, so I decided to participate this time around.

The first time, I got buzzed. Like, seriously buzzed. From what people told me, I was trying to climb on roofs.

So after that, I stopped smoking. It was obviously too much for my body to handle. Whenever I needed an edge, I moved to the next best thing; alcohol. My first show in Amsterdam on my first world tour was done when I was slightly tipsy. A few chugs of beer and I was in my prime, singing my heart out and stealing more attention than I ever have before.

The reviews for that show turned to come out really well. My performance that night had mixed with the cultural atmosphere of Amsterdam to a point where people were travelling elsewhere to see me.

So they started letting me drink on stage every once in awhile while touring in Europe. Like The 1975 when they play around. God knows how the USA would react. Maybe we could bring it there, if I went back to playing smaller venues.

Smaller venues happen to be more of my style. Small theaters, clubs, and anything in between were key areas for me to perform at my best. The stadiums and the Grammy's and the countless billions of dollars are fun and all, and sure I am spoiled rotten every once and awhile, but theaters are where I started, and it's always soothing to go back to where things are simple and straightforward. Get your guitar, get on stage, sing your set, have a drink or two, and get out.

With a few months off ahead of me, I start to consider doing my own small roundabout around the United Kingdom. It wouldn't hurt, going back to what I'm used to.

"Mr. Styles?"

I look up to see a bright pink martini being placed in front of me. The drink swishes as the glass hits the counter, and I look up at the woman that gave it to me.

"I didn't order this," I tell her, pushing it to the side. I'm not exactly a fan of martinis, being that it's a bit too sweet and fruity for me. I like things to be straight; no sugar coat. Though she rolls her eyes, popping her gum before she responds to me.

"I didn't get it for you," she snorts, "he did. Back corner, nice legs. A looker, if I say so myself."

She points to the other side of the bar, and I turn to find whoever she's directing me to. But it's not as if I could miss him once our differing eyes locked.

I'm swimming in the cerulean seas of his irises, trying not to drown as they blind me of all straight thoughts. My heart starts pounding out of my chest irregularly as my eyes descend to his pink rosy lips that contrast the complexion of his pale white skin. Though it's almost pitch black, I can make out his coy facial expressions from here. I can see the outline of the blonde hair lying flat on his forehead, the brown roots that peek from the back of his head. I may only be able to see darkness, but the brightness that surrounds the blonde eyeing me is unavoidable.

I'm compelled to get up and greet him, at least get a single word out instead of continuing to stare at him in a slightly disturbing manner. But what if he's just a fan, wanting my attention or an autograph or whatever else fans want these days?

But the blonde isn't even calling me over. It's almost as if he knows, from the way I'm looking at him alone, that I'm going to pick myself up and walk over to him.

So instead of waiting for him, I do as he assumes, and give him the benefit of the doubt. I stand up, taking the martini with me, and walk towards him.

My steps feel like I'm trekking through molasses, but nonetheless, I advance with my nerves increasing. What if the martini was for someone else, and the waiter just sucks at her job?

Regardless, I'm here now, and I need to speak before I, Harry Styles, make a fool of myself.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Damn.

"Beat me to it," I chuckle coolly, trying to redeem myself from stage fright, "then again, you initiated this meeting."

He nods, biting his lip and when I look down, I notice that waiter is right; his legs are legendary. His broad thighs are tempting, and the sudden urge to grip them as he sits on my face overwhelms me. My sexual tendencies can vary from kinky to pure vanilla move making, so it all depends on the person. This boy seems to hit the 'all of the above' category.

"You like my legs?" He smirks, "You can just tell me you know, no harm done."

I smile easily, sitting next to him and exhaling as I rest my hands on my knees. He has a small smile etched on his face and I can still see him glowing in this pure darkness. It's angelic, to see such a beautiful sight on this conventional night in a bar.

"I'm sorry for staring at you," I confess, "I just couldn't help it. Your appearance is loud, extremely unavoidable."

"Yeah," he shrugs, "sometimes my voice is too."

