free run | h.s

one

Harry adored jumping from one sky-high roof to the next; loved the adrenaline that coursed through his entirety and the freedom that free running provided.

In his younger days, that particular freedom that he yearned for was much harder for him to grasp ahold of. With a mother expecting him to get only the highest of marks in his schoolwork and a father who wouldn't even let him out of the house unless it was going to school and back ("If you go out, you'll lose track of your schoolwork, boy!" he'd always say, "As a responsible parent, you aren't leaving this damn house unless it's to school and back.") or if it was a family outing that they needed to attend to.

He was now fresh out of school - with particularly good grades to boot - and also fresh out of his parent's feral grasp. He could roam the streets if he wanted to; maybe even smile broadly at a stranger if he desired to; even go to the first little store he saw and buy something completely random. It was glorious to do things himself.

He may only be living in a loft just above his best friend's café, but his life was now based on his decisions; he could do what he wanted now.

But that freedom he had finally received didn't seem to be enough for Harry - he desired something more.. exciting? He couldn't describe what he wanted, only yearn for that one missing factor in his life that he hadn't quite found yet.

After a long day of wandering the busy London streets and sitting in Hyde Park for a good few hours, Harry finally deemed himself ready to start making his way home, luckily dodging all of the hectic London traffic and the aggressive drivers attempting to make their way home as soon as humanely possible.

"You look like you've been hit by a bus, Haz," his best friend, Niall, stated. He owned a small café in the uptown parts of London, and to say the least, he was doing pretty well for himself. He earned too much to live in the loft space above the café, so he offered it to Harry for basically nothing - although he did make Harry promise to bake his wondrous pastries and cakes in the kitchen; they sold the best, Niall always said.

"That's because I probably was nearly hit by a bus a few times, Ni. Anyways, I'm super tired, mind if I go up? I'll bake in the morning - it's Saturday tomorrow, anyways."

"Sure, do what you like. I'm closing up in a few anyways. I'll see you tomorrow, mate."

With a final goodbye, Harry trudged up the spiralling staircase in the back room and to his small safe haven - a little attic conversion, matched with a bathroom, too.

There was a window seat that looked over the whole of the city, which was especially beautiful and scenic at night, every building illuminating with lights and brightening up the whole of London. There was also a bed (left unmade; Harry decided he never had visitors so he never needed to tidy too much) in the corner, surrounded by bright white fairy lights and a few mugs that he had left out. In another corner was his small 'living area', containing a television and a small seating set - he even had bean bags dotted around the living space. The third crevice of his room was stuffed with a desk (clad with an Apple Mac atop; he tried to make Niall take that birthday gift back, but to no avail) and a book case, which was filled to the brim with all kinds of books: old, new, borrowed, blue. To Harry, in his 16-year-old adolescent days, reading was his getaway from the typical girls, cars and guitars that most teenagers had.

A few rugs and fancy decorations he had picked up and bought along the way were dotted around the place, but other than that, that was it.

He removed his worn boots and his leather jacket (Niall would call it the typical rogue getup) and slung them over his desk chair, then planting himself face-first onto the bed. With a long sigh, he turned his head to look out of the window from his bed, olive eyes twinkling along with the lights in the busy city outside.

Just when his eyelids were about to close, his phone began to ring aloud from his back pocket. With a reluctant grumble, he mindlessly answered the phone and pressed it lazily to his ear.

"Hello?" he huffed out, sitting up and rubbing his tired eyes.

"Harry! Guess what, guess what?" Niall's bubbly voice exclaimed. Harry rose an eyebrow and checked his watch, shaking his head to himself at the time before focusing back onto the conversation.

"What?"

"I was just talking to Zayn on the phone and you know how you always said you wanted something to make you feel alive?" Harry could almost see the knowing grin on his best friend from his end of the line.

"Yes?" he sounded a lot more intrigued than before, ears perking up instantly.

"Well, I have just the solution for you."

"Are you gonna tell me what it is, Niall?" Harry rolled his eyes, Niall always tended to elongate stories that didn't need lengthening.

"Okay, okay! So get this, Zayn was telling be about how he was free running today... he said it does wonders for you! You just run and... jump over stuff, I guess. He said when you get really good at it then you can start doing the more advanced stuff."

"Free running, eh? I'll check it out in the morning. Thanks for telling me Niall."

And with that, the line went dead and Harry flopped onto the mattress on his back.

He wanted to find out more about this free running activity. Who knows? Maybe it was actually the big missing thing he was looking for in his life.