baby [h.s.]

twenty eight

 [note: i feel like i'm sinning but that's the song i listened to when i wrote this, specifically with one part that you can probably guess when you're reading, so if you want to listen...]

           The next day was back to business. Work was uninteresting; it was busy work following the weekend's events. It was as Harry and I were leaving the building that Riddle stopped us and invited us to a pub with some of the other guys.

Harry looked back at me and quirked an eyebrow, and I shrugged.

"Why not?" I said.

Riddle nodded. "See you in a bit then, yeah?"

I nodded and waved. Harry then led the two of us off and out of the building. The ride home went by quickly and we went our separate ways back at the building to get ready.

When I reached my flat, I quickly stripped myself of my work clothes and threw on some black skinny jeans and a grey sweater. My hair was a tangled mess, so I twisted it up into a bun. On my way out of my room, I slipped some black toeless booties onto my feet. Harry was ringing my cell; he was waiting for me in the lobby.

"I'm coming," I shouted, into the receiver.

Harry laughed. "Chill out, Till,"

Shaking my head, I hung up the phone. I swiped my purse from the kitchen counter and picked my keys up. With a sigh, I left my flat.

"What are you stressed out over?" Harry said, once I reached the lobby.

"Didn't want to be late."

"The whole party waits on you, baby," he said, as we walked through the front door.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, shut up, Styles."

Once in the car, we drove to some pub in central London. The inside of it was cheery and crowded; people laughed and danced, and it smelled of expensive perfume and scotch.

Riddle sat in the far corner at a table among four of five other men. When Harry shouted his name, he stood with a wide grin. He waved his beer in the air and the two of us shuffled through the thick cloud of conversation and smoke to get to him.

"Styles," he cheered once we were close enough. Harry placed a hand on the small of my back.

"Hey, mate," Harry replied. I hoisted myself up onto a barstool beside the table. Harry sat in the once next to me, and I was between him and a stranger. "I'm sure you lot know Tilly."

I smiled to the strangers. "Hello,"

The one beside me turns to me and grins. "You're the lady I've been hearing about. I'm Wes, glad to finally meet you." His accent is thickly northern and he has a scar beneath his right eye.

One by one, the rest of the men introduce themselves. There's an Oliver, a Nikolas, a Rowan, and two Will's. The first Will, the one with blonde hair, goes by Hill to avoid confusion.

Two drinks in, we were all friendly. We discussed the events of the weekend, in Barcelona, and I learned only two of them were present: Will, not Hill, and Oliver. They were ground men, and were present for the sole purpose of the threat of an attack. They made it out to be something so casual, speaking of the gunfire battle, and it made my stomach turn.

The conversation shifted, and soon enough, we all laughed at stories told around the table. Harry had his arm draped over my shoulder and I held his hanging hand.