Summer Styles (Harry Styles)

Expect the Unexpected

I've been in London for a few days now. Four days, 13 hours, and 37 minutes, to be exact. It's early morning, just before 5 and I can't sleep.

The past four days have be absolutely amazing. Harry took me to see all the usual tourist attractions like Big Ben, the Buckingham Palace, and the London Eye. We even hung out with the rest of his band yesterday. He, of course, explained to them that we were just friends. They nodded and smiled, then looked around at each other, which I thought was weird.

It's just now 5, so I put on a robe and head to make some coffee. If I can't sleep, I may as well make some coffee to ensure that I'll stay awake.

Walking down the hall, I hear the faint sound of a guitar and a hummed melody. I stop at the door with all the locks. Over the days, I've been eying it, curious to what was behind the door. Well, that bolted door is now open, slightly, just enough to see through.

Sitting on a beanbag chair, with a black guitar in hand and a notepad and pen in his lap, sits Harry. He has a white t-shirt on and, umm, boxers, it looks like.

"Because we are meant to be,

Listen to me.

Our heart are tied like the-"

He sings, almost angelically.

He looks up and our eyes meet. Since I've been caught, I open the door further.

Inside, the walls are a dark red, with dimmed lights. There is a small black sofa and rows and rows of filing cabinets along with the beanbag chair.

"Did I wake you? I though I had this thing sound proof," he looks apologetic, but nervous.

"No. I was up, couldn't sleep."

"Oh," he says and puts the guitar down and starts to get up.

"No," I motion for him to continue to play. "I want to hear it."

"Its not really anything. I was just messing around. I can't sleep either."

"I doubt that it wasn't anything. What I heard sounded really good. Here," I motion to the couch. "Sit and let me help."

He looks so apprehensive. Reluctantly, he picks up the guitar and notepad and pen, then sits with me.

There are so many words written on the paper, only to be marked out. My eyes set on one series of lyrics.

"What is this one about?" I ask, praying for the truth

"Umm, my ex. I wrote it right after we had a fight."

"When was that?" I ask. I had no clue he dated someone recently.

"Well that was a long time ago. I just haven't written in a while," he smiles sheepishly.

"Well let's change that," I show off my teeth in a smile. "Do you mind to continue that song?"

He shakes his head. The lyrics sound good in my head, so I write a little more on the paper.

"What about this?" I ask.

He reads it, over and over, analyzing every word. Then he smiles, and starts a melody on the guitar to go with it.

Our hearts are made of cold, hard diamond

Waiting by the rocky shore

Maybe we can go inside, now

Only to wash and stay pure

Cause we are meant to be

And I am so blind