You Can't Sing Without Air- Harry Styles Fanfic

4. Old Friends and Tired Lungs

Camilla and Shawn get up to dance, and Sean follows behind. Niall and Lewis float back and forth between the bar, and I notice Lewis swaying a bit more every time.

At around eleven I realize I need to use the jacks so I scoot out of the booth and across the bar.

The toilet is empty so I let out a few hacking coughs I've been holding in for most of the night. I spit some mucus into a towel and throw it away. I finish my business and check my hair and makeup in the mirror before walking out. Not a lash is out of place, which is easy to do when you sit still in a booth all night.

I walk out of the toilets and begin to make my way towards the booth. I notice someone to the left of me catch my eye, but it's too dark to see them clearly.

"Hey," I hear, followed by the sound of someone approaching. I brace myself for some awkward encounter with a guy who probably wants a dance and a number. When I turn I'm surprised to see none other than Harry Styles himself.

"Aideen?" He asks. "How are you?" He leans in for a hug. I hug back, my eyebrows lifting in surprise. He kisses my cheek.

"I'm... I'm good, Harry hi. How are you? It's been a while!" I say, pretending not to be surprised but failing miserably. I hadn't thought of him in months before coming across that update on my Instagram earlier today. Now here he is, standing right in front of me. 

"I'm good! Who are you here with?" he asks, his accent a little softer than it was the last time we spoke.

"Niall," I answer. "Oh and Lewis and Camilla.... and Shawn of course, and, like, seven or eight more people trying to get wasted." I chuckle. "They're succeeding."

"I need to say hello then!"

He turns toward a group of friends, one of whom I recognize as his bandmate Mitch Rowland. "I'll be back in a bit, mate" he yells. Mitch doesn't seem to hear. Or mind, for that matter.

I lead him over to the table, tottering awkwardly in my heels. He greets the gang, all smiles.

"HARRY!" Lewis yells, grabbing Harry's arm and holding it up like a champion wrestler after a match. 

"Niall's SECOND favorite musician!" he exclaims much louder than necessary. I catch Harry wince ever so slightly. Whether it's from the volume or Lewis' breath is anyone's guess.

Niall laughs and gives Harry one of those bro hugs. You know, the ones where they hold each other really tightly and pat each other on the back aggressively. It's nice to see.

Harry takes a seat at the table and the conversation immediately turns to him. He talks about his tour, the new album, and what he's been up to lately. After a while, he seems to get tired of talking about himself and turns to me.

He asks me what I've been up to since the last time we spoke and I'm at a loss for words. I tell him I graduated college, and leave out the part about me missing graduation because I was in hospital fighting for my life. He listens intently, his eyes never leaving mine as we speak. He seems completely sober, which is a bit unusual for him. He's no Lewis, but anyone who's spent time with Harry knows he can hold his liquor. 

After a while, I start to feel my breath catching in my throat as I speak. My lungs feel crackly, a telltale sign that I'm just about done in for the night.

"I think I need to head out. I'm pretty tired" I say, letting out a thick cough.

"Sure, yeah. It was great to see you." He stands up to let me out of the booth.

I stand and immediately begin to cough again. Damn these lungs.

"Where's your ride?" he asks, looking around.