Write me Down, Fold me Up [Larry Stylinson AU]

Prologue / Chapter 1

October 2nd

            I grumbled, taking the edge of my black t-shirt and towing it down so the bottom fell just below my waist. I had my standard dark washed skinny jeans on and a black beanie that dragged in the back, shaping my curls seamlessly. It was a typical outfit for me. I never wore anything to stand out in the crowd, partly because I didnt care much for attention, also because I just didn’t care at all.

And the sound of my feet dragging across the pavement gave a sort of shadowy atmosphere around me; leaving people wondering why my head was down and why my motions were slow. But there really was no reason. It’s just because I was Harry; a guy who didn’t take things too seriously and liked to keep to himself.

So as I sauntered along, I caught a few shrieks fleeing from girl’s mouths and the pattering of feet scrabbling around behind me. But I didn’t know why, because yeah, I was living my dream of being an indie folk artist, but I was nothing special. In fact, I was probably the most ordinary person you’d ever meet. I was quiet, secretive, antisocial at times, and you could often find me bobbing my knees to the beat of nervousness.

Throughout all my years of being in the music industry it still hadn’t hit me yet as to why everybody seemed to fantasize over my life. There wasn’t even that much to know. Just that I lived alone in a ‘that’s too small for you’ house in Portland Oregon. And that I enjoyed spending time unaccompanied so I could wrap around my thoughts, maybe strangle them down for a few moments of peace.

And it especially baffled my mind on how anybody would want to devote time listening to the - totally not relatable in any way - lyrics I wrote or the unhurried words that fell from my mouth. But then again, I’d never thought I was worthy of someone’s time, my whole life I had kind of been looking for ways to pick on myself; telling myself nobody liked the real me.

“Harry, Harry over here!” A gruff voice shrills, sounding as if it had come from a very well built man. I keep trudging, though. Through the couple fans and paparazzi that had congregated around me. This was exactly why I never came out of the house if I didn’t have a motive to.

Cameras were flashing at me left and right, and I swear they were trying to blind me at times, maybe their way of luring me off course so they could take me and keep me for themselves. And of course that’s just my senseless mind going off again but it honestly felt like that a lot.

I was nervous now, having had that many strangers pushed against me made my heart beat quicker than normal. Made the tips of my fingers itch and my legs feel disoriented. And you’d think I was used to it by now but I wasn’t. It’s just progressively grown more of a fear of mine, to be in a crowd a people with nowhere to escape. It’s like a maze if you think about it. Words like obstacles being thrown in your way, and walls as people blocking you from getting to where you were headed.

Luckily this time I had those few fans that shoved and roared for people to let me walk and breathe finally. I nodded towards them and tried my best to force a smile from my lips; then hurried away holding my beanie snug to my head so it wouldn’t be torn off by the icy wind.

When I eventually reached the recording studio I was meant to be at an hour ago I rolled through the door and dropped my body onto a stool in the booth where my microphone stood awaiting my voice to flood into it.

I looked up, my mind telling me not to; petrified to see the look on my managers faces. One had a scowl furrowed deep into her features and another’s arms were crossed, holding his cup of coffee firmly enough that I was actually concerned it would rupture.

I coughed uncomfortably to disrupt the silence of stares. Scott sets his coffee down, maybe realizing his fury could end up being the cause of his ruined khakis. And Liz seems to calm a bit, her arms dropping by her sides. All while the unfamiliar face sitting in front of the soundboard sits; switching his eyes around the room awkwardly.