"I swear to God, Harry, if you don't stop messing up these lines, I'll..." Louis's voice trailed off as he threw his hands up in frustration. The studio was a pressure cooker, and Harry felt like he was about to crack. He stared at the lyrics on the stand, his vision blurring.
The days leading up to the New York show had been a blur of exhaustion and pain. Harry's secret had become his shadow, following him everywhere he went. The cutting had started as a way to cope with the pain of rejection, but now it was a compulsion, a silent scream that no one could hear. The studio lights were too bright, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes, a stark contrast to his pale skin.
"Come on, Harry, just one more take," the producer urged, his voice filled with impatience. Harry took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten in days, his only sustenance coming from the occasional sip of water. The tweets had gotten worse, the fans more demanding, and the band more distant.
When they finally finished, Harry stumbled off the stage, his legs shaking. He hadn't realized how much his self-imposed starvation had taken out of him until he was standing in the dimly lit hallway, the cool air of the air conditioning making him shiver. He leaned against the wall, feeling the chill seep into his bones. It was the only thing that felt real anymore.
Liam spotted him first, a concerned look crossing his face. "Mate, you okay?" Harry forced a smile, not meeting his eyes. "Yeah, just tired.The lie felt thick on his tongue, but he had become an expert at hiding his true feelings. Niall and Zayn exchanged a worried glance but said nothing, both knowing better than to push him.
As they piled onto the bus, Harry retreated to his bunk, the curtain drawn tight. The fabric was warm against his skin, a stark contrast to the coldness he felt inside. He pulled out his notebook, the pages filled with his pain and despair. He had started writing down his thoughts to keep track of his descent, but now it felt like a prison diary, a chronicle of his own destruction.
"What's up, Harry?" Niall asked tentatively, peeking into the bunk. Harry didn't look up, just nodded. "Nothing much, just writing some lyrics." The lie rolled off his tongue easily now. Niall lingered for a moment before leaving harry to write.
Once the bus was quiet, Harry made his decision. He slipped out of the bunk, his bare feet cold against the floor. He grabbed his notebook and his phone, just in case. "Imma go for a night stroll, need some fresh air," Harry whispered to the sleeping form of Niall. Niall mumbled something unintelligible, so Harry took it as permission.
The cool night air hit him like a slap in the face as he stepped off the bus. He took a deep breath,.
"Ahh, fresh air," Harry murmured to himself, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair. The glow from the street lamps cast long shadows that danced alongside him as he stumbled through the quiet streets of LA. His notebook was clutched tightly in his hand, the pages fluttering with every step he took. He wondered not even bothering to look we he was going at this point he just needed to get away from everything, even if it was just for a little bit.
Back on the bus, Louis stirred in his sleep, rolling over to grab his phone to check the time. His eyes snapped open when he saw Harry's empty bunk. "What the hell?" he mumbled, sitting up. He nudged Niall and Zayn, who were both dozing off. "Wake up, lads, Harry's gone."
Liam shot up, rubbing his eyes. "What do you mean, gone?"
"Just what I said," Louis retorted, his voice edged with concern. "His bunk's empty, and he's not in the bathroom."
Niall sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Maybe he went to grab something to eat?" he suggested, hopefulness in his voice.
Zayn didn't look convinced. "He said he wasn't hungry," he murmured, his brow furrowed.
