YOUNGBLOOD » HARRY STYLES

2

Heather had brought a bunch of sandwiches for our little getaway to London. A small thought in the back of my mind told me that Alfie had made the sandwiches with his disease-infested hands, so I was a little hesitant to eat them. But when it's nearly 6pm and you're suddenly in the middle of the highway on an unplanned trip with no time to stop by a restaurant, you have to make do.

I had let Heather be in charge of the AUX chord, so of course she automatically linked her phone to it and started playing Harry Styles' album. "I can't believe we're about to see this live," She said, bouncing up and down enthusiastically in my passenger seat like a child on Christmas morning. "Can you believe it? And we're even going to meet him!" She asked and I shrugged. Obviously unsatisfied with my lack of excitement, she turned in her seat to face me. "Please tell me you at least like his music. It's good, right?"

"You've done better,"

"Oh come on, Rowan! Seriously,"

I tap along to the beat of the music on my steering wheel. I could be honest and say that the music wasn't all that bad, to my surprise, but that would make it feel like she won. I pursed my lips and let the music fill the silence. The name Harry Styles sounded very familiar, but I kept telling myself it was because he used to be part of the world's most famous band. Still, something was telling me I had heard it elsewhere before.

"Oh my gosh, look at you. You love this music." Heather smirked at me and punched my arm.

"You know, it's a shame you're so obsessed with Alfie. If you were single and you were meeting this man whose music you love so much, I might have told you that you have a chance." I told her.

"Alfie is great." Is all Heather could reply. But I was her best friend, and I knew that in the back of her mind, she knew I was right. Which explained why she didn't say anything else. "You're single though, and you're meeting him too." She said after a while.

I glanced at her briefly, taking my eyes off the road. I raised an eyebrow, as if to ask 'what's that supposed to mean?'   

"Well, maybe you have a chance."

–

I parked the car in the car park closest to the concert venue, which was already packed. This April night was cold, especially when you're wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. I hugged my arms in attempt to keep warm until we walked into the building.

"I really can't believe we're here. We're here, together in London, on a night out, and we're about to meet Harry Styles!" Heather squealed, tugging on my arm excitedly. There were signs set up at the entrance that pointed in the direction of the meet and greets.

"I would appreciate it if you could keep your fangirling at a low," I laughed at her. If you didn't know Heather, you really wouldn't have been able to tell she's  twenty-two.

There was already a long queue for the meet and greets, and most of the people in line were teenage girls who were all wearing the same merchandise, matching Heather. The room was big and had high ceilings, with a photography booth set up so that the fans could get a professional picture with Harry. The walls were painted in a dull grey colour, with not a single piece of decoration hung up. Most of the fans already had pictures, papers and sharpies at the ready to get signed, which was a bit ridiculous seeing as the event wouldn't start for another 45 minutes.

"Are you not excited? Not even the teeniest bit?" She asked, looking up at me with her hopeful brown eyes. "God, you're like the typical law student. You're so boring."

"I guess I live up to the expectations, then." I scoffed. I looked down at my watch to see we still had a century left of waiting in line. I shifted my weight impatiently from side to side, looking around me for a bathroom. When I spotted a hallway, I decided there must be a bathroom there somewhere. "I'm going to go to the bathroom." I tell Heather before ducking underneath the queue barrier and heading down the corridor.

The hallway was much darker and cooler than the meet and greet room. It was cool too, in the sense that it was interesting to be able to walk around backstage like this. The majority of people who have ever been to the O2 have probably never been to this part of the building before.

Seeing no signs for a bathroom, I opened the nearest door to check if it led to another hallway where the toilets could be. The first door I opened revealed some sort of conference room, which consisted of a long glass table and many chairs stood around it, and that was about it. The next door I tried did lead to another hallway, much to my relief. I closed the door behind me and continued on my quest to find a bathroom down a new hallway. You'd think that a public building like the O2 would have a bathroom at every corner, but I guess I was wrong.

There were still no bathroom signs, so I opened the nearest door to expect yet another hallway. Christ, backstage really was built like a maze. But instead, this room looked a lot more homely. I opened it slowly and cautiously, seeing clothes thrown over the couch to the side, and shoes lined up along the wall. I opened it further to see a man sitting in a desk chair with his back facing me. He held his face with both his hands, sniffling to himself. He was crying.

He must have heard me open the door, because he slowly turned around in his chair and wiped some of the tears from his face. "Oh um, hi, sorry." I stuttered awkwardly. What do you do when you open the door to some strangers room and they're crying?

"Oh, no it's okay." He replied, his voice croaky. The skin around his eyes was puffy and blotched with redness. "I-um, are you here for the show?" He asked, wiping at his eyes a couple more times and flattening out his simple white shirt. He wore a pair of sports shorts and curled brown locks hung above his forehead messily.

"Yes, I was just looking for a bathroom. Is there anything I can help you with?" I asked politely. If Heather were here to see this, she would have been shocked at how kind I was being. I guess the slogan Treat People With Kindness that I've been seeing everywhere already got to me.

"It's okay, I'll be fine. The nearest bathroom is just down the hall, the first door on your left." He explained using hand motions. When he looked up at me with green eyes that were shimmering because of fresh tears, I felt myself do a double take. I felt like I was experiencing major deja vu.

"Is everything-hey! This is off the premises for someone like you! Get out right now! What do you think you're doing, snooping around backstage like this?" A voice boomed from down the hallway and then sounded loudly when he walked into the room. He was a bodyguard, there was no doubt about it; he wore thick black clothing from head to toe, a black belt from which hung a weapon and multiple 'walkie-talkies', and a black earpiece fit snug in his ear.

"I-I'm sorry," I felt my confidence shrink, feeling overly guilty for trespassing.

"It's fine, Clyde. She's wearing her meet and greet pass, she's allowed to be in this part of the building. She was just looking for a bathroom." The tear-stained man said and stood up, still sniffling.

"Mhm," Clyde retorted, obviously not convinced. I swear to God, Ro, you've been here for 10 minutes and you've already managed to be told off by security, I silently scolded myself.

"I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Harry," The man said, sticking out his hand.

"I'm Rowan," I replied, shaking his hand and feeling the cool of his metal rings touch my skin. We locked eyes, and that's when it made sense.

"Wait, Rowan?" Harry asked, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly and narrowing his eyes.