When the City's Sleeping // 1D reunion (Harry-Centric)

Chapter 1

Harry Styles.

The charming boy who was never sad, who was never mad.

The confident entertainer.

The one who had it all.

The lifeless, green eyes bored into his own, curly brown locks falling limply on his face. Like strings on a puppet, the corners of his lips tugged upwards, his dimple beaming. The once twinkling emerald orbs just looked like an empty, green canvas, emotionless. He slammed his fist against the mirror, a feeling... pain, perhaps, shooting up his fist. He couldn't bear to stand the sight of himself. It was absolutely disgusting. Every aspect was disgusting.

A warm trickle came down his arms, knocking him from his daze of self-hatred. He looked up at his hand. The place where it had come to contact had left a shatter, glass piercing his skin as blood oozed out of his knuckles. He let out a dark chuckle at the numb sensation, grabbing the reflective shard and pushing it deeper into his hand, twisting it as layers of skin broke, sparks of drowning adrenaline filling his body. He could bask in this feeling forever. His punishment. The pain. The euphoria. He could feel again.

Shaking him out of his trance, a harsh, crisp ring came from the dining table. Dragging his feet behind him, he grabbed the phone, flitting a lazy glance at the dialler. It was Niall. Ah. That was unexpected. He wanted to press the glowing red button for silence, but he knew it would likely lead to more incessant problems. He picked up.

"Harold." A much more matured voice than he remembered spoke on the phone. "How are ya, mate?" A grip of nostalgia seized his heart. He really did have a soft spot for the Irish lad.

Immediately slipping into character, even Harry's posture suddenly was laced with his laid-back, positive demeanor.

"Niall! Been a long time." Harry's deep voice echoed, sounding like he was grinning ear to ear, when I assure you, was the opposite of what he was doing.
"What's, uh, up with the sudden call?" He asked in his slow manner of speaking. He cringed immediately after he spoke. He hated how he did that, it just dragged everything and-

"Oi, if I didn't know you well enough I'd think you'd be wanting to get rid of me." Niall joked, a playful tone at his voice. "Anyway, one of us had to call you- Simon's been sending messages. You're the only one who hasn't replied yet." Niall explained, now much more solemn. Harry let a long blow of air escape from his nostrils in exasperation.

He knew none of them probably wanted to call him, judging by Niall's wording. Niall probably got forced into it by losing a bet, or something, or probably Simon's bidding. Definitely not on their own accord. He didn't blame them at all. If he was in their place, he wouldn't want to talk to him either after everything.
After an awkward moment of silence, he responded. "Alright, I'm onto it!" He mustered the cheeriest voice.

A forced reply came of a soft thanks.

Amidst his brief conversation, he had completely forgotten about his hand. Yanking out the shard, which he knew was the one thing people were advised not to do, he grabbed some flimsy gauze and scotch tape, holding pressure onto the wound. He didn't deserve any better medical help. He scrolled through his missed messages, some dating back a couple months, finally finding Simon Cowell's thread of emails. Nonchalantly clicking on the email he read through the text.

As you probably already know, One Direction's 10th anniversary is coming up. You all agreed before you left about this, you know what you have to do. We need to peak in business again, and it's what your fans want. Everything is planned out for you boys, you don't have to worry. The meeting details should already be sent to your phones. Make sure not to be late.

Simon Cowell

He curled his lips in distaste, hating the very name. He combed his fingers through his hair, wincing as he moved his hand. Looking down at his phone, he eyed the address, making a short reply. February 26th. Did he have anything then? No interviews... Well, he didn't really have anyone he would make plans with. He laughed bitterly at how pathetic he seemed. Wait. He turned on his phone again.

His phone glowed with a white lettering of 02/26, 2:46pm.

"Fuck." He whispered hoarsely. He grabbed the shit he needed, throwing on a wooly sweater to cover up his everything and throwing on some sunglasses so people didn't have to see his hideous green eyes. He didn't even make an effort to look presentable, running to his car and starting the ignition as the machine purred, like waking up from a deep slumber. He stomped on his foot on the gas pedal. Before he knew it, he was there.

The house seemed modest(no pun intended), compared to their previous places. He enjoyed the change. Living in a luxurious, empty home just made him feel guilty and worthless for being such a terrible person with such a good life. At least he didn't feel like he had to stand out. Knocking on the door, he prepared himself for an angry Simon. The door creaked open, Lindsey, a person who worked with Modest, he remembered, peeked out. "Ah! Hello, Harry. Come in!" A warm, definitely fake gaze stared at Harry, reaching out to shake his hand as he came in.
"Thank you." He pretended to gratefully smile, continuing inside.

The sight infront of him was something he was definitely not prepared for.

Harry's POV.

Louis, Liam, Niall and... Zayn?

I plastered a toothy grin at them, taking a seat on the single seat. The arrangement was a marble, rectangular table with a fluffy tablecloth draped over, covering the sides. There were two single seats on the widths of the table, and a comfy two-seater at the length of the table. Liam and Louis were seated in a two-seater, Zayn sharing the other two-seater with Niall. I took a seat at the greyscale floral single sofa. It suspiciously reminded me of something.

Louis and Liam were casually bantering, while Niall and Zayn awkwardly shuffled their feet.

Loud footsteps descended the staircase, and came to view was the gruff Simon Cowell. They all exchanged their quick 'hello's with him, but he simply waved them off irritatedly.

"Obviously, as you are all here, you already know what's happening. Your anniversary is coming up, and you're overdue in getting back together. I hope you've been enjoying your 5 years of free time, because we're back in business, boys." Simon pursed his lips into a tight smile.

"We're going to give you a week to yourselves. Sort out any differences, I don't want any bad press about bad blood when we open." He flicked his wrist. " If you don't sort it out, find a way to at least act on-screen. Secondly, here are your schedules."

A Modest staff member, passed them sheets of schedules of what they had to do in their week.

"You all have some solo fans I suppose, so for their pleasure, you'll be able to pick and choose some to perform depending on where we're performing. Now, Zayn and Louis, how are you two doing?" He had sat himself at the other short end of the table across Harry, crossing his legs and leaning in menacingly.

Zayn turned away, suddenly finding his shoes quite interesting. Louis gripped his baggy trousers, white knuckles glistening with clenching anger.

Simon smirked, weaving his fingers together. "So there is some bad blood. Fix it. I don't want to see this next time. I'll be in touch." He gave a lazy flutter of fingers as a goodbye, briskly walking out with his Modest team by his heels.

Soon, only the four of us were left.

"So... how have you guys been?" A voice spoke up.