Hearts Like Ours

Waking up was always a struggle. The nights were too late, the mornings too early. There was a point in the tour where Harry didn’t bother to unpack anything, instead he would literally live from his suitcase. He had become a professional at 15-minute hustles through hotel rooms, brushing his teeth and hair, changing into something acceptable to wear in public, then shoving anyththing else in his duffel bag before sprinting out the door. He slung his bag over his shoulder, shoved his phone in his pocket, and grabbed his jacket from where it had been laying on a chair near the door, where he had flung it the night before. He hurriedly shuffled toward the elevator, feeling his phone vibrate incessantly in his back pocket. He was late and everyone and their mother was trying to get a hold of him.

The elevator arrived and he stepped in, hitting the ground floor button and tapping his foot impatiently. He was doing his best to ignore the buzzing of his phone, instead taking this moment as an opportunity to slip on his jacket. He stopped mid-way, something heavy hitting his side from one of the hidden pockets. Reaching in, he pulled out the leatherbound book from the night before. It had completely slipped his mind in the haze he’d been in, a colorful montage of lights, adrenaline, and lightheaded awe at the crowd he’d played to. It always seemed worth the exhaustion once he got on that stage, but it was pure hell in between.

Curiously, he turned the book over in his hands. Patterns of blossoms were stamped into the deep purple leather and a string tied the pages together. He began to carefully unwrap it, opening it and leafing through the pages.

We sat there like strangers, awkwardly shifting our weight in our chairs. He tried to make small talk, but I had nothing to say to him besides the obvious ‘Where the hell have you been for the last eight years?’. The words built up in my mouth but refused to make it past my lips

Harry furrowed his eyebrows together, unsure of what he had stumbled upon. He flipped through more pages, the book filled to the brim with looping cursive handwriting.

I found myself telling him about this list I’d made, things I had never done before but wanted to do before the year’s end. I had never told anyone else about it, but with Cam it was different. He didn’t judge me because he’d had enough of that directed toward him. He only smiled, grabbing my hand and encouraging me to do it. I rolled down the window, turned up the radio, and looked straight at him. And then I let out the loudest scream I could muster as he started to laugh beside me before joining in.

“Where the hell have you been?” came a voice ahead of him. Harry looked up, not having realized he’d arrived at the lobby. Paul stood before the open elevator doors, arms crossed angrily.

“We’re running late. Come on,” he said, grabbing Harry’s arm. He almost dropped the journal in the sudden movement, but caught it by the string. Paul glanced back at him, his patience wearing thin, as Harry tucked the journal back in his jacket and followed him out the door to the bus.

“Found him,” said Liam from where he lay sprawled out on one of the couches. Zayn sat at the far end with Liam’s feet on his lap, preoccupied with his phone. He gave Harry an acknowledging nod.

“I’ve been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes,” Louis told him, leaning against one of the counters in the food area, holding a box of Cheez-Its in his hand.

“Overslept,” Harry mumbled in reply, dropping his duffel near Zayn’s feet before proceeding past them, through the bunks where he could hear Niall snoring. He was sure Louis and the other boys were sharing quizzical stares at his rotten mood, but he was too sleep deprived to care. Finally he reached the end of the bus, a quieter space where a TV and wrap around couch waited for him in silence. He flopped down here, pulling the journal out of his pocket.

He was half-way through unwrapping it when he paused, wondering if this was an ethical thing to do. After all, this wasn’t some book. This girl, whoever she was, obviously didn’t write her deepest, most inner thoughts in order for some guy to pick it up off the street and get inside her head. What he was doing, he felt, was eavesdropping on some girl’s life without her permission. It was wrong, and yet he was intrigued. How had the journal ended up on the ground in front of his hotel in the first place? Why would she just throw something that she obviously poured a lot of time and effort into out on the street? Did she mean for someone to find it?

“Whatcha got there?” came Zayn’s voice from the doorway. Harry looked up, startled.

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly. Zayn raised his eyebrows. “A book,” he corrected. Zayn nodded before slowly walking in to sit on the side of the couch directly opposite.

“Is it any good?”

“Haven’t really started it yet,” Harry responded as nonchalantly as possible.

