This series is a collection of standalone one-shots inspired by music; beginning with Harry's discography and eventually expanding into other albums, artists, and records that leave behind stories worth telling.
Each chapter is my personal interpretation of a song, exploring the emotions, themes, imagery, and stories that emerge from the music rather than following the lyrics directly. Sometimes the inspiration will come from a single line or from the meaning behind the song.
Some stories are romantic. Some are heartbreaking. Some are chaotic. Some are funny, and some are entirely fictional (I mean isn't this all fictional...). Every song exists in its own world. No story is connected to the one before or after it, and each chapter stands on its own as a separate interpretation of the music that inspired it.
At its heart, this series is simply an attempt to turn songs into stories.
These are the people, relationships, memories, heartbreaks, and moments I imagine when I listen.
Welcome to the Album Series.
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(Debut Album) Harry Styles
Fine Line by Harry Styles - Posting Sunday 14th, 18:30 BST
Harry's House by Harry Styles - TBC
Kiss All The Time. Disco, Occasionally by Harry Styles - TBC
saw Harry live in concert for the first time since one directionnnnn. The last time was on the on the road again tour just after zayn had left.
what a night - seeing pop live was crazy, harry wore genie pants, i bought the fun run merch t-shirt, we danced, we laughed, we felt many, many things.
because of everyone in that arena - harry, the band, the fans - i had an unforgettable time 💜
That’s a husband who packs snacks, a bottle of your fave water(because not all water is created equal), your headphones, your kindle as well as a paperback of one of your fave books for when you’re over looking at screens all in his carry on so you just have to worry about your neck pillow and phone for any and every flight the two of you take.
A/N: This is my first time writing dadrry, let me know what you think!
WC: 4.4k words
CW: Good ol' fluff and a little bit of angst bc of parental illness and the hospital setting.
Summary: After a medical procedure, Harry and your children visit you in the hospital. You spend some quality time together and reminisce on heartfelt family moments. There's a lot of hand-holding.
The faint smell of antiseptic and strong filter coffee fills the room as the late-afternoon sun peeks through the blinds, striping the off-white walls in bands of muted gold and shadows. The coffee in the paper cup on the windowsill has long been forgotten, as the pollen from the flowers in the vase right beside it now dots the surface of the black liquid.
Harry sits beside the bed, his hand resting in yours, thumb rubbing slowly along your knuckles as you sleepily take a sip of your favourite rooibos tea. You’re more relaxed now than you were earlier that day; your breathing is much steadier and your body is no longer holding onto the fear and anxiety from the last few weeks.
There's a steady hum all around you. It's the high-pitched and steady tone of the machines monitoring that everything is still stable after this morning. After what felt like the longest morning of both yours and Harry's life.
Harry's thumb stills against your knuckles and his gaze drifts past you to the door. His small frown and nervous expression settles into something soft and relieved as he takes in the person lingering in the doorway.
You don't notice the third presence at first, still feeling a bit fuzzy after your procedure.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says quietly.
The gentle tone is one you recognise instantly, causing you to turn your head to the door and smile contentedly. It's your youngest son, shoulders slightly hunched and hands stuffed in the pockets of the brown suede leather jacket his father wore when he was 19, the age your son is now.
Harry carefully watches him nervously look around, unsure whether or not to step fully into the private room. Your youngest has always worn his heart on his sleeve and right now Harry can see the unmistakable worry in the green eyes that mirror his own, despite the careful smile he’s giving you.
“Hey Ant,” Harry gently says with a tired smile. “Come in, you don't have to stand all the way over there.”
With a little more confidence, Anthony moves closer to your bed. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if each footstep may disturb the peace and quiet.
“Dad said you were awake,” he says, looking over to Harry and then to you. “I thought I’d come say hi before you doze off for the night.”
“I'm glad you did,” you reply sleepily. You shift slightly to sit up a little against the pillow and reach out your free hand towards him. “It's good to see you, bug. Did you come straight from class?” You ask.
Anthony (or Ant, as the family affectionately called him, even though he towers over everyone) has been interested in history and ancient cultures ever since Harry gifted him a book on Pompeii after the volcanic eruption for his thirteenth birthday. After following his father around the world on tour during school holidays, Anthony was fascinated by all the places he had seen; each museum, ancient ruin, unfamiliar city and ancient rituals were something for him to marvel at. With Harry’s encouragement and his own ambition to deepen his knowledge, Anthony decided to study archaeology.
He nods silently in response to your question, brown curls bouncing slightly from the movement.
For a moment, none of you speak.
Harry's hand is still in yours, grounding you. It's a sight that Anthony is all too familiar with, having seen his parents hold hands more often than not while growing up. His parents’ hands always manage to find each other in crowded rooms, across dinner tables or in quiet moments just like this. It's become a silent language of reassurance for as long as he can remember - not only between Harry and you, but also him and his sister.
Anthony watches your joined hands for a beat. Something soft settles in his expression as he looks at you and places his hand in your waiting one. His fingers curl around yours and squeeze.
“You feeling okay?” he asks quietly. The question carries more care than those three simple words can ever suggest.
“I feel alright,” you respond. “Bit tired, but alright.”
