Harry Styles One Shots

Faux Vagabond by @Bea_Nice

From the cold of Finland to the heat of Puerto Rico and the beautiful and incredibly talented  Bea_Nice whose work is parallel to poetry. A true language connoisseur, it's like words are not ours. They are hers and she can do whatever she wants with them. The way she writes is like she is taking you on a boat journey in her brain using her keyboard as oars and her imagination as the light breeze pushing you forward. Author of the "Hey Jude" series "Pure Amber" "Teach me how to kiss" and so many more she is truly one of the queens of wattpad so go follow her and add her stories in your library. Looooooooove her!

For the past two years I've driven by the same foul smelling street to and from work. There's nothing appealing about it much less the astounding stench that seeps through my windows from the open dumpster. There isn't a day where I don't see stacks of black bags or loose garbage spilling out from the rusted bins. You'd think for such a busy route the city would have concealed it better, but every morning and afternoon I keep my windows up when I drive by.

One random afternoon, a young woman's battery had died at the light. Several cars down and on my way home, I looked to the side to find a homeless man sitting on the floor with his back against the brick building. If I could smell the insidious odor, I knew he certainly could. There I sat, awkwardly stalled in front of this man's line of sight. I glanced once more and caught him chewing on what appeared to be a bread roll. His eyes never moved, darting through my window. I quickly diverted by searching for my phone, but I could still feel the sting of his eyes.
Eventually, three gentlemen helped move the woman's car to the side, allowing the traffic to flow once again. Without thinking, I peeked over as I threw my phone on the passenger seat, and noticed he was now holding up a sign. Will Work for Food. I don't know what compelled me to share a polite smile, but I did. Only I had nothing to offer him.
Weeks went by and I found him in the same spot. Some days I found him digging through the trash and others sleeping curled up on his side. Every time I felt worse for not having food to spare, or loose change to give. I had very little but it was enough to keep me happy. And he had nothing.
One late evening, I threw a couple of snacks with a Gatorade into an old grocery bag then drove down his street. The satisfaction of helping this person was never met as I faced an empty space. Even his sign was gone. I wondered if he slept on a different street or if he stayed at a shelter. I felt dumb for finally taking it upon myself to help someone and having it backfire.

The next morning, I threw the same bag in my car and for the first time I anticipated driving down that dreadful street. He was there again. I had no idea what age this man was, covered in a dark torn long sleeve shirt and dirty jeans. He wore muddy boots and his hair fell matted, hiding his stained face. He recognized my car and sat up. With no vehicles before or behind me, I pressed the brakes and rolled down my window, trying not to inhale for the next minute or so.
Curious, he climbed to his feet and limped closer while I reached for the grocery bag. Handing it over, I flinched at how close he was to my window. He stood there hunched to the side, observing me. I avoided eye contact, staring solely at his hands, they were dirty but not as rugged as I was expecting.
"Thank you, Miss." He spoke, his voice raspy and sincere. A car slowly approached granting me a moment before timidly honking their horn. In those brief seconds, I caught a glimpse of his eyes as he took a few steps back. Rolling back my window and releasing the brakes, I drove ahead haunted by his image for the rest of the day.
I sailed through the motions as I took calls, scheduled appointments and filed endless documents and folders. Eagerly waiting for the clock to strike noon to go on my lunch break, I struggled to hold my thoughts captive till that time. Once I sat with my unfrozen lasagna before me, I replayed those five minutes of my morning.
Those eyes. They weren't tired or strained, they looked . . . young. His face was stained brown and grey, but he bore no wrinkles or scars. Neither did his hands. Why is he out on the streets when he's so young?
This mystery began to cast a shadow in the back of my mind. I had to know his story, where he was from and why he suddenly appeared on that street. But then I thought what sane person would care? Forced to ignore my impulse, I marched back to the reception desk and finished the day.
As I turned the steering wheel, I got a whiff of the rotten malodor but searched for the young drifter any way. Every day I followed a mundane routine, worked from nine to five then went home to do it all over again 7 AM. Slowing down, I spotted him reaching into the dumpster to pull out a bag. He tore through it and held up a shirt. I felt my gag reflexes activate until he peered over and raised his hand to wave. That was his Friday night, scavenging through people's waste to survive while I complained about my life in a cozy apartment.



