The window gave with a light click, a deafening noise in the quiet of the night. Harry winced, listening intently before he removed the knife from the small division between the sill and the previously locked frame. He slipped it into the waistband of his pants, the cold blade pleasant against the dull pain of his bruises. Harry slid the glass to the left, leaving an opening to the quiet alley below. He inhaled sharply. It had to be a good forty feet to the ground. He glanced behind him at his sheets, which had been knotted together to form a rope.
Harry stood up, making his way over to the bed. He grabbed the length of fabric, piling it in his arms. Tying it around the bed leg closest to the window, he tested its security, satisfied with its lack of movement after he had pulled at it with all the strength he could muster. He honestly expected no less with the entire bed frame nailed into the wall.
Dragging the rest of the rope to the window, he tossed it out of the opening. It looked to drop close enough to the ground, where it wouldn't hurt much to jump from that point. He grabbed his bag, giving the bare room a quick once-over before hoisting himself out of the window and onto the ledge. Harry took a deep breath, grabbing the makeshift rope, beginning to rappel down.
About halfway down, he lost his grip on the sheet and knocked against a second story window. A face appeared moments later. Nick. While he was kind to Harry, he remained loyal to Damon and his crew. Meaning that he had about two minutes before the rest of the building's inhabitants were after him.
"Styles?" He mouthed through the glass, surprise evident on his face.
"Shit," he muttered, giving Nick a flirtatious smile before proceeding to swing down quickly. He lost his grip again not even ten seconds later and fell to the ground.
Harry landed on his right foot awkwardly, stumbling. Paint shot up through his leg. He groaned, hobbling off.
The alleys were dark and smelled strongly of sewage pipes. Harry didn't know his way out of this part of London, but there was the faint noise of traffic in the distance, so he went with that, walking as quickly as he could with his injury. He suspected he had maybe sprained the ankle, possibly even broken it. He moved to jog, trying to hasten his movement. As soon as he moved to do so, he stumbled out of the sheer pain it caused him.
Realising there was nothing more he could do except walk, unless he wanted to inflict more pain, he continued on through the maze-like alleyways. He hobbled along, using the wall for support and pausing every few minutes to rest.
The shadows from the buildings surrounding him cast him in darkness, the moon shedding little to no light, dimming Harry's awareness of any sort of movement around him. He was solely relying on sound to alert him of any followers.
Harry glanced behind him, continuing to walk, only somewhat relieved to see only darkness in his wake. He turned a corner, grateful to see a streetlamp's dim light and an open street.
"What's a pretty thing like you doing in this part of town?" A voice spoke coolly from behind him.
Harry turned around slowly, removing his knife as he did so. It was a man, not one he recognized, thank God, leaning up against a wall, smoking a cigarette.
The man removed the cigarette from his lips, exhaling. He looked to be around thirty or so, dressed in all black. He began to walk over to Harry, smirking
"Just, uh, going on a stroll," Harry tried, swallowing. He gripped the knife tight.
"At one in the morning? Interesting." He eyed Harry up and down. "You don't look too good, darling, are you alright?" He asked, his tone light. He tilted Harry's chin up with his finger.
Harry leaned away, letting the man's hand drop. "I'm fine, just trying to get to a phone box," he said, trying to be polite.
"Why do you have that knife with you?" He nodded his head toward the weapon.
"My friend gave it to me," he lied.
'"That's not really an answer." He inched closer.
"So?" Harry gave the man his most intimidating glare.
The man hummed, amused. "I'll tell you what, sweetheart. Why don't you come back to mine, and I'll let you use the phone." He smirked, placing a hand on Harry's waist.
"I'm fine, thanks."
"It wasn't a question," the man whispered, moving his hand to grope Harry's ass, pulling him closer.
"I'm not legal," Harry lied.
The man's smirk widened.
"Oh come on, Landon, you can't fuck someone in the middle of the road. Especially someone that's not legal," a third voice said, pushing Landon to the side. "Or supposedly not legal." He eyed Harry. He looked young, around Harry's age, with dark hair and olive skin. He had a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants and his dark clothing had splatters of an indiscernible liquid. His dark eyes narrowed at Harry. "Why are you even wandering around these parts? You're practically asking for something," he paused to glare at Landon. "—to happen to you."
Harry didn't say anything for a moment. "I was just–" he began to say, trying to come up with something on the spot.
"I wouldn't bother lying either," the man added, dragging Harry into the light of the streetlamp, the two men cornering him. The man hummed, curious, studying Harry in the new light. He eyed Harry for a moment, realisation eventually settling across his beautiful features. "He is pretty, Landon, I'll give you that," he said, smirking. "But it seems that we've got ourselves a little Styles."
Harry grimaced as the words left the man's mouth.
Landon leaned in, examining Harry. He let out a low whistle. "Holy shit, Malik, you're right."
"I'm aware." The man, Malik, as Landon had called him, smirked. "Louis's gonna be thrilled."
