Buttercup [H.S]

Chapter Six

Karma. Retribution.

Whatever it was, I was one hundred per cent being punished for every sin I'd ever committed. I was convinced of it, as I stared, frozen in shock, at the sight of Harry in front of me.

"Fucking hell," Kyle barks out a laugh, slapping my back with his heavy hand, jolting me forward and causing my drink to spill over the edge of my glass. "What are the chances?!"

I throw Kyle a tight lipped smile, trying to hide my annoyance.

But he's right, what are the chances that of all the places we'd end up it would be the same pub Harry Fucking Styles happened to be?

And that's how I'd decided that there had to be some higher power at play here. After all, I'd lived in Islington my whole life, and managed to avoid ever crossing paths with Harry since that day he'd been escorted from the school grounds. Not even so much as passed him in the street.

And yet suddenly ten years later, it's like he was everywhere, a spectre from my past haunting me in every dark corner.

I was vaguely aware of Kyle repeatedly bumping up to my side as he waffled on in my ear; clearly the drinks he'd had getting to him as he swayed unsteadily, but I wasn't listening.

The magnet that had been drawing me in to Harry ever since he'd appeared at the market that first day had firmly gotten me in its grasp because I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

He was wearing a sunshine yellow T-shirt, his black tattoos peppering down arms that flexed as he adjusted the white little sticks at the top of his guitar. I noticed both his golden rings and his nails sparkle under lights, painted in a pattern of pink and green.

Loose, slightly sweaty curls had fallen into his face before he flipped them out of the way to assess the crowd again with a beaming smile.

"This last one's called Woman," he drawled as the crowd erupted in approval, "Sing if you know it, dance if you don't."

With a nod to the drummer over his shoulder, she clicked her sticks together three times before the band began.

I felt the bass from the speakers vibrate straight through me, rattling my rib cage, as I finally tore myself away from Harry to observe the sight before me. The entire room of people began to sway and chant together.

A woman to my right had long, beachy blonde hair held back with a thin band around her forehead. She was wearing a pair of pink flower frame glasses that were large enough to cover her brows, and a bold, daisy print mini dress. She danced and swayed as another woman with short purple curls snaked her arms around her waist and placed a kiss to her shoulder.

The man to my left wore his hair in a tight bun on his head, flecks of glitter sparkling across his cheekbones and a pair of pearl earrings dancing from his earlobes.

The more I looked the more wonder I observed. Everyone here was so unique, so beautiful.

And suddenly a pang of nausea overtook me as I realised I was in a room full of people I'd probably have once made fun of. Suddenly painfully aware that Kyle and I didn't belong here.

I took inventory of the band members on stage, a man and a woman sat at a keyboard each adjacent from one another, another woman on the drums, the female bassist in front of her and a guitarist to the right of Harry who I recognised as the guy who had been helping Harry set up on his first day at the market.

They were all playing and moving so confidently. I was in awe. The thought of being on stage and observed in a room packed with people did nothing but incite fear within me, yet here they were, up there as if it was a normal and easy as breathing.