I sprung out of bed the next morning, snatched a pair of sneakers, jeans and a T-shirt. I grabbed my keys, wallet and tied my hair in a pony tail as I skipped out the door. Heading to the nearest deli, I bought two cups of coffee and bagel sandwiches before strolling down four blocks to get to his street. As expected, he was there holding up his sign while curled on the ground. His scowl didn't last long once he saw me headed in his direction. The closer I got the wider his eyes gleamed.
"Good morning."
"Mornin'. I didn't recognize you without your red car." He said groggily. "What's this?"
"I brought you some breakfast."
"Thank you, but I can't accept. I'd like to work for my meals."
"Has anyone offered you work yet?"
"Not exactly."
"Well today could be the day but you can't do it on an empty stomach."
He sighed with a hint of a smile and strained to get up. "Thank you."
"No problem. . . what's your name?"
"Why, are you goin' to report me?"
"No, just trying to be friendly. You seem so young."
"I'm 22."
"We're the same age!"
"Fancy that," he said, holding the bagel in one hand and coffee in the other.
"So... are you from here?" He shook his head while taking a bite from the sandwich, but the rotting smell of garbage was too strong to keep holding my breath. "Well, I'll see ya around then."
I spun on my heels, desperate for sweet air, until he spoke again.
"Wait!"
I paused, holding my cup firmly with my food still untouched in the bag. I turned around to find him already done with his bagel and wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve.
"It's Harry, my name is Harry."
"I'm Jill."
"Thank you for breakfast, Jill. Is there anythin' I can do repay your kindness?"
"Get a job!"
"Well I appreciate your brutal honesty..."
"I didn't mean it to sound harsh. I just think you're too young to be out here."
"I also appreciate your concern."
"I mean, I can help you. I'm sure we could find a nice suit at the Good Will and get you cleaned up. . ."
"Unfortunately, there aren't many places that will allow me to do so."
"Why not, don't you sleep at a homeless shelter?"
"There aren't any around here. And they already banned me from the McDonalds up the street."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Thank you for breakfast. You're the only person that's actually gone out of their way to help me. I'll be alright."
"No, come! We're going to get you that suit!"
Driven by anger, frustration and a glimmer of hope, I convinced Harry to go shopping with me. We walked to a thrift store six blocks away. For being a humble place, they weren't welcoming of my new friend. The store manager roamed the floor, watching us like a hawk, assuming we were about to steal the items I later purchased. Even if he carried a large beat up pack, he never touched it to not give them reason to be suspicious.
I noticed Harry's posture improve on the way back but didn't comment on it. His smile also caught my attention; he didn't have spoiled teeth which led me to believe he hadn't been on the streets that long. The body odor was pungent but more of old sweat than garbage. I thought how unfair it was for the homeless to get back on their feet when people don't give them a chance. Then an idea struck.
He followed me happily and before I knew it I had led us to my building. My hands were shaky and my armpits damp. Please don't murder me, Harry!
"Okay, listen. I really want to help, otherwise I wouldn't have done any of this. But I don't know you and this is a huge risk-"
"Don't worry. I'm harmless... and I mean that in the most sincere non psycho way-that still came out wrong." He laughed and I was spooked.
"I'm going to ask my neighbor if you can shower at his place. I'll explain everything to him."
"Is he a nice guy you trust?"
"Yes, he's in his late sixties and very kind."
"Thank you for this."
"Of course."
We took the stairs up to my floor and I knocked on the door across the hall. I pounded three times and waited but he didn't answer.
"Victor, are you home?" I asked once more after the second try. "It's okay, Jill. You've done more than enough."
His disheartened tone broke me. I had gotten this far. Call it good faith or sheer lunacy, but I did the unthinkable.
"No, follow me."
An icy cold shiver shot from my hand down to my stomach as I aimed my key to unlock my door. I knew where the knives were and the broom, in case I needed a longer weapon. Harry carefully set his suit over the couch and took the second bag of casual clothes with him to the bathroom.
He left his back pack on the floor next to the couch and though the temptation to snoop around was there, I had to keep my distance. The shower ran and I paced about in the kitchen making a quick plate of Chicken Alfredo pasta to send him off on a full stomach. I heard the door open and tip toed to get the first glance of his starting transformation, but what I got couldn't be categorized.
Harry emerged from the steamy bathroom only wearing a towel around the waist. His skin was silky white. Gone were the stains, brown tones and limp. His dreads were loosely pulled back exposing his entire face. His entirely handsome face.
"How'd you-"
"Hey, I can explain."
"Explain what?" I scowled.
"I apologize, I forgot somethin' in my bag." He hurried to grab his sack and head back to the bathroom.
"What the... how was he that dirty and now whiter than me?"

I turned off the stove, served both plates and brought them to the small dining table. The door reopened and out he came in a white shirt and shorts. Carefully placing his bag back by the couch and then staring at me with plenty on his tongue.
"You clean up well. Here I have a late lunch for you before you go," I announced, yet he continued to stare. "What is it?"
"I have somethin' to tell you."
"Did something break in the bathroom?"
"No. Nothin' like that."
"Then come sit and tell me."
He moved and took a seat. Hands rested on either side of his plate as guilt glazed over his eyes.
"I'm ... I'm not homeless."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I have my own apartment and I'm studyin' Political Science... This was all part of my social experiment for my final grade."
"So I'm part of some experiment?!" I stood up from my chair, feeling like I've been taken advantage of.
"Please don't be mad. I had planned on leavin' here without tellin' you, but I think it's fair you know."
"I almost rather you hadn't told me." I crossed my arms.
"I have the money to reimburse you for the clothes. But I still want to thank you for doin' what you did. I understand the risk you took with me."
I felt the tension ease from my shoulders as I sat back down. "You can leave after you're done."
We finished our plates in silence. I couldn't believe I had been duped or that I even allowed him to stay longer. Like a sad human, he gathered his things and walked towards the door.
"You have a very big heart, Jill. I hope that if I see you again, you won't remember what I did but what I said. As great as your kindness is, your beauty matches it perfectly."
I watched him shut the door behind him and then the attraction made sense. Before it was too late, I stormed down the stairs of my apartment building and found Harry reaching the corner of the street.
"Harry!" I shouted and he turned around with a half smile. "So everything you said was true, about this experiment and not being homeless?"
"I swear it is... will you give me a chance to prove it?" He dropped his pack and pulled out his wallet. I glanced at his license and address, even his hair was different. "I left the money on your kitchen counter as well as my number. My project is done, but I would really like to see you again. As me."
Days went by and each time I glanced at the dumpster, sad yet relieved not to find him there. Today was different. I took a personal day, so instead of driving to work I was driving to another corner. I parked my car and fed the meter eight quarters before walking up to the restaurant patio. As I approached the entrance, Harry stood up from his table in a buttoned shirt and hair sharp in a short cut. He didn't look like the same person I had met, but his eyes were unmistakeable.