Cut flower life

Bouquet

Harry let's himself into the room quietly. It's eerily silent for 9 a.m., dark too. The room looks like a party started and finished here; the middle no doubt happened elsewhere. There are clothes strewn about, typical, he's gotten ready with Nick a time or two.

If Harry's look is curated, Nick's is chaotic, rather than a clear mental picture of what he wants to wear, Nick tries on everything he is currently obsessed with before pronouncing the one. There is an empty vodka bottle and empty crunched Lilt cans. That is a Nick trademark drink. Well it was, when they were younger and he worried less about calories, now he likes to brag he drinks like a rich white woman, clear liquor and soda, except in Ibiza, apparently. The place is a mess, but it's Ibiza and Nick, so Harry isn't terribly surprised. He does feel terribly charmed though. At ease and happy inside.

All the things that make Nick, Nick are on display. How silly he can be, his northern familiarity, messiness, laugh, grumpiness in the a.m.

They make Harry happy and indulgent.

Nick may not have got in until the sun was rising. He told Harry one time before he made this nearly annual trip to party island, "I go and relive my youth, Harry. I spent my 20's dirt poor and watching my friends get famous, so I'm redoing them on a better budget, one holiday at a time." He'd explained with a cigarette in his hand and sunglasses on indoors. It was unlit. Harry's eyes had fallen on it immediately, he worried about that habit. It was a bad penny that came back up for so many.

"It's not lit Styles," Nick had rolled knowing eyes, "it's just for style. Helps make the point!" He held the white cylinder that lost something for the lack of burn at the end, between his pointer and thumb and sent it forward like lining up a dart shot. It came toward Harry's nose. It was useful for emphasis, he'd give him that.

He and Nick felt like a bullseye. They'd fallen into intense friendship so quickly, it was a lot like falling in love. They were inseparable for a time, like the first Ibiza trip. He'd really wanted to go to that one. He of course hadn't been able to, hadn't been allowed.

Harry was always invited to the Ibiza weekend. At first, he knew it was with real hope. Nick would ask and they both would wonder if he, Harry, could work it into his schedule. The answer in the band was always no. At first because of too many things to do, not enough time, then because Harry didn't want to ruin anybody's time by bringing a horde of photographers to the party, and then after the band, well he supposed that was pure selfishness. Harry had just reclaimed his privacy and the keeping of his own schedule. And he didn't really like party island.

He'd been to Ibiza, once. He thought it was once. It was like Vegas for him. Not his scene.

But it would be with Nick.

Nick could make anything fun, anything Harry's scene. That's why they were best friends.

They both knew that. So Nick kept inviting him. Now halfheartedly, with knowledge that his words were empty as was Harry's "let me see."

Come to think of it, Harry wasn't sure he had been explicitly invited to this one. But he was sure Nick would welcome him.

Nick was always there for Harry.

He even was there with open arms, a bottle, The Notebook, and a blunt after what Nick called "the estrangement" of 2015.

It was really 2014. Harry was depressed, upset, and feeling betrayed. He thought he had backup. Zayn had promised. Then he had not said a peep and let Harry lay his head on the rock before Abraham. More so, Zayn helped raise the rock. Then got all chummy with Louis. The hiatus wasn't just his idea, but he had taken the fall alone.