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Chapter Text

It was a warm afternoon. Neither too hot nor too cold; just the perfect amount of warmth that tempted anyone to be lazy and do nothing all day long. The lecture hall was nearly silent save for the professor's voice, the rhythmic 'tap-tap-tap' of a laptop keyboard, and the quiet murmur of his classmates. Harry yawned for the nth time that day, a hand over his mouth to stifle the otherwise loud noise from coming out and alerting the professor.

Harry could hear two girls gossiping a few rows behind him, their giggles and hissed words nearly lulling him to sleep. He promptly straightened himself in his seat, blinking bleary eyes as he tried to kept himself awake. He grabbed the go-to cup of strong caffeinated coffee on his desk and frowned when he realized that he already drank them all. He sighed dejectedly as he put the go-to cup back.

"Tired? Couldn't sleep again?" His classmate and friend murmured beside him; a pretty girl named Sarah whom he met at a party a year ago and became friends with soon after. Her blue eyes were focused on the screen of her laptop, her fingers poised on the keyboard as she listened attentively to the professor.

"No," Harry answered, sighing under his breath. "I tried to sleep last night, but it was just so hard. I gave up around 5 am, figured that I could just sleep this morning. Then I remembered that I had three classes today so..." He trailed off, shrugging his broad shoulders.

"This is the second day you went without sleep. It seems like your insomnia is getting worse," Sarah remarked as she made a noise of sympathy at the back of her throat, her eyes going over the words she encoded in her laptop. "Have you tried going to the doctors about it?"

"No. I don't like going to the doctors." Harry pouted. Ever since he was young, he had always avoided going to the doctors, even when he was sick. He didn't know why, but something about the smell and those pristine white coats freak him out a bit. He didn't think it was silly, not when there were grown adults still scared of going to the dentists. His older sister, Gemma, just so happened to be one of those people.

Sarah rolled her eyes at him, pausing for a moment to give him a deadpan stare. "Harry, they might help you with your sleeping problems."

Harry pouted harder. "I would rather suffer."

"You are already suffering," Sarah pointed out matter-of-factly.

She had a point, but it wasn't like Harry wanted to suffer. He'd been an insomniac since high school, really. At that time, his friends thought it was cool to stay up late and do whatever. Harry just followed along with it and didn't think of the consequences it would bring in the future. Now, he was at uni, barely surviving with the help of coffee, and constantly cursing his younger self for the burden he had inflicted on his future—current—self.

He yawned again and rubbed his bleary eyes with his fists. Sarah watched him, concern flickering in her dark gaze. Before either of them could say anything, the professor dismissed the class and everyone around them stood up and started for the door. Harry gathered his (empty) binder and pen in his tote bag, and grabbed his empty go-to coffee cup to dump it in the trash beside the door. Sarah hurried after him, dark hair cascading gently down the middle of her back.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" She asked as she waited for him at the door. "You look like you're going to fall down on your feet, and the bags under your eyes are getting worse."

Harry smiled drowsily at her. "Still prettier than you though," he remarked cheekily, walking in step with her as they made it out of the room. "And don't worry about me too much. I'm going to sleep once I get back to my dorm room."

Sarah remained skeptical, clearly not believing a word he said. Harry couldn't blame her; he didn't believe himself either. But it wasn't like Harry was doing it on purpose. It wasn't his fault. If he wanted to, he would sleep and lounge on his bed all day long with no worries. Unfortunately, you didn't always get what you wanted.

Usually, Harry had his priorities in order. Sleep just so happened to be on the bottom of the list.

"Well, I'm going to stop by at Cara's place," Sarah said, pausing on her step to look at him. "Try not to collapse in the middle of the road and hurt yourself."

Harry rolled his eyes at her, smiling softly. He appreciated her concern. "Yes, Mom. I'll try."

"Just looking out for you," she remarked, crossing her arms and raising one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "You know what? Why don't I just walk with you to your dorm room?"

Harry quickly shook his head no. No way was she going to treat him like a child. "No, I'm okay. I promise."

"Hm." Sarah looked unconvinced. "If you say so. Well, I got to go. Text me later as soon as you wake up from your nap."

Harry nodded. Sometimes, Sarah could be quite the mother hen. It was not like Harry didn't appreciate it. He did, but he would rather not be treated like a child. He was nearly twenty. Nonexistent sleeping schedule aside, he could take care of himself.

"Also, uh, say hi to Mitch for me," she added after a brief moment of hesitation.

Harry couldn't help the teasing quirk of his lips which Sarah saw and rolled her eyes at. Mitch Rowland was his roommate. He was a guitarist and songwriter, who came to university to earn a degree in music. Sarah had been interested in him since Harry introduced the two of them together last week. Harry didn't know if Mitch also felt the same way, considering that he was apathetic about the world around them except for music, but he and Sarah had been talking, so it must mean he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of dating her.

"Fine," Harry said with a shrug. "But I get to be best man at the wedding, you hear?"

"Shut up, Harry," Sarah said with another roll of her eyes, although her lips twitched, making it known to Harry that she wasn't entirely annoyed with him. "Okay, I really need to go. I'll see you later."

He watched as she walked away, only turning away when she disappeared from his sight. He headed towards his dorm room, smiling at the friends he encountered along the way. Most of them noted the dark bags under his eyes with concern, but their questions were waved away, assuming them that he was going to sleep as soon as possible.

Finally, he arrived at his dormitory, sighing in relief as he stopped in front of his dorm room. Before he could open the door though, it abruptly swung open and nearly hit him in the face if it wasn't for his fast reflexes. He grabbed the door before it could hit the wall, his head still leaning far back.

His eyes widened when a small figure slipped out between the gap of the door and the frame. Before he knew it, he met blue. For a moment, he thought he was looking at the sky, but then it quickly dawned on him that no, he wasn't looking at the sky, he was looking at his eyes.

Blue eyes crinkled as he smiled sheepishly at Harry, his body stilling once he saw him standing on the other side of the door. Harry unconsciously tightened his hold on the door.

Smiling eyes, the thought entered so suddenly into Harry's mind as he looked into his eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't see you there, love," the stranger said; his voice raspy and high-pitched, but with a feathery quality to it that sounded a bit whimsical to Harry's ears. Blue eyes blinked, long curled lashes kissing the tops of his high cheekbones, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at him with concern. "Are you alright? I didn't hit you, did I?"

Harry was staring. He was staring and he couldn't stop. Blue eyes only cocked his head to the side, waiting for him to speak and looking as though he wasn’t perturbed by Harry’s staring. All Harry could think about was that he called him love. It was probably his sleep deprivation that was speaking to him but he was certain nonetheless that Blue eyes called him love.

"You didn't hit me. It's okay," Harry mumbled once Blue eyes repeated his question, blinking his eyes dazedly at the stranger. He then yawned loudly without covering his mouth. Mortified, he immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, a red coat of blush blooming across his cheeks. "Oops. Sorry."

