Hello Stranger

Harry awakes the next day, way later than he normally does. Probably because he'd attempted to go to bed much later than usual and then proceeded to spend the next two hours or so, roaming the dead streets of London. It wasn't that dead to be honest, since there were drunkards stumbling out of pubs and clubs, cheering loudly and singing at the top of their lungs, despite it being past two in the morning. Perhaps even past three. He didn't even know.

It made him smile, though. The drunkards. From how shitty he'd been feeling when he left his house, the drunkards made a tiny grin appear on his lips. Mostly because they were all drunk as fuck and singing loudly to One Direction, and the proceeding to say which member they'd let fuck in their arse. There were also talks about 'the black one' and 'the gay one' in One Direction, so Harry basically spent the next five to ten minutes of his walk wondering which one was appointed with the role of 'the gay one'. 'The black one' was clearly Zayn, even if he wasn't even part black, but they were drunk blokes in their late teens and/or early twenties. Why would they know that?

Harry had taken the journal along with him for his stroll. Not because he had intentions on writing in it again. More rather, he brought it so that he could put it in the tree hollow before he managed to talk himself into tearing the page and burning it; burning away the late night thoughts that plagued his mind whenever the sun set and he was left to his own devices.

He'd taken a stroll to the park, put the journal in its temporary home – till she came to take it – and then he settled down on a bench and... Sat. Didn't do anything. It was freezing out, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to care enough to want to go back into the warmth. He would've liked if a mug of hot chocolate materialised out of thin air, but sitting in silence at the park was nice, too. Creepy, but still nice.

Harry only made his way back to his flat at about five, maybe half five, in the morning. Mostly because people were probably going to be waking up and starting their days soon. Harry was in a pair of thick joggers, a baggy jumper and a thick coat, with bed hair and dark rings surrounding his eyes. He reckoned he'd be noticed by other people, but not for being a member of One Direction. Rather, he might've been mistaken for a mentally ill person.

Harry stayed out that late because he just couldn't seem to fall asleep after he'd written the entry. It wasn't because he was regretting writing it, and leaving it in the tree hollow for her to find.

Well, he kind of did, but that didn't matter. What was done, was done. He could go back and take the journal, but he didn't actually want to.

The iPhone on the bedside table starts to vibrate continuously and Harry groans, a hand reaching out to blindly grab it. He's not ready to open his eyes just yet. The sun's too bright. Not really. But the sun's still sort of there, and the sun is bright, so there.

"'lo?" Harry grumbles into the phone half-heartedly without even bothering to check the caller i.d.

"Hello, Harry," Grimmy's voice comes back on the other end of the line; cheerful as ever. "Alright?"

"Mmm," he groans, because he's really not bothered to speak.

"Grumpy, are we?" the older teases and Harry can only groan again in response. "Get you lazy arse out of bed. Let's go grab a bite to eat. Feel like it's been ages since I last saw you."

Harry slowly heaves himself up into a sitting position, yawning away from the phone, "Saw you like a few nights ago. Wasn't that long ago," he points out because it really hasn't been that long. The last time the pair met up was when he'd gone to the party that Grimmy had invited him to.

"True," Grimmy laughs, "Just feel like we haven't gone to grab a meal and stuff, you know? Just causal hanging out."

"Casual hanging out?" Harry laughs, shaking his head in amusement. "Is that even a thing?"

"Dunno. I'm making it a thing."

"Of course you are," Harry chuckles. "Give me twenty minutes, and I'll meet you at the shop that you like to go to?"

"Which one?"

"The one that you like."

"I like a lot of shops, love. You're gonna have to be more specific."

"The one with the – " Harry purses his lips, using his free hand to wave it around and make gestures even though he's on a phone call and the person on the other end of the line can't even bloody see him. "– the one! The one with the sandwiches and good pasta."

"Ohhh, that one. You could've just said so, Harold."

"I did!"

"Did not!" Grimmy practically gasps, "You just went the shop,– " he mocked in a falsetto, making Harry choke back a laugh, "– how am I supposed to bloody know which shop you were talking about?"

"Oh my, God, I'll see you in twenty."



The older grins, pulling the younger into a hug, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll see you soon, yeah?" Nick sends the curly-haired lad a smile, to which he responds with a smile of his own, and then they're parting ways.

Lunch with Grimmy was the best thing to keep Harry preoccupied, honestly. Nick was, after all, a radio DJ, so he had the capability of going on and on and on and on and on. It's not like Harry really wanted to talk, anyway. He was quite content with listening to the elder blabber on about which celebrity was hooking up with who, which cute guy had asked for his number but then proceeded to stand him up. That sort of thing.

Harry was still hung up on the entry he'd written. He presumed that this what what she was feeling like when she'd written the entry with leftover marks of tears and bits of blood. She was probably going through the same debate that he was. Only, he'd gotten to the journal before she could take it back. Which left Harry thinking that maybe she hadn't gone and retrieved it yet.

So once he'd parted ways with the elder, Harry deliberately took a long route to get to the park. He went through back alleyways, cut through shops, anything he could think so – just so he could get the journal and not get photographed doing so. He succeeded.

Harry walked into the coffee shop, because he didn't feel like going home just yet, and grinned at the two teenagers working again. Paired the grin with a small wave that they returned, along with their own smiles. He goes to the table that he's unofficially claimed as his and then once he's pulled off his thick coat and ordered a coffee, he opens up the journal. He's ready to tear the page, only to see that it's already been replied to, and he doesn't know if he should be relieved or worried, honestly.

