Status: another story that will see if it works out
'Till Kingdom Come
chapter 3.
“One Direction have to do their own ironing! You don’t see Take That do their own ironing!” – Liam Payne
At twenty-three Harry had never got over the fact that he’d become the person he was now. World-wide famous, financially covered for the next eighty years and still amazingly single. In theory he should be living the dream of every male species in the planet. Which he was off course, painfully so, every single night and every single day.
He traveled the world like it was his backyard; having coffee in France one moment, surfing in Miami the next. He had grown a much thicker skin throughout the years as a result of seeing his face being the tabloids’ daily cover to their never-ending gabfest. He rarely went back to his hometown nowadays (“I am so sick and tired of seeing your face everywhere but never here in front of me, go home will you darling?” his mom would always say) and when he did he never felt like it was his home anymore.
He lived in a bigger city now, with glamour lights, better food and better clothes. He had a long list of friends and a longer list of people who wanted to be his friends. And yet sometimes, when he wanted to see a movie or randomly go to the zoo or just wanted to desperately talk about how good his lunch was, he didn’t know who to call (most times he ended up calling his mum). He sometimes wondered if this was what people meant by the price of fame.
They said a lot of things about what fame could do to you and Harry liked to believe that he had at least able to stay away from the worst parts, like the drugs and the sex and the parties (well okay, sex and parties he had his fair share). He also liked to believe that he at least had enough good relationships that could keep him grounded after all these years of living in the spot light.
But still, some nights, when all he could hear was the loud ticking clock in his and Louis’ overpriced apartment, Harry felt more alone than usual.
And usually it was only after his 9th shot of tequila and 4th glass of vodka, lost in the sea of pretty people in even prettier clothes, beads of sweats clanged to his skin hungrily and his drunken mind searching a tiny grasp of warmth in his heart, that he realized; the words alone and lonely have two very different meaning.
And that’s the one thing they didn’t say about fame; how to stop it from consuming you until you don’t know who you are without it anymore.
-
Harry was not a morning person.
He never was, never been and never will be.
He had trouble waking up early in the morning as much as Niall had trouble keeping his mouth off food or Zayn had trouble being ugly.
He hated the idea of waking up early in the morning and when he did (had to, to be precise) he usually needed quite a while to shake the sleep off him, leaving him with the nastiest mood possible until then.
As much as that being said however, there were some things that Harry didn’t mind so much to be waking up early to and these things, by some miraculous means, could reduce his horrible morning mood.
Like for example, the smell of his mom’s freshly made pancake. Back when he was a kid, his mom alwaysmade pancake for breakfast and they always tasted like heaven. He didn’t know what it was, they weren't too soft or too thick and just the right amount of sweetness and he could say this fairly (as he’d been to almost any part of the world really) that his mom’s pancake were the best in the world and if he had to wake up early to the smell of them he had decided that he didn’t really mind.
Another thing that Harry didn’t mind too much to be waking up to was the sound of his alarm clock going off, just a few seconds after he opened his eyes. As much as Harry hated the sound of his alarm clock he felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment if he could outdo it. Though this rarely happened it always made his mood a little better when it did.
The smell of new bed sheets.
The smell of his old room.
Knowing that his mom would be doing his laundry all week.
Knowing that his mom would cook for him all week. (Yes so he was a momma’s boy, sue him).
All of these things above were the reasons that Harry would be the least bit ok to be waking up early in the morning. They gave him a sense of purpose, a glimpse of joy and a damn well reason for him to lighten up his mood.
Niall Horan’s childish giggling was not any of these things.
And it was exactly what Harry had woken up to that cheerful morning in New York City.
Being part of a boy band Harry had realized a long time ago, meant sacrificing a whole lot of one’s private time. Harry could barely point out a time he didn’t spend with his band mates ever since he got involved with the band. They sing together, they eat together, they sleep together, they travel the world together, they hug crying fans together, they got drunk together, they even had to bloody brush their teeth together sometimes (why do you spit so weird? Louis would always pointlessly asked him). He understood this was part of the job and if he could choose the people he had to spend most of his private times with, he was more than grateful they were his band mates.
But Harry drew the line on waking up in the morning to the sound of each other’s giggling, particularly those of Niall Horan’s.
He buried his head so deep into his pillow as an attempt to block the aggravating noise. It worked for a second until a screeching noise of something breaking filled the room and the giggles became hysteric laughter, not only those of Niall’s but also of Louis’, Harry recognized.
“Oh sweet Lord.”
Harry growled as he threw his pillow away. He mustered the energy to then yell at the top of his lungs.
“Oi you bloody lot! Shut the bloody hell up! I’m trying to bloody sleep!”
