Sidemen Shots

Betrayal - Harry Focus

Inspo for this is from @wzshaw from their whumptober fic on ao3 (day 27).

After spending a long Winter day filming videos and doing forfeits, there is nothing Harry wants more than to escape the biting cold and spend the rest of the night snuggled up to his girlfriend. He gets lumped with returning the keys to the studio and signing the post-rental papers, meaning he is the last member of the Sidemen to leave.

Kind of unfair considering his transport home is his rickety, old bicycle, whereas all the others are either driving their cars or getting Ubers.

He exits the building to find the chain on said bicycle snapped and frozen. "For fuck's sake," he mutters to himself, rolling his eyes as he unlocks the bike and sets off walking home. He has the bicycle lock tucked safely in his black rucksack, switching between pushing his bike alongside himself and carrying it a few feet at a time. "Of course this happens today of all days."

Fortunately, there is no promise of rain at any point today, as the low temperature is already suffocating. His fingers, despite the gloves he is currently wearing, are numb in a tingly way. He would be a lot warmer, and be able to get home a lot faster, if only he could actually ride his bike. He's not one hundred percent certain whether someone defiled it on purpose or it broke earlier in the day when he was securing it, but either way it's absolutely rotten luck. The crappy thing is always rather fragile in cold weather; there is a reason why his girlfriend is always telling him to just buy a new one.

The thing doesn't really have any sentimental value, either, Harry just doesn't want to bother getting a better one for some reason. Part of him can't imagine the idea of parting with it after having it for so many years, but in the grand scheme of things he doesn't really care. (He's kind of hoping that Simon bringing it up out of the blue earlier in the day was a hint that one of the boys is planning to get him an upgrade for Christmas or something.)

Thirty-five minutes after first setting off on his dreaded walk home, Harry stops dead in his tracks. He stands stock still as he watches a group of young women climb into an Uber parked on the side of the road. Why did he not order himself an Uber? How did he genuinely not think of that as an option? It must be the cold getting to him: all he could think about at the time was his frustration and disbelief. Those feelings, paired with his desperate need to get home to his girlfriend so he can finally relax after a tiring day, clouded his rational brain. Walking fifty minutes had, at the time, presented itself as the only plausible option at this late hour. (When he pulls his phone out to check the time, Harry realises it is barely even half seven. Arguably still in the degs of the evening.)

As the Uber with those four women in it drives away, Harry sighs. "There's only fifteen minutes left. No point getting a lift now."

Those next fifteen minutes, if possible, go slower than the previous half an hour. The frigid air gnaws at Harry's limbs incessantly, his thin pyjama bottoms and three upper layers doing nothing to shield him. He swears there is a pounding sensation starting up in his temples. His bike is getting heavier by the step.

Eventually, Harry turns the corner to his road. If he physically could, his body would loosen up at the sight of his building, relieved, but instead it continues to stubbornly cling to its tenseness due to the terrifying lack of warmth around him. He really can't wait to get inside.

He approaches the block of flats with an intense determination, his cheeks red and burning. Irritated from the turn of events, he carelessly drops his bike near the main entrance before pulling out his keys and using his fob to scan himself in. Screw the damn bike! (On second thoughts, Harry just spent nearly an hour dragging the damn thing home with him. He keeps the door held open as he turns around to pick the bike back up and bring it inside with him.)