Blue eyes suddenly laughed, those sky eyes slitting into crescent-shaped lines. "Hi. No worries. You must be tired. I'll leave you to it, darling." He looked over his shoulder and waved goodbye at Harry's roommate behind him. "I'll see you later, Mitchel."

Mitchel? Harry blinked his eyes.

"See you, Tommo!" Harry's roommate called out from inside the room. "Thank you again, by the way!"

"You're welcome. Take care of your roommate here," Blue eyes—Tommo—added as he gave Harry a once over. It was probably Harry's imagination but his smile looked a touch softer. "See you later."

Harry bit his lips and ducked his head, embarrassed that a beautiful stranger caught him looking this tired and disoriented. Thankfully, the boy didn't say anything further, just merely smiled dazzlingly before turning on his heel and leaving. Harry watched him through his lashes, his teeth nibbling his lips as he wondered who he was.

He has a pretty big butt—

He forced himself to look away, shaking his head to disperse those thoughts away as he went inside his room. Mitch was lounging on his bed, completely topless as he read over the messages on his phone. Curiously enough, despite looking disheveled for some reason, he looked utterly relaxed. Harry paused at seeing his appearance before proceeding to dump his things at the bottom of his bed. He couldn't quite help but think what Mitch and Blue eyes did in the room together though.

"I see you met Tommo at the door," Mitch remarked casually, his eyes still glued to the screen of his phone.

"Yeah, he seems nice. What did you two do together by the way?" Harry hoped that Mitch didn't notice his hesitation when asking the question.

"He was giving me a massage," Mitch answered, fortunately not detecting anything from Harry's voice. "He offered one to me after listening to me complain about my back for the past week. It's been hurting me for a while now."

Harry didn't know why this information filled him with such relief. So, Tommo was not only cute, but he was good with his hands too. Good to know, Harry thought, blushing.

"Is it like a part time job of his?" Harry asked, genuinely interested to hear more about Tommo—even when he was yawning when he asked the question to his roommate.

"Sort of," Mitch answered. "Sometimes he gives it for free; other times he demands payment." He finally looked at him over the top of his phone. His eyebrows immediately wrinkled in concern at seeing Harry's state. "Wow, Louis wasn't kidding when he said you look dead on your feet."

"Louis?" Harry's words slurred as he dropped himself in his bed and burrowed himself in the covers. His eyelids felt heavy, so he closed his eyes, sighing to himself. Finally, finally, sleep was nearing.

"His name is Louis, but many people recognize him more as Tommo." Mitch paused. "You okay, Harry?"

"Just need sleep," Harry slurred and could no longer hear Mitch's response as he finally drifted into deep slumber.

The sound of loud frantic knocks slowly brought Harry out of his sleep. He furrowed his eyebrows and groaned as he pulled the covers up to his head, desperately wishing that the noise would stop. Unfortunately, his wish didn't come true. In fact, the knocks only grew louder and more frantic and—was that someone yelling his name?

"Mitch, can you tell the person at the door to fuck off?" He asked loudly, groaning.

"Very funny, Harry."

Harry's eyes shot open at hearing an unfamiliar female voice very near to him. That was when he realized that there was someone in his bed next to him. He could feel the rise and fall of their chest, and their warm breath against his naked neck. He slowly lifted his head and turned, and his heart honestly stopped when he saw an unfamiliar blonde woman in his bed. Naked. With messy make-up, sex hair, and doe blue eyes that were alight with amusement.

Harry didn't know who this person was and if someone was playing a cruel joke on him.

The woman smiled at him beautifully and when she lifted a delicate hand towards him, Harry was nearly overwhelmed with sheer panic. He jumped out of the bed, nearly falling down because of the tangled sheets around his legs. He realized with horror that he, too was naked. He hastily covered himself with the sheets his legs were tangled in. 

"Who are you?" Harry demanded. Oh, God. Oh, God. What the fuck happened?! "What happened? Why are we both naked?!"

"Seriously, Harry?" The blonde woman asked him, rolling her eyes and not moving an inch from the bed. Her face flashed with confusion as well as worry. Harry hadn't noticed the hurt in her eyes, too busy panicking to think about anything else. "Is this some sort of game you're playing right now?"

Harry didn't pay attention to her words as his eyes frantically roamed around the room he was in. His heart pounded painfully against his chest, all traces of drowsiness disappearing because of the situation he unknowingly landed himself in. Like the woman, the entire room before him was unfamiliar and strange and—how the hell did I get in here?

He was in a hotel room that looked more expensive than what he could afford as a broke uni student, with clothes scattered around the floor and the smell of sweat and sex lingering in the air. He was in a hotel room with a woman and they were both naked together. In bed. He cringed. It didn't take a genius to know what they both did together.

Harry tried hard not to vomit.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled as he searched for his clothes, not meeting the woman's furious gaze. Even the clothes were unrecognizable, but he grabbed the ones he thought that would fit him. "But I need to go."

"Harry, what the fuck?!" She shouted in disbelief as she watched him quickly putting his clothes on. "Are you serious right now? You're going to just leave me here? And why are you taking my jacket?"

Harry paused from slipping his arm inside a dark brown jacket and sheepishly dropped it on the armchair near him. In his haste to get away, he thought that it was his. "Do... Do you need money for a cab?" He asked awkwardly, but didn't retract his offer. It was only polite, even though he had no idea if he currently had money on him.

The woman's jaw dropped and her eyebrows rose so high, it had probably reached her hairline. Harry could totally understand the incredulity that was painted on her face, but he didn't have the time or the right frame of mind to be compassionate or sympathetic over it. Not when he had no idea who she was and why she knew him while he didn't.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" She asked, scoffing in disbelief.

"Look, um," Harry waited for her to say her name, but when she didn't, he continued, "I don't know you and I don't know where I am. I... I'm sorry."

"You're an asshole," she responded immediately after, like it was a sentence longing to get out of her mouth. The ferocity of her anger made her face red and her lips twist in an ugly sneer. She genuinely looked like she was going to throw something at him and Harry had never feared for his life until now. "You know what? Just fucking leave! I should've known that you would act like this. God, I'm so fucking stupid for believing a word you said! They were so right about you! You're such an asshole!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice.

The frantic knocks still hadn't stopped, a fact Harry now realized after hurriedly heading towards the door. Harry pulled the door open and was greeted by the sight of a large older man in his early forties with arms that could break Harry's neck. The man looked relieved for a millisecond before he scowled fiercely at Harry.

Please don't let this be her dad, was Harry's first thought. He could not handle a confrontation with someone's parents, not when his head was in a state of mess.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," said the man, his Irish accent thick and distinct. "Don't tell me you're seeing another woman again. Is it Taylor? Or is it Noelle this time?"

