offshore | h.s

47

HARRY STYLES

The morning sun slips through the gaps in the curtains, casting a hazy glow across the unfamiliar room. My stay in LA, originally meant to be a week, got extended by another seven days. Today is the final stretch, the last meeting that holds the key to my freedom from this city of dreams and chaos. And with tomorrow being my birthday, its even more of a reason to leave.

As I glance at the clock, the numbers tick away, a countdown to the moment I can finally board that plane back to Watch Hill, back to Gen and Avery. The weight of the past two weeks hangs heavily on my shoulders, and the bottle on the nightstand serves as both a companion and a crutch. It's become a routine, this morning ritual of chasing away the anxiety with a bitter elixir.

The move, the impending tour, the twins, and the relentless demands of the new album—all of it converges into a storm inside me. Alone in this Airbnb room, the reality of my life is sinking in. Today marks a turning point, a pivot towards the familiar embrace of home.

As I splash water on my face and stare at the reflection in the mirror, I wonder if the familiar contours will ever be the same again. The room feels smaller, the air thicker, and my thoughts louder. Each sip from the bottle is a temporary reprieve, a fleeting escape from the mounting pressure.

Dressed and ready, I gather my scattered belongings, the weight of anticipation hanging in the air. The meeting awaits, the last hurdle before I can break free from the confines of this temporary haven. 

As I pull up to the meeting venue, the weight of the upcoming tour presses on me. Jeff outlines the rehearsal schedule for the coming month in meticulous detail. His words, though clear and purposeful, seem to float around me like distant echoes. I nod mechanically, my mind elsewhere, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts that have been my constant companions these past weeks.

The plans are strict, each day accounted for, every hour a puzzle piece in the grand design of the tour. 

The meeting wraps up, and I find myself standing in the doorway, gazing at the faces of my dedicated team. Gratitude swells within me, and I offer sincere thank yous to each person who has been tirelessly working alongside me.

The Los Angeles sun paints long shadows across the pavement as I step outside, and the weight of uncertainty still remains in my chest. For some reason, I thought this final meeting would have brought me some type of peace, but I was wrong. 

I make my way back to the car, and as I settle into the plush seat, my fingers gravitate toward my phone. 

I hover over Niall's number.

It's been a while since our last conversation, life's whirlwind having created a subtle distance between us. I'm nervous to call him, I consider retreating from the vulnerability of the call. 

What would I even say?

But it's too late. I hit the call button, and as the line connects, my heart quickens, and for a fleeting second, the temptation to end the call claws at me. Then, on the brink of hesitation, Niall's voice breaks through—warm, familiar, a lifeline in the uncertainty. 

"Harry, hey!" he says, his tone holding a gentle familiarity that instantly eases my nerves.

In the silence that follows, my mind races, attempting to articulate the thoughts and fears that have been haunting me.

"Hey, Niall," I begin tentatively, my voice betraying a hint of nerves. "Are you in LA right now?"

Niall's response comes swiftly, his tone carrying a lighthearted note, "I certainly am."