·
9/12/13

i understand if you're terrified about giving fan fiction a try. some of them are pretty damn terrifying. some are stupid and really cringe-worthy, but ehh. it's whatever, you know? let them write what they want. it's better than them letting go in a non-positive way. does that even make sense? idk. makes sense to me. kind of. not really. it's early. late. i'm sleepy.

also! i never said anything about you being gay. are you trying to indirectly come out or something...

HAHAHA i'm only joking. promise.

plus, it's not like anything will change if you're gay or not. i'm a firm believer in loving whoever you want to love. why should your right of loving someone be taken away just because it's not 'the norm', you know? i mean i don't even understand why people get so mad about homosexual couples showing affection in public. like jesus fucking christ. so a girl and a guy snogging in public = totally fine. but a guy and a guy, or a girl and a girl just fucking holding hands or exchanging little pecks on the lips? nope. what an outrage. they should be ashamed of themselves for falling in love. cover your child's eyes, they might be infected with the 'gay-ness' in the air. don't want that happening, right? fucking dickwads. there's a special place in hell for homophobes. a very, very special place in hell. and if i end up there because of how rude i am or how many lies i've told, because i stand up for what i believe in? then so be it. people are still people and they deserve to love whoever they want to love.

sometimes i really hate human beings.

sorry. got a bit off topic over there. been having a shit night/morning/day/week/month/life. nah, i'm only kidding. i have been having a shit night/morning though. one of my brother's gay and his boyfriend was round our house for dinner, and an aunt and uncle stopped by, too. they're homophobes. do you understand why i went on that little rant now? family or not, they are fucking pretentious assholes who think they're better than everyone else. hate them. with a burning passion.

and if you cared (which you probably don't so i guess you can just ignore this if you want???) my parents just exploded on them and started yelling at them. so did my two other brothers. so did i, if i'm honest. it was a joint effort; defending my brother and his boyfriend. it was nice. kinda wish i had popcorn and someone recording it bc they looked so red in the face, i reckon they could've been mistaken for tomatoes. HAHAHA.

backkk to the point at hand: favourite song... i don't know. i've got a few.

of all time, my favourite has got to be John Mayer's cover of Free Fallin'. if you haven't heard it then what r u doing with ur life m8??? basically anything John Mayer is like sex to your ears and idk you're missing out if you don't listen to John Mayer. in the current moment (bc my favourite song changes quite often) i reckon it's either House of Gold by twenty one pilots or The Great Hendowski by Of Mice & Men. totally different genres but idk, they're all good songs. maybe they're terrible to you, but i like them, so there's that.

um... oh i got it. what's one place you really want to go to? :-)

– stranger x

·

The curly-haired lad can't help the small smile that comes unto his lips as he reads the entry. He could honestly see himself becoming really, really good friends with her. Not just those convenience friends – in which they text every other month and meet up once in six months. He's talking about, like, proper friendship. Form a bond as tight as the one he's got with his band (and best) mates. But he knows he's not going to meet up with her anytime soon, so he lets the thought float to the back of his mind first. Maybe he'll come back to the thought, some day. Try to convince her to meet up with him, before or once the project is finished.

Harry kind of doesn't want it to end, if he's honest. It's only been a few days and he knows he's way too attached for his own good, but he can't really help it.

He shakes his head, nibbling on his bottom lip before he's reaching a hand out to take a drink from his mug of hot coffee. After downing a couple of gulps of the hot liquid and rereading the entry, just because, he reaches for the pen in his pocket. It's become a staple now, since he's realised that he likes writing back and chilling in the coffee shop, rather than going back to his empty flat.

True, he could have gone home and stayed there till he had band commitments, but then he'd have missed out on this wonderful yet strange thing going on right now. He'd rather be in the current situation he's in now, instead of being at home and not having acquainted himself with this lovely human being.

There's another entry at the next blank page and he takes in a sharp breath. If it's of her having another mental breakdown then he doesn't want to read it. Not because he's not interested, or that he doesn't care. He doesn't want to read it because it breaks his heart; to know what she was thinking. To know that she was so down and just, not happy. She didn't deserve it. He didn't exactly properly know her, but he knew that she didn't deserve it.

·

I set foot on the train tracks,
the very place I was forbidden to go,
and I was terrified.

What's a boy to do,
when his curiosity abounds,
and the faint and haunting sounds,
taunt a tireless youth to step up to the confession booth,
where not a single thing adds up,
and a guilty verdict's met by some wandering fool's bad luck.
Open the gates to a stranger,
as in the eye of God he was all he could be; himself,
unafraid and blindly defiant,
young, abrasive,
yet soft, pliant.
He had served his years,
and his God had not lived those days,
those hours,
those minutes,
those seconds.
His God had not tasted those drinks, and kissed those lips,
he had not tried on those clothes,
or watched the countless numbers of doors close,
he had not noticed the pair of eyes shedding the tears with every death witnessed,
the pair of feet, unfailing and reliable,
the pair of hands, curious and calloused,
or the memories longing to be told as tales,
again and again for centuries.
Arrogant boy,
love yourself so no one has to,
and when they lock the gates before you,
find a way to climb them.

·