Harry blinked his eyes, wondering who he was and who he was talking about. He didn't know any Taylors or Noelles. "I don't... I don't know that person, either of them. I'm sorry."

I don't even know who you are, Harry wanted to say. But how do you tell that to someone who clearly recognized you and knew you enough to know your name?

Harry couldn't say that because it meant alerting this person that the 'Harry' he knew wasn't him, and who knew what would happen to him then? Harry felt like he was going crazy for a moment. Who were these people and how do they knew him? Heck, where even was he at the moment?

"What do you mean?" He looked confused for a moment. "You forgot your all of your ex-girlfriends' names?"

Girlfriend?!

"G-girlfriend?" Harry sputtered aloud, unable to believe his ears. How was it possible for him to have a girlfriend in this day and age when he was gay?!

Unless... Harry cringed. Unless the Harry that they knew was straight. Oh, God, that would be a disaster.

"Never mind that, we don't have time for this," the older man said dismissively. "We have to go. You have an interview this afternoon and we can't afford to be late."

Harry froze with his jaw on the floor and his eyes as wide as saucers. "W-what? Interview?"

"Christ, have you forgotten already?" The older man asked in exasperation.

Harry clamped his mouth shut and didn't respond. The older man—Harry had got to learn his name if he was going to spend time with him—pulled him aside and spoke to a person behind them. Harry started when he noticed the amount of people surrounding them both; all of them were in uniforms with the word 'SECURITY' printed boldly on the back of their black polo shirts. He wondered what they were there for and why he had them.

But he didn't ask questions. He couldn't. He didn't say anything but give everyone a wary glance as he was ushered out of the hallway. When they got to the hotel lobby, Harry was then led towards the emergency exit, bodyguards surrounding him like an impenetrable wall warding people out. It wasn't long before they got out of the hotel unscathed. A black van with tinted windows sat waiting for him in a secluded parking lot. Immediately, the door opened and he was pushed inside. He flinched when the door shut close loudly behind him before he could even sit properly.

He dropped himself on one of the seats, biting his lips and wondering if anyone would judge him if he started crying. Everything was just too fast-paced and shocking to comprehend; he barely had any time to breathe.

Fuck. What had he woken himself into?

There were two people in the van with him, the older man (whom Harry later learned was named Paul) was not included. No one was talking in the van, and Harry didn't feel the need to start a conversation. Besides, how could he anyway? He didn't know these people and he didn't know what to talk about in the end. He would only make a fool of himself and alert everyone else that he wasn't the Harry that they all thought him to be. Harry was already dreading the time it came out that he wasn't the Harry they knew and wanted.

Harry tried to appear as little as possible by slouching in his seat and tucking himself in the corner, his back to the tinted windows and his face turned down to avoid catching anyone's eye. He shifted on his seat, trying to get comfortable, when he felt something metallic digging into his butt.

Curious, he reached down and pulled a phone, as well as a wallet, from the back pocket of his jeans. Well, at least he didn't leave anything important behind. The last thing he needed was to come back to the woman again and aggravate her further. He didn't dare think about how expensive looking his iPhone was and only opened it. He stiffened when he saw the date: the second week of January, 2014.

So, not only was he in such an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar people, he was also ahead of his time for a couple of months at the very least. Fuck. His hands trembled and his eyes watered. He wanted nothing more than to break down crying. Again, what the hell was going on? Where was he? When was he? He was so desperate for answers and to know what was happening to him. He didn't understand why this happened or how. 

He bit his lips, sniffling, as he tried to make sense of the events that had happened. So far, everything looked unfamiliar to him. However, it seemed that while he knew no one, everyone knew him. So many people knew him to the point that he had to hire bodyguards just in case, for goodness sake. It was strange because he couldn't find a reason why they would. He didn't know how they knew him, too.

It was like he woke up to another reality and a life so far from the one he led.

He paused and blinked the water from his eyes. Could that be it? Was that possible? God, just thinking about it made him sound so crazy. He had never really put a stock in those kind of "multiple dimensions/universes/realities" theories before. It was never his area of expertise and he had never given much thought about it because it hadn't interested him to know. But now, he wished he had. Because the longer he stayed here, the more certain he was that this world was not his own.

However, all of this could be answered by this phone in his hand, which was likely a treasure trove of information. This could be the key to finding out what the hell went wrong. He didn't want to invade someone else's privacy, but at the cost of his sanity, he had found that he would even though it went against his own morals.

Which is a fucked up way of thinking, Styles. He ignored his inner voice.

He clenched his teeth, eyebrows knitted in newfound determination, as he slid the home screen open to reveal that it required a four-digit code. He panicked inwardly. The first password he tried was his own birth year (1994) and he was relieved that the other Harry had the same password as he had. Lucky considering the circumstances that he landed himself in.

He opened the contacts first, trying to find someone that he could recognize at least. He checked the contacts named Mom, Des Dad, Rob Dad, and Gemma, and found that although they had different numbers, they had the same faces, so that relieved a massive burden on him. He grimaced when he found numerous numbers of different women, most of them without pictures and they even had a number attached to their names (Jenny 1, Jenny 2, Melody 1, and so on).

It seemed that this Harry was not only very straight but also overly promiscuous. They were obviously off to a great start.

Harry opened his messages next, but didn't read any of them. There were a lot of unopened messages from different women and messages from unknown numbers as well. The number was so overwhelming that Harry couldn't find anything relevant even if he tried. He immediately clicked out. Next, Harry opened the gallery and was relieved that at least this Harry also liked photography and black and white filters, something they finally have in common.

At first, nothing stood out to him. Harry scrolled through every photo and found that this Harry was well-traveled and seemed to be constantly on the move. Something that caught Harry's attention were the concert photos and he immediately clicked on them.

That was his first clue.

The more he scrolled past them, the harder his heart pounded inside his chest.

There were concerts and there were studio selfies and there were multiple stadiums and there were high quality photoshoots and meeting new people and models and famous musicians and—and—

Harry exited out of the app, his ears ringing, too overwhelmed by the amount of information he'd just acquired. Unable to help himself, Harry decided to do what every person his age would do: turn to the internet for answers. He hesitated for a few moment before he slowly typed in the words on the search bar—

Who is Harry Styles?

—and clicked open the first thing that came up.

Harry had never regretted anything more.

English-born Harry Styles (1 February 1994) is 1/5 of global sensation British Irish boyband called One Direction. Born from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, Styles (19) began his music career at age 16 when he auditioned as a solo contestant for the British competition series X Factor in 2010. He was eliminated initially until he was brought back to join the boyband One Direction, which went on and continues to be one of the best-selling boybands of all time.