The laughter came to a halt and for a moment the hotel room was quiet. Harry muttered some incorrigible words under his breath and was trying to resume back to his sleep when the door of his room was thrown open with a loud BANG.
Harry jumped out his skin and almost fell out of his bed.
“Good Morning my dear beloved Harold! Those many swear words aren't the best way to start off the day don’t you reckon?” Louis spoke first, smirking that smirk that always got into everybody’s skin.
Harry greeted his teeth, his expression was as if he was enduring the most painful mental pain of all – which unfortunately for him, he almost was.
“Just for the record though we were actually going to gently wake you up with a cup of earl grey and freshly made pancake. I’ve even made them myself, mind you. But this little Irish nuisance over here accidentally set the cup flying to the floor, and uh, kinda ate the pancakes. Like all of it.”
Louis was quiet for a moment, as if deciding an important matter, before adding, “so I guess.. our adorable little angle faces are enough?”
Both Louis and Niall feigned an innocent smile that made them look like starving puppies and would make any teenage girl with raging hormones cry in their sleep. But Harry wasn’t a teenage girl raging with hormones nor would he care about starving puppies this early in the morning.
“First of all,” He said through his greeted teeth, “Your faces are neither adorable nor angelic, they, in fact, are rather disturbing for my eyes this early in the morning.”
All this sudden noise and chatters were making Harry’s head throb with annoyance, his heart was still beating rather fast from the previous sudden noise and all he wanted to do was just get back to sleep, for god’s sake.
“And second of all, you! ” He pointed his finger at Niall’s sniggering face. “You need to bloody stop giggling. ”
Somehow, for some reason unknown to Harry, this apparently translated to ‘hey my little band buddies come make yourselves comfortable and let’s make friendship bracelets together in my bed!’ because then both Louis and Niall were suddenly throwing themselves on either side of his bed, nonchalant and void of concern of his current stressed outburst.
“No. No no absolutely Not. I want to get back to sleep and I can’t do that with you noisy lot running around. Get out of my room, better yet, out of the hotel. Code Red. This is bloody code red. ”
Code red was a phrase Harry himself had come up with after he deemed the amount of time his band mates walking in on him doing his private business was becoming more and more unreasonable. He would yell it out whenever he felt he was lacking some alone time (or whenever he felt that they were getting too overly, annoyingly attached to each other) and soon the others followed his lead and it became a defense thing between them.
“Harry mate! You can’t code red us now.” Niall annoyingly whined. “We haven’t seen each other since-” Niall stopped his sentence mid air as he tried to count on his fingers.
“Saturday.”
“Yes exactly! And that’s like-” Niall counted again.
“Two days ago.”
“Yes mate! Two whole days! Don’t you miss us?” Niall asked as if it was the most natural question to be asked in a conversation between two male completely straight friends.
“No.” Harry was deadpanned.
“Are you sure? Not even a little bit?” Louis decided to pipe in, annoyingly so while raising his eyebrows and pouting his lips.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Harry was in the brink of his patience; his mates were such bloody nuisances sometimes.
“Well too bad mate cause it was a rhetorical question and we missed you! ” Louis threw open both his arms with a big stupid grin plastered across his face.
“And we want you to get your arse out of your bed and get dressed. We’ve got wine to taste, desserts to choose and a list of napkin colors to decide on, so chop chop time’s ticking!”
“What in the ruddy hell are you talking about?” Harry was more than lost at that point and nothing Louis had just said make any sense to him.
Louis feigned surprise, dramatically making an exaggerated horror expression.
“The wedding mate! It’s in three weeks! Eleanor’s stress level is up on my neck. There are still a shit loads to do and she gave me this massive ‘things to be done’ list and you guys aren't going anywhere until every single thing there is ticked off.”
Louis seemed relentless on this and Harry could only bit his tongue in response. He mentally let out a frustrated, angry groan and sunk his head deeper into his pillow.
The wedding. He groaned to himself, how could he possibly forget about that?
“So get dressed and get that frown out the window and we’ll see you downstairs in 10 all right hazzaboo?”
Louis didn’t bother to wait for any answer with that both he and Niall disappeared out of Harry’s sight.
‘How great is this day going to get man? Free desserts! No wonder people get married all the time.’
Harry could still hear Niall’s stupid voice vaguely as he and Louis made their way out of the room and his stupid conclusion to the whole situation made Harry let out a dejected sigh. There was no way he could get back to his sleep now. There was no power strong enough to keep Niall from free desserts after all, or Louis calling him hazzaboo for that matter.
