Pilot

444 7 8
                                    

August 12th, 1969.

"It's gonna be fine, mum!" Harry chuckles and gives his mum a kiss on the cheek before lifting his suitcase off the carpet and swinging it over his shoulder.

"Can you at least call when you get there? I get so worried..."

"Let him go, now, will ya? Have fun then, Harry!" Robin, Harry's stepfather, says with a big smile.

With a last hug from his mum and Robin, Harry's off. He's walking down to his best friend Lizzie's house from here, and then they're going down to the train station to pick up Tom. Just them three, on a plane, to the States! Harry is ridiculously excited. He's shaking his hair out of his face, the brown locks dancing against tanned skin. His hair has finally reached his shoulders and if it wouldn't be for the heat, he would be thrilled. Unfortunately, England is currently in a heat wave and Harry's neck curls are soaked in sweat by the time he reaches Lizzie's house.

He politely rings the doorbell, instantly hearing Lizzie's mum call out.

"ELIZABETH! Open the door, will you, love?" Harry hears from inside and then a wild head of bleached blonde hair appears.

"Oh, hiya H!" She says with a wide grin and in the next second, something brown comes running towards them.

A wild cocker spaniel dog jumps up on Harry, trying to lick his face and yeah, basically anything in sight. Harry just laughs as Lizzie tries to pry her dog off of him.

"Minnie, stop it, I said! Don't jump, hey, get down!"

After Minnie comes Lizzie's dad Paul, a big, pink man with a huge moustache and crazy eyebrows, and he softly pushes Minnie aside to greet Harry.

"Harold!" He says, smiling widely as he puts his big steak of a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Let's go then, we don't wanna be late for the train, do we?"

Harry follows Lizzie's dad to the brand new Ford Zodiac they have parked as Lizzie tells her mum goodbye and tries to push Minnie inside. Meanwhile, Paul chucks Harry's suitcase into the boot, waiting patiently for Lizzie. Harry just knows that this is Paul's most prized possession and he tries not to let his dirty, worn shoes touch anything except the floor of the car as he hoists himself into the backseat. Lizzie comes flying in only a minute after him, almost elbows him in the side as she pulls the car door closed. Paul jumps in, lights a cigarette, and starts the car.

The ride down to the small station goes fast, and Harry's happy to get some air in his neck as the windows are wide open in the August sun. Lizzie sings loudly to the radio, playing the Who on full volume. Paul's a fan too, humming softly as he smokes.

Tom is already situated on a bench at the station when they arrive. His ginger hair (actually, it's strawberry blonde!) flies in the wind and he's wearing a pair of light brown trousers with one of those abstract t-shirts that he just seems to find. A hat sits waiting on his weekend bag, as usual. If you see Tom without his hat, risk is, it's not actually Tom.

Harry and Lizzie jump out of the car simultaneously, Harry almost stumbling on the edge of the door, Lizzie bouncing out on the pavement. Luckily, Paul is busy loading their bags out of the car.

"Thomas", Paul says politely, but a bit warningly, not at all as fond of Tom as he is of Harry.

Tom only nods, smirking slightly at Harry and Lizzie. Harry goes to put his bag down next to Tom as Lizzie and Paul hug goodbye.

"Alright, kids, don't try everything they give you, yeah? And for Christ's sake, don't lose each other!"

"We won't, dad, now, go!" Lizzie laughs, swinging her bag around in a pirouette.

And with those words, Paul drives away in the shining Ford, making dust fly around the three youngsters.

"Oi oi, lads, time to get absolutely slaughtered, innit!" Tom exclaims as soon as Paul is out of sight, and Harry just laughs as Lizzie gives him a smack across the head.

"Oi, oi, yourself, you absolute plonker, I'm still not a lad, if you haven't noticed!"

"Ouch, woman, for fuck's sake, I'm just having a laugh! See, H is laughing? It's called a joke!"

"I thought a 'joke' was what they called people like you, Tommy", Lizzie retorts and Harry just breaks them apart before an actual fight starts.

"Oi, oi, both of you lovely people, if you haven't forgotten, we're actually on our way to New fucking York, and thus, no point to fight!" Harry says happily, putting his arm around Lizzie and nudging Tom in the side.

And for the first time, Lizzie and Tom actually shut their mouths at Harry's words. They walk across the parking lot in the train station, because it might be a train station, but the best and cheapest way to go to Manchester from here is to take the bus. Or well, in this weather, it might be an oven, who actually knows?

They board the bus, pulling out a few pennies for the bus driver as they step into the scorching hot bus, and within minutes, they are on their way. Harry listens to Lizzie and Tom fight about who is actually better, Jefferson Airplane or Hendrix. He doesn't agree with either of them, clearly knowing Janis is the best of them all, but keeps his mouth shut. It's better that way, anyway, considering Lizzie never gives in and Tom is way too loud.

"H, what do you think?" Lizzie asks then, of course drawing him in.

He looks at her, knows that her sweet, hazel, doe eyes are begging him to just agree with her on Jefferson Airplane. He shakes his head, making his damp curls bounce as he looks over to Tom. Tom's biting on a nail, worried of course that Harry is not going to take his part, is going to laugh and agree with Lizzie. Harry contemplates for a bit to agree with Tom just to make him happy, but it's not worth it. Sharing a tent with Lizzie for three days without her being mad at him is bad enough.

"You know, you both are utterly and absolutely wrong", Harry laughs and drags a hand through his hair.

"Obviously, Janis beats both of them by far", he continues, pointing at a pin on his bag with Janis' face on.

He watches both of them sigh, clearly not satisfied with his answer, and then proceeds to pop a mint in his mouth, smirking at his own smugness. He looks at himself in the reflection of the window, carefully looking over the armpits of his dark blue t-shirt to see if they show how much he's actually sweating, but luckily, no sign of it. He then leans back and prepares for thirty more minutes of his best friends fighting over something pointless, closing his eyes and thinking to himself: I'm going to Woodstock. 


//Hi y'all! Tell me what you think pls :)

3 days of soup, sex and sun salutations [H.S]Where stories live. Discover now