Their band is not only known for its award winning music, but also their rabid fanbase that consists mostly of young teens and young adults. Aside from Styles, One Direction includes Liam Payne (20), Zayn Malik (20), Niall Horan (20), and Louis Tomlinson (22). Although many consider Harry as the frontman of the band, it is actually his bandmate, Louis, that they claim to be the leader.

Styles is well-known for being the 'flirt' in the band, according to his bandmates and many trusted sources. He has been spotted with countless of women as well as romantically linked with dozens of them, earning him the reputation of a womanizer at age 17. Interestingly, most of the women he's romantically involved with are several years older. His most well-known romantic relationship to date is with the famous American country singer and songwriter, Taylor Swift (22), which has garnered a lot of speculation from media and the general public. They broke up amicably early 2013 but has been seen together countless of times since.

Currently, the famous singer is not publicly dating anyone, although he's been seen and papped with multiple different women.

More on Page 2

The phone dropped on his lap as Harry remained stiff in his seat. He wasn't the type to curse usually, but this situation right now made him want to yell out every curse word known to mankind. Heck, he wanted to invent a new curse word—multiple even! His thoughts were racing as he tried to form a coherent thought in his head. Only, he found a mess. A giant, shit of a mess.

He was right. He was right. He was fucking right. This—all of this—wasn't his life. This wasn't his world. And he wasn't the Harry that they knew.

The Harry from this world was not only straight and had many women linked to him, but he was also part of a famous boyband with a rabid fanbase. This Harry was a celebrity. It explained why many people knew him, why there were a lot of people outside the hotel from earlier, and why that woman—who Harry assumed was Taylor based from the picture that the article provided—had been upset by his abrupt exit.

He was a womanizer. He slept with many women. He wasn't committed to any of them. He was part of a famous and successful boyband that many girls were after. He was a singer with a reputation of a flirt. He was fucking straight.

This was definitely not the world he was born in.

Fuck. My. Life.

Harry dropped his head back, heart heavy in his chest. Everything suddenly felt so small. If that was the case, why the hell was he here and where was the Harry from this world?

Most importantly, what was he going to do now?

Chapter Text

Harry sat in silence, trembling in his seat, as the ride continued on for what seemed like ages. The cold air from the air conditioner had already dried the sweat from his face, erasing the remains and evidences of his anxiety. It was like nothing had happened; like Harry's world and entire existence wasn't slipping from his fingers and crumbling apart on his feet.

God, all he wanted was a little nap after two consecutive days of no sleep. He didn't expect such a mess waiting for him when he woke up.

At first, he wondered if he was dreaming and he didn't know it yet. He pinched himself on his thigh—ow!—and waited for a few moments, anticipating for the dream to end. For this madness and insanity to end. For him to wake up back in his dorm room where he could laugh about it with Mitch later. He waited, and waited, and waited some more. When nothing happened, he sagged in his seat, feeling the crushing weight of disappointment on his chest.

After making sure that he wasn't stuck in a crazy dream (he had pinched himself twice on the leg and five times on his arm. He was even tempted to slap himself if he wasn't with two other people in the van), he then spent the majority of the ride contemplating between running away as soon as the doors opened and staying despite it meaning that he would eventually have to play pretend and be a 'famous boyband member.' Neither options seemed appealing to him.

His mind went back from the time he woke up to where he was now, and to the things he discovered along the way. After reading the first article, he went on to read about many other ones until his head was nearly dizzy with information. Not only was One Direction a very famous band, they were successful as well as they were nominated for many awards. Although they didn't always win, it was impressive considering they've only been an official band for nearly four years.

He even listened to some of the songs they sang, and nearly freaked out when he heard how his voice matured and changed over the years.

Harry had never thought he could be a professional singer. Yes, he sang in school, even formed a band, performed at the Battle of the Bands, and won, but that was neither here or there. Yes, he loved music and he loved singing, but he never struck himself as a performer. He never wanted to continue professionally. He sang as a hobby, and didn't think it was anything more than serious. He loved music but didn't think that it was for him, career-wise.

But this Harry from this world seemed to think so. This Harry became the one thing that Harry didn't see himself as, and this Harry sounded good, so good, that Harry was almost envious of how good he sounded. This Harry trained vocally with professionals to improve the quality of his voice, in order to deliver to his fans, and that was something Harry couldn't see himself doing. Popstar Harry had the confidence, the dream, and the vision; ordinary Harry had insomnia.

Harry bit his lower lip, clenching his fist open and close as he pondered what he was meant to do now that he had established that this world wasn't his. He didn't know how or why this happened; only that he was somehow in this place. He wondered where the other Harry was. Did he just vanish without a trace, only to be replaced with a different Harry from a different reality? 

He clutched at his long curls (this was also something he would have got to get used to, along with the new set of tattoos on his arms that he had only just noticed earlier. He also had tattoos in the other world—his original world rather—but they didn't have the same designs, and they definitely did not take up his whole arms) as he tried to make sense of the situation he landed himself in. But no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't make any sense of his situation.

How do you even make sense of the fact that somehow, you woke up in a different world where you were a world famous popstar?

Suddenly, the van halted, and Harry had to grab the backrest of the seat in front of him to keep himself from flying off of his seat. His heart pounded when the door noisily slid open, revealing Paul on the other side, with another set of bodyguards behind him. Harry's mouth dried, and his limbs froze. Fucking hell, he wasn't ready for this.

"Come on, get out," Paul insisted, eyes reflecting impatience and irritation. "We don't have any time to lose."

Harry immediately got out of the vehicle, not wanting to irritate the older man further. He stumbled a bit on his feet and his face reddened as Paul helped him straighten himself. He essentially had the same body as the other Harry, but he was still clumsy as hell. He hoped that they were the same. He couldn't handle it if popstar Harry had the grace of a gazelle.

Paul grabbed Harry's arm and both of them—bodyguards in tow—headed towards the small building that they stopped in front of. Harry's eyes wandered around the area as he tried to keep up with Paul's brisk pace. It was a white, modern, two-story building, with floor to ceiling glass windows. There was no sign in the front to indicate what kind of business took place inside the building. There was no intimidating factor involved, which somewhat calmed Harry's nerves.

Then he remembered he was about to give an interview, which essentially meant that he had to pretend to be the other Harry, and now the nerves came back full force.

Fuck. How was he supposed to do that? He didn't know how to act like the Harry from this world; hell, he couldn't even distinguish his bandmates, despite the pictures on his phone. How was he supposed to pretend to be him when he didn't know how the popstar would act? He should've watched some videos at least to get an idea of what the other Harry was like. What was he supposed to do now?

"Uh, Paul, I don't feel so well," Harry mumbled to Paul as they pushed the glass doors open.

He felt a rush of cold air as they stepped inside the building. There weren't many people around, although the few who were there had stared at him the moment he was inside. Harry, who wasn't used to being scrutinized by a lot of people, did his best ignoring them, although he was a touch uncomfortable.