There was an awkward amount of silence. Zayn had obviously come into the room to say something, but Harry was distracted and stubborn. Still Zayn waited patiently, giving him the chance to open up and mutter an apology for his recent behavior, give an excuse as to why he was so unhappy. Harry made no such admission and Zayn inhaled dramatically before he started to speak.

“Look, mate. We’re worried about you. We know you’re tired and you’re homesick and that the last part of the tour is the most difficult, but we need to know you’re going to be okay.”

Harry nodded vaguely, staring up at the ceiling of the bus.

“That wasn’t very convincing,” Zayn attempted humor.

“It’s only a couple weeks. I’ll be fine,” he responded.

“You used to bounce back so easily,” said Zayn as he stood up, crossing the room to leave. “You could just separate yourself from it and realize how lucky you were, then step back in and be a ball of energy again.”

“I’ve been at it longer now,” Harry admitted, turning his head to look at one of his best friends. Zayn smiled sadly before turning to walk away.

“We’ll be down front if you need us.”

Harry let out a sigh, his head hitting the cushions of the couch. He was being an ungrateful brat and he knew it, but he still couldn’t find a way to snap out of it. He’d done the tours before, he’d seen the sights. It felt like there was nothing new left in the world for him discover, it was all just there at his fingertips all the time, and though he knew it wouldn’t always be this way, he still couldn’t find the strength to stop and be thankful for it all. It was hard to be thankful for something that left him so physically drained, so mentally exhausted, so separated from his friends and family.

He lay there like that for a while, contemplating and attempting to pinpoint what exactly was wrong with him. He’d hit his peak and it felt as if there was no where to go but down. Sitting up, the journal slid from his stomach where it had been resting before without notice. He picked it up again, deciding that even if it was wrong, he needed a distraction. With a slight glance out the window at the trees rushing by and with the knowledge that he’d have at least a good six hours ahead of him, he began to read.

-

A blond girl with a slight frame shifted her weight in her seat. Another girl was laying at the other end of the couch, her eyes half-closed in a tipsy haze.

“A toast!” called yet another female from a small kitchen area within the apartment.

The blonde, Charlie, turned to look at the redhead standing in the doorway, four red plastic cups in her hands. She passed them out one by one, setting one aside for herself. Jaclyn opened her eyes wider, accepting the cup the redhead handed her but not bothering to sit up fully. Jaclyn’s eyes landed on her and she smiled vaguey, watching Charlie as she took the plastic cup somewhat hesitantly. At Charlie’s feet sat a brunette, her eyes glued to her phone screen even as she reached up and took the cup from Allison.

“What are we toasting to?” Jaclyn asked dreamily, reaching her hand down to stroke Allison’s cat as it made its way through the trashed living room.

“To new beginnings,” Allison announced, holding her cup out expectantly. The brunette, Olivia, sat her phone down for a moment, reaching her cup foward to touch Allison’s. Jaclyn did likewise and Charlie, meeting Allison’s expectant gaze, reached forward as well.

“To new beginnings,” the girls repeated before raising the cups to their lips. Allison immediately turned around to find a Spotify playlist to her liking. Jaclyn closed her eyes, rolling further on her side as Olivia picked her phone up again. Charlie, seizing this moment, spat the alcohol back in the cup.

“Hey, I actually have to head out early,” she announced, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. “I just remembered I have to meet my professor to talk about my research paper.”

“You just remembered?” Allison suspiciously raised an eyebrow. She was hitting beligerent levels of drunk and Charlie could sense it. It was time to get out.

“Yep. He needs me to make some corrections and I completely forgot we were going over them tomorrow at 8.”

Jaclyn pushed up on her elbows, leaning her head back in an upside down farewell as Charlie opened the door to Allison’s apartment. Olivia muttered a salutation half-heartedly, no doubt still focused on whatever text argument she was obviously having with her boyfriend. Allison stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“I’ll text you tomorrow, Allie. We can meet for lunch or something,” Charlie offered, but she could tell by Allison’s pursed lips she was already on her shit list. With one final wave, Charlie pulled on her coat, slung her bag over her shoulder, and started off down the stairs. Allison hesitated in the doorway, watching her best friend go, before she finally slammed the door shut behind her. Charlie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The elevators in Allison’s apartment building were in a constant state of disrepair. Charlie pushed open the door to the stairs and took them two at a time, the sound of her feet echoing in the small space around her. The fluorescent lights buzzed above her head, a sound she was never particularly fond of. The stairwell always reminded her of a horror movie. She sped up her pace, breathing a sigh of relief when she hit the cold air outside.

