Six Degrees Of Separation ((Harry Styles & Selena Gomez))

First

“First, you think the worst is a broken heart.”

Day 28—almost two more and it seals the mark point for one month. It’s the end of September and October is right around the corner; leaves of burning crimson and startling hues of sunset oranges and yellows line crisply on the almost naked trees. Smells of pumpkin spice and everything holiday-nice fill the air of the community and for once Selena is grateful that she isn’t back home in London where it will no doubt either be raining, snowing, or just downright freezing.

“Selena, I just got your designs mailed out. They said expected products will be done in two week’s worth of time,” Demetria explains as she sets the blank manila folder containing files and loose important papers inside on the modern, glass desk.

“Thanks, Dems,” Selena shoots her a small smile as she takes the folder into possession and stacks it neatly amongst other documents.

“Hey, a bunch of us are going out for dinner tonight. I was wondering if you’d join?” the newly-dyed blonde offers but the brunette politely rejects, nothing that she hasn’t been doing for the past twenty eight days.

“If you change your mind, you know where we’ll be,” Demi softly shrugs as Selena nods but both ladies know that it isn’t going to happen. Once she exits the office, Selena heavily sighs as she turns her head to stare out the curtain-drawn windows; the view is the whole LA landscape. The sun is slowly setting, the sky gradually transitioning to the pink-orange shade. Selena breathes out in anticipation of the night; it’s something she’s grown to love. Since she always ignores invitations to go out, she has just been sitting in her office way past work hours enjoying the sky turn to dark as the building lights come on, looking like a twinkling universe in city form. Every night, she just decides to do more work, forcing her already overused brain to come up with new images while her conscious often brings up any lingering thoughts of the curly haired boy she loved so much.

How is he? What is he doing right now? Is he with her?

“Mate, if you stare at that photo any longer, your eyes will burn a hole through it,” Louis sighs as he watches his poor friend gripping tightly onto a single framed picture of a beautiful brunette girl. He has been staring at his previous lover twenty-four seven; the boys came over to Harry’s mansion to pick him up for work only to find him nowhere near ready. He was snuggled in his blankets, wrapped around giant, soft, white sheets with the very same frame pressed to his chest tightly as his eyes were squeezed shut. It wasn’t until Niall jumped on the bed and Zayn practically pried the photo out of Harry’s huge hands did he get up. And even then, it was only to receive full possession of the picture.

“I miss her so much, Louis,” his voice cracks as his eyes are rimmed with red. It’s been twenty eight days. Twenty fucking eight days when he hasn’t heard her voice directed to him, twenty eight days when he hasn’t held her in his arms, twenty eight days when he hasn’t felt the softness of her innocent touch. That’s almost a whole month without her presence and it’s driving him insane.

“Harry, I know you’re broken-hearted and all, but you can’t mope for the rest of your life,” Liam attempts to console the poor crying lad but to no avail.

“Liam’s right. She’ll come back someday,” Niall suggests with a smile, though everyone in the room knows that is far from the truth.

“Yeah, you’re right…” Harry falters as he sniffles, finally gently placing the frame back onto the wooden desk and standing up.

“Come on, now. You’ve got a shoot in a few minutes,” Zayn wraps his arms under his friend’s armpits and pulls him up to his feet.

“You’re going to give Lou a hell of a job with your bloodshot eyes and red face,” Louis sighs as he strokes Harry’s forlorn face.

“Let’s go now so she can get a head start on fixing him for the shoot,” Liam advises and the five pile into the van to take them to their scheduled photo shoot. Harry rubs his arms up and down, still freezing despite his three layers of coats that should have kept him warm. He can’t be warm without her. Likewise, London is fucking cold.

As he stares at the passing scenery, his mind wonders along. Does she miss him the way he misses her? Is she cold right now? What is she doing?