He wakes up to his phone ringing incessantly.
That, he’s used to – he likes to sleep in precisely on the days when Niall needs something from him at seven in the morning. It takes him a minute to roll over so he can reach for his phone, bleary-eyed in the darkness.
The darkness. It’s still dark.
His heart immediately flies up into his throat, beating heavy like a hammer as he fumbles out of the sheets and onto the floor, where a ridiculous picture of Niall is lit up to let him know who’s calling.
“Hello,” he gasps out when he finally manages to pick up. He’s out of breath, and on the other end of the line, Niall sounds the same.
“Jesus Christ,” is all he says, so comically exasperated it almost makes Harry laugh. “It’s been twenty minutes, I thought you were dead.”
“I’m here, what happened?” He leans back against the bed, and pulls his knees to his chest. He’s sure he’s not going to like this.
Niall takes a breath, and doesn’t say anything.
“It’s the stalker, isn’t it,” Harry says. Every time he almost manages to forget. “What happened? Do they know where I am?”
“No,” Niall breathes out. “I mean, maybe, but I think I can safely say they don’t want to murder you.” He doesn’t sound the slightest bit relieved.
Harry has to do everything in his power to stop himself from crying. The anxiety is so, so awful, this feeling of not knowing what’s hanging over him, whether he’s safe. It’s been draining him so slowly and steadily he had barely realised, but now it hits all at once like an avalanche.
“I texted you the picture.”
Harry’s hands bypass shaking and go straight to numb, clumsy on the screen while he navigates to the right app. It’s sitting right on the top, without a caption. He takes half a breath and opens it, like ripping off a plaster.
It’s a photo of Niall’s laptop screen, covered in fingerprints. The subject line of the email reads:
LIVE IN THREE DAYS UNLESS YOU LEAVE HIM
Harry’s stomach twists in on itself. He expects something like the image he scrolls down to, but seeing the real thing makes the entirety of his body feel like it’s shutting down.
It’s a front page mockup, red and black and white, terrifyingly real. HARRY LIES, it says in tall letters, and Inside singer’s secret marriage twists like a pit of snakes right underneath. Harry chokes on a sob.
“H, listen,” Niall is saying, quiet under the pounding in Harry’s ears. “I’ll do my hardest to take care of this, I promise you.”
“I didn’t even,” Harry says, but the words are slippery on his tongue and come out jumbled. “I didn’t even read it.”
“You probably should,” Niall replies, low and serious. “Just so you know what we’re up against.”
“I can’t—I—,” Harry stutters, fighting to speak through these terrified half-sobs that are climbing up his throat. “God, hold on.”
He blinks the mist out of his eyes, and does his best to focus on what’s in front of him. Even then, only snippets of sentences make it through and actually register – Harry Styles, Marcus Ward, engaged, already married, lies, deceit, fame.
Louis Tomlinson.
“They know,” he chokes out, as the truth hits him like one freight train after another. He has to set his phone down on the floor, and put his head between his knees; his lungs hurt, his head pounds, and he gets the tell-tale feeling of the room closing in on him. “They know about—they know Louis’s name—“
YOU ARE READING
Got The Sunshine On My Shoulders || larry stylinson
Fanfiction© hattalove on ao3 Five years ago, Harry Styles left his tiny hometown to make it big as a recording artist. He didn't have much regard for what he left behind - A life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone. Now, Harry h...
