"Drugs, sex, and sun salutations."
Harry Styles thought he would never make it big, but that all changed when he ran into public relations manager, Celestial Gray. With long lists of problems on both sides and an unusual duo, the two never imagin...
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US AND THEM chapter six january 24, 1975
"I'm not afraid of dying," He answered yet another question , the endless stream of them expected but simply not wanted in the slightest. "Any time will do. I don't mind." He said, cutting his head to the right to see the girl next to him whose tired eyes widened, her jaw-dropping in synchronization.
"You don't ever wonder how it'll happen? You really don't fear death - the unknown?" She questioned again. Harry smirked at the face she held, stifling down a laugh with a cough as she raised her eyebrows, annoyed at his silence. He looked down at the old guitar between his legs.
"I have a lot of fears but death is not one of them. Why should I be frightened of dying? There's no reason for it - you've gotta go sometime." He spoke as she shook her head. She looked out of her window at the passing cars.
She looked down and blinked as she fidgeted with the rings on her fingers, something Harry had noticed the night at Finnegan's bar - she was nervous, or irritated, or some strange emotion that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on. She didn't have an answer.
"You sure do wear a lot of rings." He said observingly, reaching over to take ahold of her hand in his. He chuckled as he ran his fingers over every single one - the cool metal contrasting with the soft, angelic likeness of her skin - studying them as if they were on an important exam coming up.
"You sure do have a lot of hair," she said in rebuttal.
A silver band with a mushroom was wrapped around her ring finger. A thick heart on her pointer finger. A guitar ring wrapped around her thumb - a gold band with a square green gem on her middle finger, and a small silver moon on her pinky.
Her right pointer finger held the face of a silver bear; her middle finger with a small silver star to match the moon
"Here." She said, pulling her hand out of his grasp as she took the bear off of her left hand and placed it in his hand. "Here. This one'll probably fit you."
He took it between his thumb and index finger carefully as his gaze was fixated on it alone for a few seconds in thought.
"This one matches your eyes perfectly, though." She began as she slid the band off of her middle finger.
"I don't wear rings." He replied, switching to a thick, cold, and frightening tone, dropping the ring back in her hand as she held it. She slid them back on and placed her hands between her thighs before returning her gaze to the comfort which was staring out of the window.
Her porcelain-like skin fell with a frown as she rested her hand against the side of her head. He'd come around eventually - or at least she hoped he would. She bit her lower lip as they passed the streets, so many tiny people with huge lives of their own, living them out as if no one else mattered.
Shrangri-La - the recording studio in Malibu - was located in the hills above Zuma Beach. Once a ranch property with a bungalow owned by some actress long forgotten, it was converted to a recording studio by Rob Fraboni to the precise specifications of Bob Dylan and The Band.
It was a small place, but Celest had felt that a change like this was needed. It was decorated minimally, a nice touch that while Celest found it rather soothing, although she knew Harry would comment on its neatness.
The grass was green and the water was clear as the two climbed out of the backseat; Harry grabbed his guitar as Celest paid the driver however much he asked. He stood in front of her, secretly admiring the architecture and detail around him as she couldn't see.
"You didn't have to bring that, you know?" She asked, referring to the guitar in his hands. He wore a white tee and black straight-leg pants, the tattoos that covered his left arm moving as the muscles in his arm did while he held onto it.
"And?" He questioned sternly, turning around to face his back to the studios. "I don't write music unless it's with this fucking guitar, understand?"
"Yes sir." She muttered under her breath in response, hoping he didn't hear her snarky comment.
"Harry, you are the most complicated person I know." She spoke up, "Maybe it's because you're a fucking man or some shit but, you know, I think every guitar has stories in it. Everyone has new songs and new things to be discovered on it just like a person does."
"Complicated freak." He barked back, his accent thicker - a trait Celest had noticed the first night she met him. When he began to become agitated or angry, his accent would get harsher, thicker, as he let his frustration out.
"Maybe you're like that guitar of yours." She muttered under her breath bitterly yet again, pushing past him to work her way into the studio. She touched the ring with her thumb as he followed behind her. "Tired and worn out but still fighting with everything in it to be heard."
"I'm not anything like that, Angel." He said with a smirk despite being quite annoyed with her already. His dirty white converse being drug tiredly through the grass in front of the girl as she trailed behind.
"We'll see about that in the end, Styles. It's just us, and them."
