The Timeline

15.

June 2014:

The night something in their relationship changed in a changeless way started as anything but.

Harry is in his house, pretty miserable and tired after the concert, wearing close to nothing as he wanders around the ground floor, reveling in the heating system he has installed at the beginning of spring. It might be the beginning of June, but London can be a very unpredictable city when it comes to weather and temperatures. He is easily cold. And outside is pouring rain, the type of downpur that would easily soak you in less than a couple of seconds spent in it. Which he isn't doing and doesn't intend to do.

His plans for the night foresee nothing except for lounging around the house until he is tired enough to fall asleep. Usually, after a concert, he would go out and party and club with his bandmates, or people they had met in the city they were in, just to have some fun. This night, however, he is completely drained, both mentally and physically. He could spend the night with his family and friends, like he has done the previous two nights, but he can't find it in himself to even do just that.

It was a kind of night that needed to be spent indoors, doing absolutely nothing. Did that make him lame? Extremely.

In a matter of 4 days he will leave for the start of the European leg of the Where We Are Tour, so he could justify himself by saying he needs to enjoy the peacefulness and quietness of his home, since he got to spend so little time inside of it, always traveling around.

On top of being mentally and physically tired, Harry is also incredibly annoyed and mad, and unlike many other times, this time he can pinpoint exactly the reason he is. He doesn't need to look for it anywhere, because it's the same reason he has been in this exact mood since March. He thought he would've been fine during his three concerts in London, at Wembley Stadium, but then Niall has had to go behind his back and bring the very reason he has been annoyed for all these months. That's why he has needed to leave, right after the concert.

And now here he is, after a takeout dinner and a ginger ale. Wandering around the house, feeling the warm pavements under his bare feet.

He looks at the clock. It's about to be 2am. He's not tired yet. Isn't even close to be tired. There's an electrical wire that's been loosened inside of him, and it took its spark of life outside of a dressing room in Wembley, right after seeing the very person he has been annoyed with for the past 4 months or so, because no one has yet to elicit those type of reactions from him. It is laughable, he thinks, that he has been just waiting for something like this to happen, because he has been numb for quite some time, without her sparks touching him.

Now all he can think about - much like the past months - is her. Her, her, her, her.

He needs something to distract him, something to do. He needs to knock himself out, so he can escape the thoughts by sleeping, praying that she won't follow him into his dreams. He needs to find something to do, otherwise he will do something irrational, like seek her out and break a rule he has put for himself after finding out so abruptly that she has a boyfriend.

His phone rings. Insistently. It moves along the counter.

Finally, he thinks.

A call at 2AM usually means just one thing: booty call. Which is perfect for him. He wonders who it might be, but he doesn't really care. Anyone would be good, at this point of the night, to wash away the sparks, to tame them just a bit.

He walks up to the counter and looks down at the phone, ready to swipe his thumb over the screen as soon as he had put the name to a face, because sometimes it takes him a minute, with all the people he knows. Never with her, however, but she's who he needs to forget tonight.