At twenty-three Harry had never got over the fact that he’d become the person he was now. World-wide famous, financially covered for the next eighty years and still amazingly single. In theory he should be living the dream of every male species in the planet. Which he was off course, painfully so, every single night and every single day.
He traveled the world like it was his backyard; having coffee in France one moment, surfing in Miami the next. He had grown a much thicker skin throughout the years as a result of seeing his face being the tabloids’ daily cover to their never-ending gabfest. He rarely went back to his hometown nowadays (“I am so sick and tired of seeing your face everywhere but never here in front of me, go home will you darling?” his mom would always say) and when he did he never felt like it was his home anymore.
He lived in a bigger city now, with glamour lights, better food and better clothes. He had a long list of friends and a longer list of people who wanted to be his friends. And yet sometimes, when he wanted to see a movie or randomly go to the zoo or just wanted to desperately talk about how good his lunch was, he didn’t know who to call (most times he ended up calling his mum). He sometimes wondered if this was what people meant by the price of fame.
They said a lot of things about what fame could do to you and Harry liked to believe that he had at least able to stay away from the worst parts, like the drugs and the sex and the parties (well okay, sex and parties he had his fair share). He also liked to believe that he at least had enough good relationships that could keep him grounded after all these years of living in the spot light.
But still, some nights, when all he could hear was the loud ticking clock in his and Louis’ overpriced apartment, Harry felt more alone than usual.
And usually it was only after his 9th shot of tequila and 4th glass of vodka, lost in the sea of pretty people in even prettier clothes, beads of sweats clanged to his skin hungrily and his drunken mind searching a tiny grasp of warmth in his heart, that he realized; the words alone and lonely have two very different meaning.
And that’s the one thing they didn’t say about fame; how to stop it from consuming you until you don’t know who you are without it anymore.
-
Harry was not a morning person.
He never was, never been and never will be.
He had trouble waking up early in the morning as much as Niall had trouble keeping his mouth off food or Zayn had trouble being ugly.
He hated the idea of waking up early in the morning and when he did (had to, to be precise) he usually needed quite a while to shake the sleep off him, leaving him with the nastiest mood possible until then.
As much as that being said however, there were some things that Harry didn’t mind so much to be waking up early to and these things, by some miraculous means, could reduce his horrible morning mood.
Like for example, the smell of his mom’s freshly made pancake. Back when he was a kid, his mom alwaysmade pancake for breakfast and they always tasted like heaven. He didn’t know what it was, they weren't too soft or too thick and just the right amount of sweetness and he could say this fairly (as he’d been to almost any part of the world really) that his mom’s pancake were the best in the world and if he had to wake up early to the smell of them he had decided that he didn’t really mind.
Another thing that Harry didn’t mind too much to be waking up to was the sound of his alarm clock going off, just a few seconds after he opened his eyes. As much as Harry hated the sound of his alarm clock he felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment if he could outdo it. Though this rarely happened it always made his mood a little better when it did.
The smell of new bed sheets.
The smell of his old room.
Knowing that his mom would be doing his laundry all week.
Knowing that his mom would cook for him all week. (Yes so he was a momma’s boy, sue him).
All of these things above were the reasons that Harry would be the least bit ok to be waking up early in the morning. They gave him a sense of purpose, a glimpse of joy and a damn well reason for him to lighten up his mood.
Niall Horan’s childish giggling was not any of these things.
And it was exactly what Harry had woken up to that cheerful morning in New York City.
Being part of a boy band Harry had realized a long time ago, meant sacrificing a whole lot of one’s private time. Harry could barely point out a time he didn’t spend with his band mates ever since he got involved with the band. They sing together, they eat together, they sleep together, they travel the world together, they hug crying fans together, they got drunk together, they even had to bloody brush their teeth together sometimes (why do you spit so weird? Louis would always pointlessly asked him). He understood this was part of the job and if he could choose the people he had to spend most of his private times with, he was more than grateful they were his band mates.
But Harry drew the line on waking up in the morning to the sound of each other’s giggling, particularly those of Niall Horan’s.
He buried his head so deep into his pillow as an attempt to block the aggravating noise. It worked for a second until a screeching noise of something breaking filled the room and the giggles became hysteric laughter, not only those of Niall’s but also of Louis’, Harry recognized.
“Oh sweet Lord.”
Harry growled as he threw his pillow away. He mustered the energy to then yell at the top of his lungs.
“Oi you bloody lot! Shut the bloody hell up! I’m trying to bloody sleep!”
The laughter came to a halt and for a moment the hotel room was quiet. Harry muttered some incorrigible words under his breath and was trying to resume back to his sleep when the door of his room was thrown open with a loud BANG.
Harry jumped out his skin and almost fell out of his bed.
