You Were a House on Fire | Harry Styles

two

Today started Harry's sixth consecutive Bad Day. All of them included the heavy weight of emptiness and loneliness in the pit of his stomach, but today's Bad Day also included crashing his favorite vintage car. A bunny hopped in front of the wheels, what else was he supposed to do except swerve out of the way? He had only been in Chicago for a week before The Six Bad Days, and because he was still trying to find his footing after the events of the last few months, he simply knew no one, recognized nothing, and had no connections to the city around him. Luckily, the heavily bearded man that towed his car gave him a recommendation for an auto body shop. Owned by a friend of a friend, he said, but great people nonetheless. They rode together in the man's truck with the radio's rap station accompanying them. Harry didn't recognize this either. By the time they arrived at the shop, Harry's teeth clenched so hard, he might as well have cracked a tooth. He pushed it aside, though, to thank Tony, he had figured out, and begrudgingly entered the building.

A man of slightly smaller build followed him inside, only a few steps behind. Harry didn't recall seeing another car outside waiting to be serviced, but perhaps he was here to pick something up, he thought. Either way, he hoped the door would close swiftly behind him, and not welcome any others. He could have sworn he caught a snowflake or two in his eyelashes, and he did not want to add another reason for today to be a Bad Day. The shorter man huffed and crossed his arms with his fingers tapping impatiently against his bicep. It irked Harry but kept any impulsive comments to himself. Instead, he made his way to the woman at the front desk.

"Hello," Harry said as he leaned in.

"What's up? How can I- holy shit." Her eyes widened in shock, and she had to physically take a step back. Dread rose in Harry's chest. Today of all days, he wished for the blanket of anonymity more than anything. His dread transformed into confusion when the woman approached the shorter man instead of himself. "What the fuck are you doing here, James?" She pushed a finger into his chest.

They stood only a foot away from Harry, but he was trapped in the corner. He tugged at the ends of his curly hair, unsure if he should try to excuse himself or just wait it out. He flittered his eyes around the room, attempting to give the two a semblance of privacy; a grievous task, given their proximity and the building's proclivity to echoes.

"I don't want any trouble, you know that." He put up his hands in defense, and as she opened her mouth to cut him off, he raised his voice above hers. "I'm just looking for Fae. She won't answer my calls and I-"

"Do you really think she would answer my calls either? Even if she did, I wouldn't tell you where she is anyway."

Anonymity, he remembered. He continued diverting his focus, hoping the other workers in the shop felt the same itchy heat that he did. In his searching, he noticed a single red balloon in the rafters above him, half deflated. He followed the string down to what he assumed to be the Chicago flag. Looking around, he also spotted several movie posters hung around the cinder block walls. Jurassic Park, Godzilla, Pulp Fiction, The Godfather, Jaws.

The first time Harry watched Jaws, he was midway through his time on The X-Factor. His bandmate, Louis, could barely fathom him missing out on such a classic and insisted they watch it right in that moment. They moved from their seats on the ledge of the pool under the moonlight to the couch in the living room, and Louis barely allowed them any time to properly dry off. So, Harry spent the night watching an arguably horrid movie on a damp couch, next to a boy that occupied a frightening amount of his thoughts. Harry never admitted to liking the movie, but whenever Louis probed him about it, an unwilling smile graced his features. He hasn't watched the movie since.

The next thing he knew, the woman in front of him swiftly shoved the agitated man out the door without another word. Harry realized he had grabbed the red vinyl countertop in his attempt to stabilize himself, so he released his grip and smoothed his hands over his beige coat. The woman returned only half a second later.