"What?" Paul side-eyed him. "What kind of sickness do you have?"

Harry gulped and smiled shakily. "Diarrhea?" He answered with a squeak in the end.

He was an idiot.

Paul eyed him strangely. "Harry, are you trying to get out of the interview?" He didn't wait for Harry's response—even though the green-eyed boy was about to give one—and continued curtly, "Are you nervous right now? Christ, I haven't seen you this nervous for a long time. Lad, this is just a part of your job. You have an album and a tour to promote. Same old shit, basically."

Album? Tour? Harry gulped. He was barely in the beginning, but it was already starting to get complicated.

Harry wanted to protest. He wanted to complain and throw the biggest tantrum he was capable of doing. He wanted to do all of those things just to get away from doing this interview. He had no idea how to act as this world's Harry and if he wasn't careful, someone might caught on and then, what would happen to him after?

"I just don't feel like it," was Harry's weak reply. There were no elevators, only a set of stairs heading towards the second floor of the building. They headed towards them, their loud steps echoing against the walls.

"Stop being a brat," was Paul's automatic response. He didn't even sound exasperated, just matter-of-fact. He must've gotten used to spoiled and bratty popstars who refused to do interviews. "Besides, you have nothing to worry about. For once, this interview isn't about you."

"It's not?" Harry questioned dumbly. They turned around the corner and walked down the hallway, stopping in front of a woman who was waiting for them in front of a closed wooden door, a clipboard in hand.

Paul's lips tightened into a grim line. "It's about Louis."

A pang of familiarity went off inside Harry's brain at hearing that name. Louis. One of his band members who was dubbed as their leader, despite other people claiming Harry was the front runner of the band. He wondered why he was the main topic of interest for this interview.

He didn't know what his bandmates were like. He only knew their names, their ages, and what media had to say about them. From the few articles he read, people didn't really favor Louis—he was often called the least talented and attractive out of the five of them, which Harry thought was quite rude and wrong. He'd seen the pictures after all. No one was unattractive among the five of them—and people even went as far as say that he was homophobic.

He read some articles stating how Louis and the other Harry had a falling out because of the gay rumors surrounding them both, despite the other Harry being painstakingly straight with his womanizer reputation. It seemed that Louis didn't appreciate people thinking he was gay and being constantly linked to his best friend, especially when he got a girlfriend, which led to a strained friendship between them.

Harry thought it was ridiculous after he read them. Why ruin a perfectly good friendship with someone because people thought you were gay? It didn't make any sense and it sort of soured Harry's impression of Louis. He understood that Louis had a girlfriend, but why cut ties off with their best mate when he could just deny and put an end to the rumors?

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched his nose. He really didn't want to be bandmates with a homophobe. He tried to withhold judgement and just see for himself what his other bandmates were like, rather than relying on gossip rags, but Louis wasn't really favored by the media. He hoped that the media exaggerated his public image, because he couldn't imagine spending time with someone who wasn't accepting of his community. 

"You're late," said the woman with an American accent, wearing an employee badge over her neck and holding a clipboard to her chest. Her eyes lingered on Harry, making him shift uncomfortably. "The other three are already inside."

"Sorry," Paul replied gruffly, tugging at the collar of his polo shirt. He pointed a thumb at Harry's direction. "Had to find this one. Went missing for a while."

There was no mistaking that the reason he went missing for a while was because he was with someone.

Harry saw the woman stiffen and he closed his eyes as he prayed to a god out there that the other Harry hadn't hooked up with her and left her to dust.

It seemed that Paul noticed her reaction too because he immediately asked, "Only three people are there? Who's missing?"

The woman pursed her lips in displeasure. "Louis."

Paul swore loudly. "For fuck's sake, that boy will be the death of me."

"We're contacting him now as we speak," the woman said, before opening the door for them. Harry could hear loud noise and chatter on the other side of the door. "Right now, we have to get Harry ready."

Paul nodded and ushered Harry inside the room. Harry nearly paused on his feet when he saw the amount of people inside, if Paul hadn't continued dragging him towards the far corner of the room. It was a makeshift dressing room, entirely separated from the room with the help of black curtains. Paul lifted one side of the drapes and pushed Harry inside. He blinked his eyes as he was unceremoniously dropped into a chair that faced a vanity mirror.

He felt his breath hitching at seeing his face. Although his hair was longer, he still had the same eyes, same nose, and same lips. For a while though, up until he saw his face in the mirror, he didn't think that he looked nearly the same as the other Harry even though he'd seen group pictures of the band together. He really thought that he would look different. But that wasn't the case after all.

His body was the same—minus the hair and the tattoos—but, his mind was an entirely different case altogether.

"Take care of him for me, will you, Lou?" Harry heard Paul asking an older woman with blonde hair who was holding a make-up brush in her left hand. "I have business to take care of."

"Louis at it again?" Lou replied with a sympathetic lilt to her voice. Harry flinched when her brush came in contact with his cheeks and tried to stay still when he heard a disapproving cluck of her tongue. "Poor kid. I saw the article about him this morning."

"Did you? Christ, I thought the team already deleted those articles about him," Paul remarked with exasperation and a hint of concern coating his tongue. Harry wondered what was the big deal about Louis and why everyone seemed to be concerned about him. "We agreed no more articles until this interview. That boy has already gone through enough."

"Most of the articles are already deleted, so don't worry about it," Lou assured Paul as she tried to cover up some of the pimples on Harry's chin. "Worry about Louis and where he could be right now."

"Right." Paul nodded. "Well, I'll leave you to it," he pointed at Harry, "also keep an eye on him. Make sure he isn't running away to sleep with the PA or something."

Lou nodded her head at Paul before resuming her task on hand. Paul left and missed the way Harry blanched at his parting words. Oh, God, did the other Harry do that constantly to warrant such a comment?!

"You're being quiet today," Lou commented, humming under her breath. There was no one around save for him and Lou. Harry stayed still, letting the unfamiliar woman put make-up on him. "It's not like you."

"Uh, I just... don't feel like talking," he mumbled, shifting his gaze to the side, unable to look at her in the eye for fear that she'd figure out he was an imposter.

"Hm, is this because of the interview later? Or is it about Louis?" Lou drew back and inspected his face. For his reaction or for his appearance, Harry didn't know. "I know you two have your differences, but it doesn't have to be this way, you know."

Harry pursed his lips. Okay. Great. So, the media did get it right when they said that he and Louis no longer got along.

"I... it's hard talking to him right now. It's better if we just stay away from each other," Harry answered after a brief moment of contemplation, his voice low and deep.

Lou pressed her lips together, her expression dark. "Look, obviously I'm not going to get in the way of whatever's going on between the two of you. But the least you can do is support Louis through this whole shit show."

Harry was surprised at hearing the vehemence in her voice. "What do you mean shit show?"