“Good Morning my dear beloved Harold! Those many swear words aren't the best way to start off the day don’t you reckon?” Louis spoke first, smirking that smirk that always got into everybody’s skin.
Harry greeted his teeth, his expression was as if he was enduring the most painful mental pain of all – which unfortunately for him, he almost was.
“Just for the record though we were actually going to gently wake you up with a cup of earl grey and freshly made pancake. I’ve even made them myself, mind you. But this little Irish nuisance over here accidentally set the cup flying to the floor, and uh, kinda ate the pancakes. Like all of it.”
Louis was quiet for a moment, as if deciding an important matter, before adding, “so I guess.. our adorable little angle faces are enough?”
Both Louis and Niall feigned an innocent smile that made them look like starving puppies and would make any teenage girl with raging hormones cry in their sleep. But Harry wasn’t a teenage girl raging with hormones nor would he care about starving puppies this early in the morning.
“First of all,” He said through his greeted teeth, “Your faces are neither adorable nor angelic, they, in fact, are rather disturbing for my eyes this early in the morning.”
All this sudden noise and chatters were making Harry’s head throb with annoyance, his heart was still beating rather fast from the previous sudden noise and all he wanted to do was just get back to sleep, for god’s sake.
“And second of all, you! ” He pointed his finger at Niall’s sniggering face. “You need to bloody stop giggling. ”
Somehow, for some reason unknown to Harry, this apparently translated to ‘hey my little band buddies come make yourselves comfortable and let’s make friendship bracelets together in my bed!’ because then both Louis and Niall were suddenly throwing themselves on either side of his bed, nonchalant and void of concern of his current stressed outburst.
“No. No no absolutely Not. I want to get back to sleep and I can’t do that with you noisy lot running around. Get out of my room, better yet, out of the hotel. Code Red. This is bloody code red. ”
Code red was a phrase Harry himself had come up with after he deemed the amount of time his band mates walking in on him doing his private business was becoming more and more unreasonable. He would yell it out whenever he felt he was lacking some alone time (or whenever he felt that they were getting too overly, annoyingly attached to each other) and soon the others followed his lead and it became a defense thing between them.
“Harry mate! You can’t code red us now.” Niall annoyingly whined. “We haven’t seen each other since-” Niall stopped his sentence mid air as he tried to count on his fingers.
“Saturday.”
“Yes exactly! And that’s like-” Niall counted again.
“Two days ago.”
“Yes mate! Two whole days! Don’t you miss us?” Niall asked as if it was the most natural question to be asked in a conversation between two male completely straight friends.
“No.” Harry was deadpanned.
“Are you sure? Not even a little bit?” Louis decided to pipe in, annoyingly so while raising his eyebrows and pouting his lips.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Harry was in the brink of his patience; his mates were such bloody nuisances sometimes.
“Well too bad mate cause it was a rhetorical question and we missed you! ” Louis threw open both his arms with a big stupid grin plastered across his face.
“And we want you to get your arse out of your bed and get dressed. We’ve got wine to taste, desserts to choose and a list of napkin colors to decide on, so chop chop time’s ticking!”
“What in the ruddy hell are you talking about?” Harry was more than lost at that point and nothing Louis had just said make any sense to him.
Louis feigned surprise, dramatically making an exaggerated horror expression.
“The wedding mate! It’s in three weeks! Eleanor’s stress level is up on my neck. There are still a shit loads to do and she gave me this massive ‘things to be done’ list and you guys aren't going anywhere until every single thing there is ticked off.”
Louis seemed relentless on this and Harry could only bit his tongue in response. He mentally let out a frustrated, angry groan and sunk his head deeper into his pillow.
The wedding. He groaned to himself, how could he possibly forget about that?
“So get dressed and get that frown out the window and we’ll see you downstairs in 10 all right hazzaboo?”
Louis didn’t bother to wait for any answer with that both he and Niall disappeared out of Harry’s sight.
‘How great is this day going to get man? Free desserts! No wonder people get married all the time.’
Harry could still hear Niall’s stupid voice vaguely as he and Louis made their way out of the room and his stupid conclusion to the whole situation made Harry let out a dejected sigh. There was no way he could get back to his sleep now. There was no power strong enough to keep Niall from free desserts after all, or Louis calling him hazzaboo for that matter.
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hello to whoever read this story, I'm really glad that you do. I have this idea for this story for a while now and there is nothing I'd like to do more than to finish writing it, and getting subscribers or comments or readers or even criticisms really really really make me happy, so please don't hesitate to do so!
ps: sorry if the story is moving slow, i just really like to take things slow, you see.
ps: sorry if the story is moving slow, i just really like to take things slow, you see.