Spring in Seattle was usually characterized by a constant drizzle of rain, a ridiculous amount of wind from the Puget Sound, and the slight murmorings of complaining tourists as they struggled with their umbrellas, turning their coat collars up against the cold. Charlie loved spring in Seattle, especially the constant drizzle of rain which she no longer felt the need to carry an umbrella for. She hugged herself as she walked, the air at 1 AM slightly colder than she would have liked.

Allison’s apartment was closer to Pike’s Place Market, but Charlie lived across town in a rather upscale home with her parents. Usually, Charlie would hail a cab which would take her the couple of miles back to her parents house. Tonight, however, Charlie welcomed the walk and the drizzle as it helped to clear her mind. She climbed a hill leading back up toward the city at a steady pace, focusing on the sound of her footsteps and the clouds of heat her breath gave off as she moved.

Charlie had been friends with those girls since her freshman year, when she first moved to Seattle from the Midwest. The girls had taken an immediate liking to Charlie’s strange accent, her farm girl charm, called to the challenge of taking this small-town country girl and turning her into a hip Seattle-lite like themselves. The transition had been startlingly easy, Charlie’s instinct of adaptation taking over in this cold, rainy, unfamiliar territory. Since then, the girls had been thick as thieves. Lately, though, Charlie couldn’t help but grow tired with their weekend routines of getting wasted, fighting, waking up the next morning hungover and filled to the brim with apologies for their drunken rage. Still, she had no one else to turn to when it came to a social life and none of the girls were half bad when they were all sober.

The rain was beginning to stick to Charlie’s blond hair. She could feel small droplets of water beginning to make its way down her neck and into her collar as she walked and she shivered at the sensation. She was nearing the top of the hill now, where she’d hit solid ground for a few good miles, nothing but her and the city lights guiding her home. The drizzle put the whole city in a smoky haze, the streetlamps and bar signs blurring into balls of light and bursts of color. This was her favorite part about walking the streets of Seattle in the late evening or early morning. It made her wonder about the stars, wonder about how other life would view their planet, this world of electricity and energy and light. It would seem like a planet made up of stars when viewed in the nighttime, gravity holding everything in place, impossible to die or collapse or move across the galaxy. Everything was in order.

Charlie peered up into the sky as she watched, straining her eyes past the streetlights in an attempt to see the night sky. She was hoping to see the moon, stars maybe, a comet, but instead she watched an airplane as it descended, preparing to land. In her eyes, everything was something to marvel at. Youth kept her imagination wild, a lack of experience with the world or travel kept her heart yearning for more.

Harry had lost that part of himself, he realized with a start. A sudden bump on the road caused him to sit up, looking around him. The sun was high in the sky, near noon or after. The trees outside were becoming scarcer and scarcer as they made their way further down the Florida peninsula. He hadn’t realized he’d been reading for so long, only knew he’d been living in a world beside the one he’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks of the tour.

Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. 1:15 PM. He had another hour or so before they arrived at some posh hotel on the sand. They’d play a show tomorrow at a venue in Miami or Orlando or one of those other hot vacation cities synonomous with Florida itself, but tonight they’d have off to take the smallest gasp of air between the stretch of shows they’d just played and the next and final leg of the tour. Harry looked down at the journal, wrapping the string around it before resting it on his stomach as he closed his eyes. It was a strange feeling he had that he didn’t quite recognize at first that was taking over his body. Just as he moved from that place of dozing awareness to deep sleep, he finally put a finger on it.

It was an untensing of his muscles after weeks of clenched fists. It was a mental calm after show after show of cluttered and unconnecting thoughts. It was a preparedness to do battle, to go out of this tour with a bang after just one afternoon of an escape into a rainy Seattle morning.