Amaryllis

1

hattalove on ao3

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beginning of part 1

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When Harry comes to, the air in his nose reeks of cigarette smoke. Unfamiliar voices are shouting around him. The sound reverberates inside Harry's skull, a dull, painful echo.

He thinks he might be lying on the ground - the surface beneath him is hard and cold, a rough scratch like dry leaves underneath his hands instead of a blanket. Harry doesn't remember going to sleep on the ground.

Somebody is pacing around him in slow, careful steps. Their breath is a small rasp, air catching in their throat on the way in.

"What the fuck, Louis. We can't just leave him here," somebody is saying in a thick accent, voice indignant. A rush of wind breaks against Harry's face. He's curious now, tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids feel too heavy.

"He's not our responsibility," another voice answers, calm. Steely.

"Then just take him in for the night, I doubt he's got anywhere to go. Fuck's sake."

Finally, Harry wins the intense struggle to show signs of life. He curls his fingers, hisses at the painful pull of his numb skin.

Everyone quiets – even the steps by Harry's head come to a halt. Something pokes his arm.

"Mate?"

"Yeah," Harry rasps, breath leaving him in a rush. Just then, he realises he's shaking with cold.

"Oh thank fucking God, he's alive," the accented voice says again, coming closer. A warm hand touches Harry's face, then forcibly opens one of his eyes.

"Hiya," an incredibly blurry person with a shock of blond hair says from above him, "What's your name then?"

Harry swats the boy's hand away, immediately freezing when he realises what he's done. For all he knows, he could be lying in a ditch somewhere, and the strangers arguing about taking him in could be a pack of serial killers.

"Um," he says eloquently when he finally manages to open his eyes. The world comes into focus slowly, tall trees looming above him, reaching for a night sky full of stars. When he left home, it had been nine in the morning.

"Wh—" Harry huffs, trying to lean up on his elbows, "What time is it? I need to be home before—"

"Jesus," somebody interrupts him. "You can't be fucking serious."

Another man – boy? – emerges from the shadows, a hood obscuring his face, his lazy stance a sharp counter to the cutting way he speaks. Harry should probably be scared, but he's more hurt than anything. He's confused; doesn’t know what he's done to deserve someone speaking to him like that. "Excuse me?" he says. He can see better now, a pair of eyes glinting underneath a hood and a concerned-looking blond boy kneeling at Harry's feet, studying him with his head cocked to the side like a dog.

"Ignore him," he says cheerfully, "I was talking to you first."

"Right," Harry says, slowly as he does, but he finds it very difficult to tear his eyes away from the rude person hiding in the shadows. He'd think that someone so brave with their words would like to deliver them up close. "My name's Harry. Harry Styles."

The blond gives him a blinding grin. "Nice to meet you, Harry Styles. I'm Niall Horan, and that miserable sack of shit over there is Louis. Zayn's the one standing right behind you, don't get creeped out, he likes to do that."

Only then does Harry remember the person circling him, and he immediately turns his head to look over his shoulder; follows dirty leather boots to dark skinny jeans to a black shirt to the most beautiful face he's ever seen on a human. After Harry stares for a good ten seconds, Zayn drops the stony expression, quirks his lips to the side and gives Harry a wave, cigarette smoke trailing after his hand. He only looks a little bit like a Greek God.