Harry Styles Imagines Book 2

Coachella

I just met Harry freaking Styles.
Now, you may wonder how this wonderful, life-changing, crazy experienced happened to someone like me. And I'll get to that in just a minute.
But first I'm going to tell you one thing. My throat fucking hurts.
- 4.5 hours earlier –

"He'll be on soon, right?", Dom elbows me to get my attention.

Ouch.

I put my phone back in my wine-red, leather pocket, ignoring the sweat making my hands clammy with nerves and the nervous excitement making my chest tingle as well as the slight annoyance towards Dom. The elbow was a little too much "I think so."

"You're totally freaking out, babe." "I am not.", I argue, scowling at him for calling me out.

Of course, I'm freaking out. It's him. Who on earth wouldn't be buzzing with excitement? We haven't been standing around here sweating our butts off for me not to be excited.

There is actually no feeling I can properly compare to being surrounded by hundreds upon hundred people who are all here for the same reason I am. No matter the different lives and stories, there is one thing we all have in common.

Dom pinches my side, looping his arm around my waist before he leans in to whisper in my ear, "You don't think he is going to spot you and call you backstage to fuck you, do you?" The mocking tone of his voice has me rolling my eyes, squirming away from him to the best of my abilities. But the tight crowd surrounding us makes it more difficult than I anticipated.

"Shut up, will you?" I don't have the patience for him to be making fun of my 17-year-old self and her fanfiction phase. "I regret ever telling you about that."

I can practically hear the smirk when he pulls my body back to his side, "If you don't go home with him, there is always room for you in my bed."

"You wish you were that lucky, don't you?", I remove his hand from my waist firmly by his wrist, patting his pale cheek condescendingly.

He doesn't get the chance to cover up the disappointed look on his face. Because as he opens his thin lips to do just that, the lights go out and the angel-like sound of the intro has over one hundred thousand people yelling and cheering in pure excitement.

Myself included.

My ears are ringing with a combination of the insane, deafening volume of everyone around me and the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

But I swear my heart stills in my chest and the world stops spinning when his face is suddenly on the big screen and his voice is booming through the speakers.

"We're going for it! Are you ready!"

I'm not sure whether I'm alive right now or in heaven.

I think heaven might be more realistic seeing as a literal angel is making his way down the catwalk. Pink leather pants hug his long legs perfectly. The cheeky H S on his ass still has me pinching myself as well as the strawberries on the front of the pink vest.

I can barely spot him from where I'm standing, so I am thanking whoever invented TVs for the massive screens with him splayed out all over them.

The intro to what I'm assuming is Kiwi has a chill running down my spine. The drums and guitars feel like something simply out of this world.

It feels like they're tapping into something powerful and compelling. In a way that you can't do anything but just try to absorb it the best you can.

Never mind that he is punching the air, holding a water bottle in one hand as he waits for his cue to throw the water it holds at. Spinning in circles as he lets himself get lost in it all again.