Unlikely (H.S.)

eighteen*

~Harry~

As we walked into the Horseshoe Tavern, I could feel a familiar tension creeping up my spine. The place had that classic, gritty vibe—dim lights, a well-worn floor, and a stage where a band was tuning up. Normally, I'd be excited, but tonight I couldn't shake the anxiety that came with being in a public place, especially somewhere like this. I kept telling myself to relax, but it wasn't easy. The possibility of getting recognized hung over me like a cloud.

Harper, on the other hand, looked right at home. She seemed almost energized by the noise and the buzz of people around us, her eyes lighting up as she glanced around the room. When she caught me looking at her, she smiled, and I tried to mirror it, hoping she couldn't see how on edge I really was.

"This place is great," she said, her voice barely audible over the growing chatter. "Thanks for bringing me here, I didn't know what you'd want to do when it came to going out and stuff."

"Oh, don't worry about that, I'm just glad you like it," I replied, giving her hand a quick squeeze. "It's got that old-school charm and you know I'm a sucker for music."

We found a table near the back, a bit more secluded but still with a good view of the stage. I was hoping it'd give us a little privacy, but I kept glancing around, trying to gauge if anyone was paying too much attention to us. Harper seemed oblivious to my unease, or at least she was pretending not to notice, and I was grateful for that.

We ordered a couple of drinks, and I tried to immerse myself in the conversation. Harper was talking about some of the bands she'd discovered here, her excitement clear, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn't stop thinking about what might happen if someone recognized me and things spiralled out of control.

Just as I was starting to convince myself to relax, I saw them—a group of girls making a beeline toward our table. They were around our age, dressed to impress, and clearly excited about something. One of them, leading the pack, was holding a shot of tequila, her eyes locked onto me with laser focus.

"Harry Styles, right?" she said as they reached our table, her voice loud and confident. "We thought it was you! We got you a shot—live a little, have fun with us!"

I felt my heart sink as the rest of the group crowded around, giggling and giving each other knowing looks. Harper's expression tightened just slightly, but she stayed quiet, her eyes darting between me and the girls.

The ringleader pushed the shot toward me, her smile widening. "Come on, just one shot with us. We're huge fans, and we couldn't believe it when we saw you here."

I forced a smile, trying to be polite but firm. "I really appreciate it, but I'm good. Thanks, though."

Her smile didn't falter, and she leaned in closer, her voice dropping a notch. "Oh, come on. Just one drink won't hurt. We know you're a tequila guy—what's the harm in sharing one with us?"

Her friends were all around us now, their excitement palpable. One of them slid into the seat next to me, brushing her arm against mine as she laughed at something one of the others said. The whole situation was making me more uncomfortable by the second, and I could feel the tension in my shoulders building.

"Seriously, it's just one shot," another girl chimed in, her tone almost teasing. "We even ordered your favourite, Casa Migos—can't say no to that, can you?"

Harper was still watching quietly, her expression unreadable, but I could sense the shift in her posture. She wasn't angry about this, but more so incredibly uncomfortable, and honestly, so was I.

"Look, I'm really sorry," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "but I'm just here to have a quiet night with my friend. Maybe another time."

The girl next to me leaned in even closer, her voice taking on a flirtatious edge. "You're even hotter in person, you know that? We've been to so many of your shows—we're basically experts on you."