Mentally Antsy - [Harry Styles/Larry Stylinson]

Another Day, Another Stunt.

Harry was antsy.

It seems like for seven years, he's been one constant mood--antsy.

It's not the kind of antsy where you've been sitting in a bus seat for hours and are desperate to move your legs.

This was a mental kind of antsy.

Antsy to run, jump, and scream internally his feelings.

To expose the truth. To get it all out there.

For mentally keeping something so deep in for so long, after seven not so straight years, really starts mentally fucking you up.

So here he is, in a crowded airport, mentally antsy once again.

There's a lot of background noise. Chatter over chatter, quick footsteps, the clicks of what he assumes to be cameras. He's not sure if it's all directed toward him, but since he's feeling especially mentally antsy today, he can only assume.

He's standing still against a wall in a small corner of the big room. A big room that he feels could probably swallow him in swarms of exposure, if he brought too much attention to himself.

And for this specific situation, he really doesn't want to do that.

So he simply distances himself, biting his lip, just waiting. Shutting his eyes for just a moment to try and escape being mentally ansty for even a moment, but unfortunately he is unable, because shortly after he is interrupted by a pinging sound from his phone.

NEW MESSAGE

Camille Rowe:
I'm at the entrance.

And now, the curtain for his performance must rise; his charade; going on seven seasons. Each season a different woman cast as the leading lady, but they always seem to keep him as the leading man.

They being the directors of the production. Calling the shots.

Making sure everything stayed neat and presentable.

For they really knew what the audience wanted... right?

Because it's the audience that matters.

Not the actors.

Right?

Harry took a breath. It was the moments like these that really made his mentally antsy mind pick up. Right before it all took place. Because if he really, really wanted to, he could go back on it all. Break the rule, ignore the signature he made seven years ago, and just finally live freely for once.

Without being mentally antsy.

Imagine that he thinks to himself, a day where I'm just content... a day where I'm no longer mentally ansty... because I cured the feeling with a scream of the truth.

He makes his way toward the entrance, but still staying a bit out of sight. There's no reason to really be seen before his stage time anyway.

As he gets closer, he spots the familiar blonde, with her blonde locks a mess, and an oversized jumper practically swallowing her thin and lean body. Truthfully, she looks exhausted. He wonders if she's as mentally exhausted with all of this as he is.

Harry walks over to her, finally making his presence known. He doesn't bother to smile or even show a look of being pleased.

Looking satisfied isn't in the contract.

So he must not be required to do that.

He's standing directly in front of her now, and in the distance he can hear the chatter increasing even more, the sound of motion becoming rapid and more towards where the two of them are standing. He stares into her eyes for what was intended to be a brief moment, but the moment goes on for a bit longer than planned.

Camille's eyes are blue. A familiar eye color to him.

The eye color that feels like home.

But this isn't home.

So he turns away, and turns to the flashing lights straight ahead and begins to walk alongside her.

Although the room is loud with shouts of their names and the clicking of cameras, it feels dead silent. Similar to the feeling of being underwater. Everything's happening at the surface, but he's trapped by himself under it all.

He wonders, if he really tried, if he could just drown himself.

Drown himself out of this. Forever.

Maybe Camille notices his mentally antsy behavior coming clear onto his face, because she quickly hands him her purse. Perhaps she figured he could use something to fidget with, to maybe distract or calm him.

He takes the strap of the bag in both hands, and begins tracing the brown leather with his fingertips.

It reminds him of something else brown and leather. His journal.

His journal where he wrote many of his thoughts.

His thoughts of how he was happy from a day spent home, being peppered with kisses and cuddles from a small, scruffy boy. He'd write how even after seven years his heart would still flutter and his grin would hurt from how much love he has for him.

How much love he has for Louis.

Louis Tomlinson.

But he isn't allowed to say that name.

And he isn't allowed to sit next to him.

Or go to the same place as him.

Or talk to him.

Or look at him.

Or hold his hand.

Or hug him.

Or kiss him.

Or say he loves him.

Because that's not what this production was about.

In this show, he's the leading man, and he has to save all of that love he feels for the currently cast leading lady.

Even if it's only always for another leading man in his life.

Taylor, Nadine, Kendall, Abigail, Emma, and now Camille.

The leading lady is constantly changing, because the directors constantly feel there must be a "change in direction".

But no matter how many different leading ladies Harry has had star with him, the second leading man in Harry's production has never changed.

But that is Harry's production, and showing that production is banned in this theater of public.

At least, that's what the contract says.

And that's what truly makes Harry mentally antsy.

He has an image. Well, his role does. His big, dreamy, stardom, womanizing, and overexposed image is his role to play in the world. Stealing and captivating the hearts of millions among millions of audience members. They paid to see him play this role, so he has to play it, and play it well.

But everyday, for seven years, ever since he was cast in this ridiculous attempt of a convincing production, it's been eating him alive.

He's mentally antsy.

Mentally antsy to expose the truth.

He's done little things to try and spread the message. Tattoos, lyrics, being in certain places at certain times... much like the other boy in his life has does these things.

But that other boy isn't in this production. Not in the cast, the crew; nowhere to be found.

This is Harry's production. But not his true production.

He has zero control in his public role.

He wants control. He needs control.

But instead here he continues, another day.

Flashing cameras, the sounds of loud screams and chatter around him, another supermodel playing the "leading lady" at his side.

Here he is, once again...

Mentally antsy.