Lou's back was turned to him, so Harry couldn't see her expression. Her hands lingered on the make-up brushes placed on the table and her voice was oddly black when she answered, "Harry, you don't need to play dumb. Anyway, you're finished. You can go outside and join the rest of the boys. Louis will be here soon."

Harry stiffened and then nodded his head, before he hurriedly went out of the make-shift powder room, not wanting to aggravate the woman further. Once he got out, he stood at the side, not wanting to interact or bother other people around while also studying the entire place.

The floor was akin to a studio apartment with glass walls, natural light, and open space. The open space was currently being occupied by many movie set equipment like video cameras, lights, and who knew what else.

There were a lot of people too, walking back and forth, seemingly busy; no doubt preparing for the interview taking place later. Harry looked around, wringing his wrists as he tried not to look out of place. He didn't know where the others were and he didn't want to ask in case he arose suspicions. He had no doubt that they would put him in a Psych Ward if he said anything about not being Harry and coming from a different reality.

He was still convinced that this wasn't real and any minute now, he'd wake up in his dorm and laugh about this with Mitch later (if Mitch actually knew how to laugh...).

He tried to be as small and as inconspicuous as possible, if it weren't for the blond, blue-eyed boy who suddenly appeared out of nowhere and nearly tackled him to the ground. Harry managed to balance himself before they could topple on the floor, eyes wide as his arms automatically reached up to the blond's back.

"Harryyyy!" The blond yelled out, almost strangling Harry with his tight hug. "You're finally here! We've been looking for you!"

Finally, the blond released his hold on him and Harry took a step back to look at the blond boy who was beaming at him. Bleached blond hair, baby blue eyes, and a jubilant smile, he noted. He realized with a jolt that he was one of his bandmates, though he didn't know which. He had a distinct Irish accent though, so Harry was going to guess that this was Niall. Niall was the only Irish one in the band, right? So, this could be him.

He hoped that he was right.

Note to self: research who is who and which is which. He honestly should've done that while he was in the van, but in his defense, he was too busy freaking out about, you know, waking up in someone else's life.

"I've been waiting for you in ages, man!" Niall said, smiling cheek to cheek and rolling his eyes with such exaggeration that it was quite hard to imagine everyone not finding him endearing.

He looked young and bright-eyed, a bit baby-faced despite in his twenties, and looked like a harmless and likable guy, someone you couldn't help but smile at when you encounter him in the street. He seemed like a breath of fresh air, just someone you felt close to despite not knowing who he was. He didn't look like a celebrity at all, but someone who could possibly be your friend.

Harry couldn't believe that this was one-fifth of One Direction, a boyband that took the music industry with a storm. He wondered what the other boys were like.

Harry tried to give him a smile although it might've come across a grimace at the end. "Hey... I'm here," he drawled awkwardly, clearing his throat and shifting his gaze to the side. "So, uh, where are the others?"

"Zayn and Liam?" Niall asked to clarify, then shrugged his shoulders without waiting for Harry's confirmation. "I think Zayn went to the emergency exit to smoke and Liam's probably waiting for Louis along with the rest of the team. Last we texted, Louis said he was nearly here although I don't know when he'll be coming."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Considering that everything about this interview seemed to be about Louis, he thought he'd make the point to be on time for it.

Niall turned to the side and gazed at the entirety of the room. "They really went all out for this interview. Like super secret stuff. I don't think the most dedicated of our fans know about this interview. Can't mess it up, you know? This is big for all of us, Louis especially."

Harry's brows knitted. "Why Louis, especially?"

He knew he made a mistake opening his mouth when Niall whipped his head towards him, shock coloring his face. Fuck. Fuck! Alright. Harry tried to appear nonchalant, putting up an air of boredom, hoping that Niall would believe it.

Niall stared at him intently (no no no) before he finally reacted by rolling his eyes heavenward, not looking suspicious or anything (oh, thank God). "Damn, H, I know you and Louis have issues but now is not the time to be a dick. He needs all of us to support him right now. Doesn't matter if it's sincere or not, at least withhold being a douchebag, okay?"

Harry blinked his eyes, expression blank. So, he was the douchebag, not Louis. That was... unexpected. "Uh, okay," he mumbled, slightly confused. "I'll try, I guess."

Even after hearing the reluctance in Harry's voice, Niall still had it in him to smile widely and give Harry a hard pat on his shoulder, which made the taller boy stumble forward a bit. He didn't think that a lot of things fazed Niall.

"That's the spirit! Come on, let's go find somewhere to sit. Zayn will be back soon and Liam will be here once Louis is."

Harry let Niall lead and maneuver him around the busy room. He was glad that he wasn't alone, but at the same time, he was nervous as hell how to act around someone who knew popstar Harry so well.

They ended up in another part of the room, in front of a long table with an assortment of different snacks on top. Niall immediately went to grab a bag of cheese flavored potato chips while Harry merely hovered over the table. He didn't really like eating junk food, though Niall seemed to enjoy them.

"Oh, hey, there's Zayn," Niall exclaimed, and pointed towards the direction of a boy heading towards them.

Harry tried not to gape or stare blatantly. The pictures simply didn't do Zayn Malik any justice. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a GQ photoshoot, or maybe he just woke up and automatically looked that way. Harry felt so self-conscious just knowing that a person looking like Zayn existed and he was going to spend time with him in a daily basis. It was fucking unfair to be in the presence of someone looking like a Greek god.

"Hey, Nialler, Haz," Zayn greeted, accent very distinct, as he stopped across them. From afar, he carried an air of nonchalance and mystery, but being this close to him, made him appear friendly and approachable. Harry wondered how he did it. “Sorry I took too long. I had to smoke.”

“You nervous, then?” Niall asked with a tilt of his head.

Zayn chuckled softly with a shake of his head. “Nervous for Louis, I suppose.”

Everyone seemed to be nervous and worried for someone who wasn’t here.

Zayn suddenly shifted his gaze to Harry who straightened his back in attention. "You're being too quiet, Haz."

Was the other so talkative that they would notice how much he's not speaking?

Harry smiled slightly. “Uh, just… reeling from this situation.”

“I know, right?” Zayn’s sharp eyes softened as he blew a sigh from his shapely lips. Not that Harry was looking or anything. “This situation is shit.”

Before any of them could respond—or make any comments about Harry's odd behavior—a sudden commotion from the other side of the room prevented them. A harried-looking lady barged through the door, huffing and panting, holding many shopping bags from expensive brands like Adidas and Nike, and a Starbucks cup. They all turned around and watched as she hastily threw apologies to the crew of people she disturbed.

"Sorry, sorry, we're late!" She exclaimed as she tried to catch her breath. She looked so young with her big blue eyes and bleached blonde hair, and Harry wondered who she was.

