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

Third

“And the third, is when your world splits down the middle.”

Selena sighs as she crosses another X on her calendar lazily, the marker barely held stable in her still sleepy hand. Day 49.

“Selena, you ready for work?” a sudden, deep male voice interrupts the hardly awake brunette, startling her in the process and resulting in her dropping the marker.

“Damn it, Tyler,” she sighs as she bends down, groaning at the strength it takes for her to squat.

“Thought you may have needed a wake up boost,” the shaggy-haired boy, who has been her best friend and company since she moved here, smiles cutely as he intentionally messes Selena’s hair, knowing she’ll be even more irritated.

“I’m going to kill you,” she blandly threatens although everyone knows she’ll never go through it. Tyler has watched over her ever since she entered the LA industry; he and Dylan, his best friend, were interns hoping for a promotion in the style business. Selena loved them the minute she met their charismatic personalities.

And since then, the three were there for each other through thick and thin.

It was Tyler and Dylan who sat on the cold floors of Selena’s office every night, listening to her cry and dabbing her face with tissues; they bought her warm cups of coffee when she really needed it and purchased her favorite snacks and meals when she simply deserved it.

“Where the hell are my keys?” Selena mumbles after exiting her closet. She had just freshened up in the bathroom and changed into formal work clothing, prepared for what the day is going to throw at her.

“If you’re ready, come and get it,” Dylan sing-songs as he mischievously pops his head through the doorway, urging his friends to hurry the hell up. Despite the early time, the incessant sounds of the buzzing city can already be heard; the honks of impatient drivers and the whizzes of speedy cars surrounded the air, indicating and strengthening the point that LA traffic seriously sucks twenty-four seven.

Rolling their eyes, the pair followed the lead male and buckled themselves into the car where they awaited the impeding road rage that is sure to come.

“So, have you thought about your presentations for the upcoming fashion festival in Los Angeles?”

“Shit, that’s coming up rather quickly, isn’t it?” Selena groaned as her head fell into her hands, stress sinking into all over her scalp as she dug into her hair, tugging random locks out of pure pressure.

“Yeah. You’ll need confirmed designs, models, rehearsals, and a date to accompany you for the night,” Tyler reminded the poor, overworked, and emotionally distraught designer who was working harder than girls her age usually did. Hell, she was working harder than anyone around her age.

“Fucking fantastic.”

“Atta, girl,” Dylan chuckled as Selena narrowed her eyes at him. Before she could reprimand him for his biting yet joking attitude, a clear ‘ding’ interrupted her.

“I just got texts about potential models,” Tyler hummed as he lifted the iPhone and brought it closer to the doubtful brunette’s face.

Curly hair, popping eyes, and a milky smooth complexion.

Fucking hell.

He was the splitting image of Harry, but whilst this boy’s eyes were a sparkling teal, Harry’s were a breath-taking, electrifying emerald that spoke to people.

And the pain rushed back like it never left. She needs him. She needs him so damn much. The uninvited tears that rushed down her hot cheeks, surprised her and proved just that.