oxford comma // h.s o.u

prologue

June, 2015

My plan was simple. I was to drive to London, spend a few hours with Papa and Nicholas before they set off to Sweden, then watch film after film after film with Harry and Mina all night. However, when Harry hadn't answered any of my messages or calls since the afternoon before, panic washed over me and my brain was sent into overdrive.

It was very unlike Harry not to get in contact with me on a daily basis at this point, especially first thing in the morning, as he'd taken to sending me a quick message asking how I slept or to tell me all about his latest bizarre dream quite often. Both gestures I was very thankful for, and both of them put a smile on my face every single morning—maybe it was because his words were humorous or kind, or maybe it was because I got a real kick out of knowing he thought about me just as much as I thought about him.

Initially, I had assumed that maybe Harry wasn't awake yet, maybe he had a big night and I wasn't aware of that, but as it struck mid-afternoon, I was becoming more and more worried about him. At one point, I cursed myself for not having the phone number of one of his friends, but then I remembered Nick Grimshaw had followed me back on Twitter. I sent him a quick message asking if he had heard from Harry, but he replied within half an hour saying that he hadn't.

I wasn't scheduled to be at Harry's house until later in the evening, after Papa's flight had left, but the longer I stayed at Papa's house instead of going to see where Harry was, the more I began to fidget. Firstly, I began tapping my foot as we sat on the couch or at the kitchen bench. Secondly, I constantly played around on my phone, hoping he would either text me or post something on some form of social media. And thirdly, which was when my father noticed something was clearly wrong, was when I started to check the time on either my phone or the clock on the wall every two seconds, like I was hoping time would magically jump forward until it was time for me to leave.

"Suzanne," Papa eventually said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder as I stood by him in his room and helped him pack his last minute things. "What is bothering you?"

"Nothing," I replied, biting down slightly on my bottom lip.

Papa sighed as he sat down on the bed and patted the spot beside me, so I followed his instructions as I sat next to him and welcomed the arm he wrapped around my shoulders. "I can tell when you're lying, Suzanne," he told me, resting his chin upon the top of my head. "Please tell me what is wrong."

Pulling back from him, I looked straight up at him and into his dark, brown eyes. I couldn't lie to my father and I wasn't even sure why I thought I could get away with it in the first place. So, instead, I let out a deep sigh and explained my worries about Harry and how I was so anxious but also didn't want to go on a Harry hunt because of previously made plans. I had assumed Papa would tell me that I was reading too much into everything and that Harry was just a popstar who needed some space from time-to-time—it was obvious that Papa never truly agreed with my choice of relationship in Harry—but he didn't say that at all, In fact, Papa actually told me that he would sort something out in regards to Mina. If I was truly as worried about Harry as I had told him I was, then I was to leave immediately and get to the bottom of it.

I gave Papa a big hug to say thank you, while also making him promise to message me with the details of the new plan of action for the rest of the day, and I was out of the house before Nicholas or Mina could even question what had happened. On the way to Hampstead Heath, I had about a million scenarios flashing through my mind about what had happened—in reality, it was probably nothing serious and nothing for me to lose sleep over, but sadly, that wasn't how the reality of my mind worked. Worst case scenarios were what flooded my mind the most.

As I pulled up outside of Harry's house and keyed in the code for the front gate, I spotted his Land Rover parked out the front and prayed that was a good sign—a sign that he was at least home, unless he had been picked up by someone or was on a walk around the block, though I hoped that wasn't the case. I rushed up the front path and to the front door, practically slamming my fist against the wooden door and momentarily forgetting about the doorbell for added dramatic effect. I waited and waited and waited, and just when I thought I couldn't wait anymore without trying to find a way out the back, the front door opened. A wave of relief washed over me at first, but as soon as I spotted Harry in the state he was in, I knew that it was only just the beginning.