"Good, you're finally here. Where have you been, Lottie? Lou's been looking all over for you," an exasperated woman snapped at the younger woman. She wore a charcoal suit, creases nonexistent, and red stilettos. She looked important, if the way people were wincing at her sharp tone was any indication. "Also where is Louis Tomlinson?"

Harry immediately straightened his back when he heard the name of his bandmate. He looked around, trying to spot his face and only relaxed a fraction when he figured that he hadn't arrived yet.

"Ann-Marie! Uh, hi, Liam asked for him a while ago. They're just heading towards here now," Lottie answered, seemingly flustered by the attention and the hot spot that the woman, Ann-Marie, had landed her on. "And, I already texted Lou this morning that Louis and I were going to be late—"

"I don't need to hear your excuses," Ann-Marie cut her off, her eyes narrowing impatiently. Harry pitied Lottie, who looked as though she wanted the world to swallow her whole. "We're already delayed as it is. If your brother doesn't get here soon—"

"Sorry, we're late!" A friendly voice cut through Ann-Marie's words and an attractive guy stepped into the room behind Lottie. He had brown eyes that looked sincere and naive, with broad shoulders that pulled the sleeves of his white shirt tightly around his chest. He smiled affably at Ann-Marie. "Hey, Ann-Marie. Sorry to disrupt."

"Liam," Ann-Marie said with pursed lips, looking as unimpressed as ever.

Liam Payne, Harry realized with a blink of his eyes. The other member of the boyband. He was bigger in real person than in pictures, his body corded with thick muscles. He looked solid—like just the type of person that you could count on; someone loyal and undeniably pleasing in the eyes. But there was something genuine in his smile and in his gaze.

"Hey, Ann-Marie, sorry for the delay," Liam remarked with a sheepish grin. "Also Louis' with Paul right now. I think he's giving him a lecture."

Ann-Marie merely gave Liam a sharp glare, unaffected by sweet words and equally sweet smiles. "We are wasting time as it is. Tomorrow, we are allowing the release of articles regarding the situation we are in. This interview needs to happen today, and you are all exhibiting completely unprofessional behavior."

Liam flinched and looked so tortured that Harry's heart went out to him. "Right, we're really sorry for this, Ann-Marie. But you got to understand, you know, that this is a big deal and—"

"If this was truly a big deal as you say," Ann-Marie cut him off with an acidic tone of voice, "then act like it is. I do not care if Louis is incapable of—"

“Never fear, everyone. The star is here.” A raspy, high-pitched voice cut through Ann-Marie's words and pierced the air with alarming electricity that had people stiffening in attention. “Also, Ann-Marie, darling, talking shit about me already? Well, we're off to a great start, I suppose."

Ann-Marie's eyes narrowed and looked as though she was spitting venom when she uttered two words, "Louis Tomlinson."

Harry, along with everyone else, watched as none other than Louis Tomlinson walked into the room with a lazy but assured gait, a medium-sized Starbucks cup in hand, Ray-Ban glasses obscuring his eyes. With black jeans, black Vans, and a black shirt with the words "THE FUTURE IS NOW" printed boldly at the front, he looked as though he was making an unspoken declaration of some sort as he stepped into the room.

No guilt. No remorse. Just unapologetically himself.

Harry unknowingly held his breath, as Louis took his glasses off with a flick of his wrists, and then there was the sky, but no, it was his eyes. Blue eyes.

Blue eyes…

Nearly everyone was quiet, looking unsure as to how to proceed now that Louis stepped into the room—and Harry could see why people dubbed him as the leader of the band despite him not given enough (positive) attention by the media. 

Pictures simply weren't enough to capture the entirety of Louis' essence. He electrified the room as soon as he stepped into the doorway—as soon as he spoke, to be honest—and it left people stiffening in attention. It was like Louis was a magnetic force that compelled people to look, even begrudgingly.

Finally all of Harry's—well, the other Harry's—bandmates were in one room, breathing in the same space as he was, and Harry was fucking terrified of what was about to come.

"No need to be so prissy, love," Louis rasped softly, his accent thick, as he gracefully tucked his expensive glasses below his chin. The smile he aimed at Ann-Marie was like a shark's that had scented blood. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. Louis looked like he was simply unbothered by everything while everyone was worrying and panicking over him. He looked like he didn’t care, even when someone was scolding him.

"You are 45 minutes late," Ann-Marie bit out, disdain flickering in her dark gaze and thick poison coating her tongue. "The interview was supposed to start 20 minutes ago if you weren't busy shopping and wasting everyone's time."

Harry shuffled closer to Niall, who looked as though he was mesmerized by the scene Louis and Ann-Marie was making. "Are they always like this?" Realizing what he said and how he sounded, he hastily added, "I mean, I don't think I've ever felt this much tension between Ann-Marie and Louis."

Niall nodded his head absently. “It’s a shit situation to be in. I don’t doubt that Louis’ just being shitty because of what’s happening, and who can blame him to be honest?”

Yes but, what was so different now than usual?

"Couldn't blame him, really," Niall continued. "Ann-Marie made his life a living hell."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. But how? Who was Ann-Marie even?

"Yeah, and if we continue on talking about it, we'll be one hour later," Louis retorted as he handed his Starbucks cup to Lottie who accepted and immediately scurried away. Harry couldn't blame her for that at all. "Let's start, shall we?"

Ann-Marie inhaled sharply and her lips twisted into an ugly sneer. "You seem to be forgetting your place, Mr. Tomlinson."

Louis barked out a laugh. "Oh, no, I'm not forgetting mine. But you sure as hell are forgetting yours."

"For fuck's sake, Louis," Zayn cursed under his breath, sighing sharply at Louis' bold statement.

Ann-Marie and Louis stared unflinchingly at each other for a couple of moments, neither one backing down. Their prides probably wouldn't let them.

Harry honestly thought that it would last for ages until an unfamiliar woman bravely came forward, looking hesitant as she said, "Uh, excuse me? I'm sorry to interrupt, but the interviewer is ready and this building is only booked until this afternoon. Should we reschedule the interview?"

Louis' eyes flickered and he turned to the woman in question. Just like that, the ice from his eyes melted into warm pools of blue as he regarded the woman with a smile that made him unfairly, undeniably attractive. "Oh no, love, we should start already. Again, I'm so sorry for being late. Didn't mean to be such a diva."

The woman's cheeks reddened, undoubtedly star struck. "Er, that's alright..."

Louis smiled at her for one last time before casting a black glance at Ann-Marie. "Now, if you'll excuse me, this boybander needs to get camera ready."

Louis waltzed into a room like a blazing storm that left everyone rattled and wrecked, and when he left—heading towards the dressing room—everyone was scrambling to salvage their remains.

Ann-Marie was screaming at the people surrounding her, screaming orders that were nonsensical for Harry. Liam stood to the side, attempting to calm Ann-Marie. Niall went back to the snack table. Meanwhile, Zayn turned his back to them, his phone pressed against his ear, voice low as he conversed with someone on the other end of the line.

