A Moment in the Crowd

Chapter 1: When Harry met Lily

Harry:

I woke up groggy and tired, the smell of alcohol still lingering on my breath. The all too familiar feeling of nausea and dizziness clouds my vision momentarily.

What remains constantly present each morning is the adrenaline that hasn't yet left my body from last night. I pinch myself as if to remind my brain that the life I'm living is real.

The sold out stadium of screaming girls still rings in my eardrums, and the pounding music still resonates in my mind.

These are the days I will soon look back on and remember to be the best of my life.

After nearly four years of this lifestyle, I still can't discard the idea that it's all just a fantastic dream. That playing to sold out stadiums across the world isn't really the way I'm living my life. A smile slowly shapes the edges of my mouth into a half moon smirk. I can't help but laugh, and close my eyes again.

So many people fill my vision, so many faces in the crowd, and every glance seems unique in its own way. I know secretly that each would give their lives to be a part of mine, but I also know how much they don't know about me. There's so much each of these girls are missing, and there's so much they would do to get that missing piece.

I roll over in my hotel bed, still smiling to myself, when I hear the chanting from outside. Sometimes I wake up this way, to chants from girls of last night. How they know where to find me and the other boys remains always a mystery, but somehow it became public knowledge overnight.

Still slightly hung-over from a night out after the show, I get up and peak out the window. I'm much too high for the screaming crowd below to see me, but I can make out the figures of hundreds of girls standing in the heat of the August sun, holding posters and screaming the names of each of us. Suddenly I feel a little guilty to be standing in a lovely air-conditioned hotel room, and I secretly wish that they would find some comfort elsewhere.

The torture these girls put themselves through just to catch a glimpse of my face always struck me as both flattering, and just a little odd. I've picked more than one girl off the pavement from a twisted ankle, heat stroke, or aggressiveness from the other crowd members. You name it and they've probably passed out or fell from it.

It's a warm August day in Toronto, Canada. I haven't truly seen the city, if only from my hotel room. Today I aim to mend that with plans to become a tourist, before heading to rehearsal. 

Quickly I undress and shower. When I'm done, I shake my annoying curly brown locks dry, and wipe the water from my skin. I take a moment to admire the way the water drips off of my tattoos.

Over my career I've given in to the occasional tattoo, and even recently covered a few. I can still remember taking pictures with strangers on the beach, shyly covering them. It had taken a little time to get used to the fact that millions were going to see you shirtless online just a few short minutes later.

I wipe the steam from the mirror and stare at myself critically through the heat that has collected inside the small washroom. Despite the love I receive from fans about my looks, I still dislike the way my body turns out on certain days. Being in the spotlight doesn't exactly allow you the privacy you crave every once and a while.

I frown at the mirror’s reflection and walk back into my room, a white towel secured tightly around my waist. I search through my admittedly disastrous suitcase for a comfortable pair of jeans, and simple t-shirt. I know of course that paparazzi will be catching me on my stroll around the city, so I decide on something I don't mind being published in the tabloids.

To top the look off I add my signature bandana, a look I've recently sported since it proved to be more comfortable than I'd thought. I throw on my favourite pair of shoes, make sure I have my phone and wallet on me, and step out of the hotel room.