TiMER [Larry Stylinson]

TiMER

Even at age seven, Harry Styles found the idea of 'soulmates' ridiculous. The belief that there was another person out there, destined to be your lover, was so farfetched, even with the countdown on his wrist to prove otherwise. '9y 251d 7h 37m 52s' and counting down until the very second he met the person who completed him. It was moronic.

Harry had a different theory for the countdown. It wasn't a countdown to your soulmate; to the person who completed you. It was a countdown to your worst enemy; the person who'd change your life to the point of it never going back to normal.

"Mum," he said as he reached across the dinner table for the bowl of mashed potatos.

"What is it, love?" she answered, her tone chipper as she spooned some corn on her plate.

"I don't want to meet my soulmate."

Anne's spoon clattered against her plate as it slipped from between her fingers. She hurried to wipe the look of complete and utter shock off of her face and picked up the spoon again, muttering a soft, "Damned butterfingers," as if that would disguise that she'd dropped it out of surprise. Once she felt that she'd effectively composed herself, she looked up from her plate with a forced smile.

"And why not, dear?"

Harry mentally rolled his eyes. He should've known she wouldn't have been happy about it. Especially since her soulmate had passed before they'd had a chance to meet. He'd heard the story a thousand times. How her countdown--4 days, 5 hours, 27 minutes, and 16 seconds--had flashed red zeros only days before she was supposed to fall in love. Even now, thirtysomething years later, she was still sore about it. Harry couldn't comprehend how a person could be so hurt over someone they'd never even met.

"I don't want my world to revolve around someone else. I want to be my own independant person. Besides, Mum, what if she's ugly?" The seven year old whined, his face twisting into one of actual worry. Anne shook her head, 'tsk'ing at his childish concerns.

"Even if they are ugly, you won't notice. You'll be too in love. And independance only goes so far, Harry," she quipped, wagging her finger at him. "No one can do everything on their own."

Harry frowned, still adament on never finding his soulmate. Destiny wasn't allowed to control his life, and if he didn't want to fall, he just wouldn't. That's all there was to it. The mashed potatos on his plate seemed to be the only ones in the room who didn't think he was ridiculous.

---

Age twelve was when Harry started seeing the countdowns in action. A kid from school, Terry Crumbaker, had found his soulmate in February of that year. Her name was Rachel, he'd heard. Apparently, she was a few years older than the fourteen year old Terry, which gave him quite a bit of bragging rights at their middle school.

Even after seeing how Terry and Rachel had acted around each other at their Discovery Party, Harry still hated the idea. The snarky arse that Harry knew so well from school didn't exist around Rachel. In his place was a sore excuse of a man; a sap. It was almost disgusting, in Harry's opinion, the way that they hung all over each other; his arm draped over her shoulders and hers coiled around his middle.

The sight was enough to make Harry a tad nauseous. Holding his wrist up to his line of vision, he came to a sudden and unpleasant realization that that would be him and some mystery girl in exactly 4 years, 27 days, 35 hours, 2 minutes, and 41 seconds.

---

Age fifteen was when Harry started thinking more seriously about the idea of being independant. His voice had finally finished changing, and now his previously high-pitched, nasally voice was a beautiful baritone. As insane as one might think it sounds, Harry loved talking to himself. The sound of his own voice was soothing, and he was happy it'd turned out so well.