Ice Cream // A Harry Styles OU

Part 1

Rain. Persistent, unabated, never-ending, relentless rain. It was all you'd heard and seen all day and you were sick of it. You'd never really minded it until today, but thanks to one shit-show after another, you were ready to relinquish it. You wanted it gone. Your summer holiday was already off to a bad start.

"Bad day?"

Where to begin?

A cabin in the Scottish Highlands had sounded like the perfect escape for a four-week break away from the city. You had work to do, deadlines to meet, but at least you could do it without being interrupted. Without the sounds of pedestrians and car horns and wayward seagulls and bike bells. Yep, the Highlands still sounded perfect, but the endless string of catastrophes made you wonder if it really was perfect or rather just a ridiculous indulgence.

No. You deserved this break. Bad day or not, the holiday was needed.

When your brother had told you a year ago that he'd bought a holiday home in the Highlands you hadn't exactly been surprised. He and his wife had been talking about it for years, and he'd finally earned enough money through his music career to be able to do it. Sadly, with your own deadlines and packed schedule, this was the first time in said year you'd been able to find time to go.

Apparently the all-knowing entity in your life had other plans.

You were supposed to come by plane first thing this morning, but your car had broken down on the way to the airport and you spent 3 hours waiting for the AA to rescue you. You had then managed to rearrange your flight to a later one, but because of the weather, all other flights out of Bristol had been cancelled for the day. You then spent a ridiculous amount of money on a 10 hour train from Bristol to Inverness with a change at Edinburgh in between, and were now forking out on a taxi to take you the rest of the way.

At that particular point in time, a cabin in the middle of nowhere seemed like a dreadful fucking idea.

"Could say that." You managed weakly.

The driver chuckled to himself and you tried not to squeal. "Nearly there now. Fifteen minutes or so."

There is a God!

Forty-five minutes later he finally stopped in the middle of a single track road. Your eyelid had been twitching for half that time, and a headache was forming in your left temple.

He turned over his shoulder and flashed a grin. He was missing an incisor and three of his other teeth were gold. "This is as far as I can get you. Cabin is at the top of that hill."

You gave him a look, then peered out the window. All you could see was rain and mud and a black night. "What hill?"

"You'll find it. Fare is sixty."

"Sixty quid?"

He nodded. "Scottish if you've got 'em. I'm a collector."

"We agreed on forty. And no, I don't have any bloody Scottish notes." A Scottish man collecting Scottish money! On what planet?!

"No, sixty."

You muttered expletives under your breath and shoved the money at him over his shoulder.

"Y'alright gettin' your own case, love? Don't really want t' get wet."

"Un-fucking-believable."

In the shittiest, snappiest manner you could muster, you got out of the car and retrieved your luggage from the boot, slamming every door you touched. The driver immediately pulled off once the boot was closed, pipping his horn.

"Wanker!" You yelled after him.

Finding your bearings, you located the 'hill' he'd been talking about, forcing down your frustration at the size of the damn thing as you started up the pathway. You dragged your suitcase behind you through the mud, grateful it had a hard and waterproof plastic exterior. At least after all this you'd be able to take a shower and change into clean clothes.