"Lucy?" My head snapped up and there he was. In my kitchen, I haven't seen him in years. I even thought he might have left the country, but there he was. His green orbs staring in to mine, and I didn't know if it felt safe or if I should run for the hills. "H-Harry?" •completed•

After a chance encounter, social worker Nia Cole and novelist Harry Styles navigate through the trials and tribulations of young adulthood together. A story of rediscovery and rebirth, a Sunflower and its Sun. ---------- 'Look, no offense, but I don't really know you,' I say scooting over to give us a little space. 'Plus, you wouldn't wanna hear about it. You seem like a really...positive, person. Might fuck with your energy.' 'I don't know if that 'positive' was supposed to be a compliment or an insult but my energy's quite alright,' He says with a chuckle. 'You'd be 'fucking with my energy' if you didn't tell me.' 'But why-' '-Besides,' He interjects, tugging the sleeve on his jacket and pulling me closer to him as if that was where I belonged. 'It doesn't matter because we won't see each other again.' The tone of his last sentence walked a fine line between melancholic and contemplative, as though the thought of us never seeing each other again was an injustice of fate. My heart sank once I realized that he was right. Those deep green eyes of his fixated on mine, searching for any sign that I felt the same disappointment towards the inevitable. I did. Missing a person I hardly knew felt senseless, but so was lying to myself. -------------- Started: April 8, 2020 | ongoing

Harry Edward Styles. Room 402 at Eastwood Mental Asylum. Known for turning his victims psychotic. To be handled with extreme precaution.