One Night Only - HS

1

HARRY POV

The loud sizzle of the frying pans.

The hiss of the deep frier.

The kettles going off.

The bubbling of boiling water.

Customers rush in and out while the employees behind the illuminated silver counter rush faster to get their orders ready.

You can hear the buzz of life all around you in this small sushi restaurant in the middle of LA.

The multiple, fast-paced conversations around me involving small talk in the corner booths and orders at the front counter make it easy to feel the energy around.

Everyone here is doing something: grabbing a quick lunch, picking up dinner for later, meeting for a date.

You can feel life all around you. It give me a buzz that my otherwise tired body feels deep.

I've missed it here, truly.

I place my order at the counter, trying to keep my voice as low as possible just incase anyone around is a fan. With sunglasses on and a grey hoodie over the blue ball cap, I'm hoping to be hard to recognize. It's not that I don't like meeting fans, I love it but today is just not the day. My new album dropped just last night, then we had the show and I just want to get in and out. I only stopped by cause this place is on the way to the studio, and I know I have a session booked there today, and between that and radio interviews, I'll barely have time for lunch.

And from what I can tell, this place is just as efficient as I need it to be.

I move over to the side to allow the next customer up. I pull out my phone, not even bothering to look up, as I lean against the wall and wait for my order number to be called.

I look at my Instagram feed and see the ridiculous amount of notifications I don't even bother to read

100+messages
100+ tagged photos
100+ mentions

My feed is covered in photos from last night's show. My closest friends who were there posted photos from the show of themselves, of me, and of the fans. I can't help but smile and still feel the immense high from playing my newest album live for the first time.

A few people come up to the counter, ordering their food before a name is called which rips me out of the trance a scroll through social media can put you in.

"Analyn?! Order number 555?!"

There's no fucking way.

I look up half a second too late and I only see the back of the woman in front of me. A distressed denim jacket on her shoulders and dark hair held together by a claw clip, it's hard to tell if it's her or not.

But I mean how many Analyns in LA can there be?

I lean myself off the wall and move a little bit closer to the mystery woman. Not too close to be directly behind her but close enough that I'll be in her line of sight when she turns around.

As soon as I step closer, the woman turns around. With her attention to her bag, she nearly walks right into me looking up at the last second.

"Oh I'm so sorry," her American accent speaks before she even realizes she's talking to me. "Oh my god-" she cuts herself off.

"Hi," I say lowly, the smile breaking onto my face immediately at the sound of her voice.

"Is it really you?" She whispers. Now I'm second-guessing if she's a fan that looks so similar to my Analyn or if this is my Analyn.