Harry remained frozen in the same spot.

It wasn’t long before Louis came out of the makeshift dressing room, his hair messily styled on his head, a pink hue now tinting his high cheekbones. Harry watched as Zayn approached him with a clap on his back, grabbing his shoulder as he murmured in his ear. Louis leaned his head closer to Zayn lips, eyes inscrutable, before his lips broke into a coquettish smirk.

Before Harry could wander what it meant, someone was ushering him towards the long, brown leather couch. Across the couch was an armchair. Harry sat and eyed the lights and cameras warily, stomach churning in discomfort. It wasn’t long before the others joined him as well.

The next thing he knew, they all sat pressed against each other knees and elbows, and sides constantly touching, and it was uncomfortable as hell. Harry was luckily seated on the other end of the couch, with Niall beside him, and he tried his best to ignore the way the Irish boy constantly shifted on his seat.

He sat with his back bent forward, elbows propped on top of his knees, trying to give himself space from the others. He was uncomfortable being this close to them when he didn't even know them as well as they thought he did.

His gaze unconsciously drifted to Louis, who sat at the other end of the couch, close to the interviewer. He looked unbothered by their closeness and lack of space in the couch, and Harry wished he could be that indifferent.

Louis' slender legs were stretched open as he sat; one of Zayn's legs were casually thrown over Louis' legs. The two spoke quietly, faces leaning towards each other to whisper something in their ears. Realizing he was watching them, Harry looked away before anyone could spot him staring.

"First of all, I'd like to thank you all for being here," the interviewer—'Call me Isabella, please. It's nice to meet you all'—was a pretty woman in her late thirties. She was soft-spoken, her American accent a stark contrast when facing four British boys and one Irish boy.

Apprehension curled around his stomach. He really, really hoped he wouldn't be asked any questions. He wasn't ready for this. If he opened his mouth and spoke now, they'd know the truth and Harry really, really didn't want that to happen. He flexed his long fingers, and stared at the chipped pink polish painted on his nails.

"I'm sure some of you have been busy for the last few weeks, especially when you're promoting your album as well as rehearsing for your tour," Isabella continued and Harry looked up to watch her. "So, I’m really grateful you took the time to do this interview. How's tour promotion going on, by the way?"

"Oh, it's been great," Liam answered readily, with a smile that could literally lit up a town on his face. "It's... it's like amazing that there are still a lot of people coming to our shows just to see us. I mean, it's been four years already since we got put into a band and it's still amazing to see so many people willingly listening to our music and liking them."

"Yeah," Niall piped in cheerfully. “We're very grateful that you know, people are still interested. And it's great 'cause like it feels like we're growing up with our fans when they stayed with us from the beginning."

"Are the fans the only ones you're looking forward to this tour?" Isabella asked. "Or are there also things you look forward too?"

"We... also kind of look forward to singing songs from Midnight Memories," Zayn answered, with Niall and Liam nodding and agreeing with him, so Harry nodded too. "Midnight Memories has a more mature sound and sort of rockier edge. It's different from the rest of our albums, so we definitely look forward to singing songs from it."

"It's also great to sing live again," Louis finally answered, hooded eyes fixed upon Isabella's face while everyone's gaze, including Harry's, were focused on Louis and his words. "In the stadiums and having concerts. It feels great. I really can't wait to take the stage again and see our fans in different corners of the world. It's amazing the result of all of our hard work and I couldn't be more proud of us, boys," he added, turning his head to look at them, a soft smile on his face—soft like melted chocolate.

Harry didn't know whether to be pleased or be annoyed that Louis' eyes skipped past him as he turned back to the interviewer.

The interview continued on. They talked a lot of topics that made Harry's head spin. Fortunately, he wasn't asked a lot of questions. He tried to participate by nodding, agreeing and adding a comment or two, just so people wouldn't point out that he was being quiet. Honestly, Harry didn't know what the point of this interview about—maybe to promote the tour?—until Isabella addressed Louis specifically.

"And how have you been, Louis?" Isabella asked and just like that, the mood in the room changed. "Especially these last couple of weeks?"

Harry could feel the tension radiating off of Niall—off of everyone really—as soon as she asked that question. It seemed as though everyone was holding their breath as they waited for Louis to respond, which was—weird. It was such an innocent question; it shouldn't warrant that kind of response.

Harry darted his gaze to Loui who breathed in deeply, a tight smile painted awkwardly on his face. A sharp tinge lingered in his eyes. "Not going to lie, love, I certainly could've been better. But, uhm, I'm trying. I have family and friends on my side, so I can't really complain much. What happened was awful and cruel, but I figured... well, secret's out. Don't really have much of a choice now, innit? It's not like I can hide again, if you know what I mean. Can't really take it back, not when you have photographic evidences."

Harry couldn't help but watch Louis as he spoke, heart lodged in his throat. Those blue eyes were set in a serious expression, with his lips pursed in a stern line across his face. Although he tried to sound casual, there was a hint of bitterness and tension in Louis' voice.

"Well, I for one, think you're really brave for finally coming out to your fans and the rest of the world really," Isabella said softly, and—wait, what?

Harry's neck snapped to Louis' direction, eyes wide and mouth agape. He felt like someone was breathing ice into his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Coming out? What the fuck did that mean? Coming out? As in...

"It must've been hard considering how much in the past you denied the allegations and speculations that you were gay," Isabella stated, "and now that you finally came out, how does that feel?"

What. The. Fuck.

Louis... Louis was gay?!

Louis, the one whom everyone assumed was homophobic, was gay?!

Harry was reeling from what he had learned. No wonder everyone was panicking and worrying over Louis, because he had just come out, not just to his friends and family, but to the entire world. To his fans that were primarily made out of women.

But what about the rumors about Louis being homophobic and their ruined friendship because of the gay rumors? What about that? If that's not true, then why did everyone know and act like there's a strain between Louis and the other Harry?

Unless... the gay rumors are true? He thought and quickly dismissed the idea. No, because this Harry—popstar Harry, rather—was straight. He slept with many women—according to the papers at least, but with what happened with the blonde woman he woke up with earlier, Harry was inclined to believe it—so the gay rumors couldn't possibly be true.

Unless... unless Harry was the one who was uncomfortable with their friendship and Louis' sexuality, Harry thought, his mouth suddenly dry. Because there was a possibility that the other Harry knew about Louis' sexuality and, with all the rumors surrounding them, must've expressed or felt he was uncomfortable being in the same room as Louis.

But what did he know, really? He really didn't know what went on between the other Harry and Louis, and frankly he didn't want to know. He was just an imposter playing pretend, playing the life of a famous boyband member. He was a fake, so why was he so invested suddenly?

Fuck, all he wanted was to go back home.