I laugh at that, liking his slight humor that he added to the conversation. His eyes move to the martini that remains untouched in my hand.

"Not a martini guy?" He asks, holding his hand out to retrieve it. I nod, returning it to him.

"The gesture was kind," I reassure him, "I just don't like the sugar coat."

"A straight alcohol type of guy, huh?" He beams and I agree.

"Good," he continues, "I like a man that can drink well."

"Thank you though; I wouldn't have come over without the martini's role in this."

He laughs, taking a sip of the drink I had rejected. Watching him use his mouth sends shivers down my spine. The things I would do to his body. Everything about him screams innocence. Innocence I want to corrupt left and right.

"I..." I try to continue the conversation, "so where do you live?"

"Around here," he responds calmly, "I come down to the club frequently. It surprisingly soothes my mind."

"Elaborate?" I offer and he nods, simply turning to stare at the people dancing outside of the lounge.

"It's like...how some people need a break, so they go back to what they're used to. This here, is where I've grown. Clubs, bars, parties, the whole array of places where you can waste yourself away. This is where I spend my days. I watch people waste their lives away in dirty old venues."

"For what purpose?" I ask him, peculiar as to why he likes to watch parties in action. It would depress me; I would long for the stage.

"That one day I'll find it in me to move on from this scene; this urban lifestyle I can't help but feel like running from."

"That's a lot to be on a mind as pretty as yours."

He bites that pretty bottom lip again, glancing at me endearingly.

"I can handle it. I know that."

The atmosphere that surrounds him is enticing, and I love the sound of his Irish accent flowing from his mouth. It adds to the intensity of presence.

"You're from Ireland, aren't you? I'm sorry, it's just that your accent is distinct." I ask, looking for conformation to my answer. He nods bashfully and I nod, coming back with a similar reply.

"I'm from the London area myself," I tell him, "but I figured you already know that."

"Mhm," he smirks, "I definitely knew, when I don't even know your name."

"You don't know my name?"

He snorts before laughing quietly and swirling the martini in his hand,

"Do I have to?"

And that's when I realize how lucky I am. He doesn't know who I am. He isn't captivated by my stardom or the money that circulates in my life. He isn't phased by my perks of living in fame.

"No," I continue, unmoved by my shock, "you don't. But I'm Harry."

"Nice to meet you Harry," he says with another golden smile. It's only been about a half hour, but I've managed to grow a bit fond of the man before me. Maybe, a bit too fond.

"So," I ask, making a move to place a hand over those irresistible thighs, "where are you headed after this?"

He raises his eyebrows, knowing exactly where I'm going with this proposal. I haven't been known for being the smoothest guy out there, but my dating game has been pretty alright, to be fair. When going after someone I'm physically attracted to, I can certainly be influential; fame or no fame.

"I'm not really doing anything," he says, placing his hand over mine, "not yet, at least."

"Why am I so attracted to you?"

"I'm not sure," he responds honestly, "I'm not really much of anything. Just a seventeen year old boy, trying to find his way."

"Seventeen you say?" I ask him, unfazed by his age, but simply curious. I've only been involved with people my own age. It's not that i have a certain type, but if I were to date someone younger, to a point of illegal, I would have to be completely and fully attracted to the person on one blow. They would be a complete exception.

I think I've found my exception tonight.

"What are you? My father?"

"No," I say, tugging at my bottom lip as I stare him down, "but I can be your daddy."

His lips part in surprise and I smirk, knowing that I have him locked in. No one can resist the word 'daddy', as I've learned over the past few years of being in the music industry. Especially someone who takes pleasure responding to 'daddy's girl'. It's a kinky thing, but it's seems to be so satisfying to have someone to please. Someone that makes your blood race whenever you call them by that sinful name.

No matter how hard some resist, they always come crawling back when daddy calls. And I can't help but want this enchanting, virtuous young blonde to be mine. He's virgin to my touch, and I'm determined to change that.

so the multimedia has me excited; this book is gonna be so different!

tell me;

it seems as if harry and niall are off to a good start; what do you think is to come? (hint; listen to the playlist on spotify)