“That's… good.” Anthony nods, absorbing the information as though it's something fragile he doesn't want to break.
The three of you sit there for a moment, quietly tethered by your hands and the weight of the moment.
A small chuckle breaks the loaded silence as Anthony looks over to the sunflowers perched on the windowsill in a simple glass vase.
“I’m assuming the flowers are from Robin.” He says, nodding towards the fresh flowers that had been placed in your room earlier that day.
You snort softly, “You know your sister. Said the room needed more colour to aid in mum’s recovery. Apparently the white walls are ‘emotionally offensive.’”
Harry shakes his head, fondly reminded of your daughter’s attention to detail when it came to decorating. “Your sister’s been redecorating rooms since she was six. Remember when she rearranged the playroom because of the bad ‘foo shoo’?”
All of you chuckle at the memory of a six-year-old girl mispronouncing the word ‘feng shui’ after hearing it in an old lifestyle TV show.
While the three of you joke about Robin’s fixation on perfect floral arrangements, Anthony’s eyes focus on the bright petals. They seem unapologetically yellow and bright, turned towards the light as they bring a brightness to the sullen atmosphere a hospital room can bring about. Then his gaze drifts back to you and Harry, your hands still linked together. Anthony’s expression softens as he takes in the gesture between two people who are so in love that it seems only natural for some form of physical contact to occur without them realising it.
And suddenly he’s fifteen again, hunched over his Geography textbook at the kitchen counter, his worksheet half-finished.
The kitchen smells faintly of the garlic and ginger from the curry you’d had for lunch, while the soft clanking of plates fills the comfortable silence. You’re standing at the sink, rinsing the cast-iron pan while Harry empties the dishwasher beside you.
It’s late afternoon - that golden hour where the sunlight spills through the window and perfectly catches the flower bouquet on the counter. Anthony’s trying to concentrate on filling out the latitude and longitude lines of different locations, but the quiet rhythm of his parents’ mundane task distracts him.
Just as he looks up, you laugh at something Harry seems to have said under his breath. Your laugh is warm, genuine and slightly high-pitched as your head falls back at your husband’s teasing tone. You shake your head at him and splash a little water in his direction, which he dodges easily, flicking the teatowel in your direction in retaliation.
Harry steps closer to you, briefly resting his head against yours. You don’t move away; instead you instinctively lean into him, still rinsing the pan as if the movements between you two are second nature. As you go to set the heavy pan on the drying rack, Harry’s hand automatically wraps around yours on the handle to help you and he places a small kiss on your temple.
The clean dishes are long forgotten now as Harry’s arm settles around your waist, his thumb absently tracing circles through the fabric of your t-shirt. You continue talking about wonderfully ordinary things: groceries, weekend plans, the neighbour’s dog’s incessant barking. It’s the kind of conversation that doesn’t need to be important for it to mean something.
Anthony’s pencil gently slips from his fingers onto the counter. He tells himself he’s taking a break, but really he’s watching the way the two of you orbit each other with small, practiced gestures. There’s no performance to your interaction, just a steady closeness woven into every movement. Harry leans down to murmur something which makes you smile again and you try to lean even further into him, your shoulder pressing against his.
It looks… easy. Almost effortless, even though Anthony knows that relationships take work. He sees two people who choose each other over and over again, no matter what.
When Harry glances over at his son and catches him staring, he doesn’t say anything or pull away from you. He simply offers a knowing smile with a small twinkle in his eye before he turns back to the now-dry pan; as though Anthony’s been allowed to witness something private and ordinary at all once.
The memory settles warmly in his chest as the kitchen fades and Anthony returns to the present. He returns to the soft light, the steady rhythm of the beeping machines and the sight of your hands still folded together. The tattooed cross on Harry’s hand moves ever so slightly as his thumb continues its absent tracing.
“I remember…” Anthony starts, voice soft and his eyes flickering between your joined hands and faces. “You two have always been like this.”
“What do you mean, Ant?” Harry asks him curiously.
Shrugging, Anthony explains, “Just… close? Not in a big, showy way. Just…” he gestures vaguely towards your hands. “That, you know? All the time, just automatic.”
Harry’s mouth curves upwards in a fond smile. “Automatic.” he repeats, contemplating Ant’s words.
“Yeah, it never felt like effort. Even when things were busy or loud or stressful. I just thought that’s how parents are, you know?” Anthony leans a bit closer to your bed, continuing his confession. “I realised that not everyone has that and I’ve always thought that… if I ever get lucky enough to have something like that, I want it to look like you two in the kitchen. Just choosing each other while doing the dishes.”
The room suddenly feels warm and full from your son’s revelation
“We’re glad you were watching.” Harry teases as you smile at your boy, trying hard not to let a tear roll down your cheek.
“Was hard not to,” Anthony acknowledges. “It always felt… safe. Like no matter what else was going on, the two of you always felt like being in the eye of the storm. Steady and calm.”
Nonchalantly, Harry pretends to brush something out of his eye at Anthony’s kind words. “Well,” he says lightly, “It’s good to know that all those years of domestic dishwashing theatre paid off.”
“Yeah, real award-winning stuff, Dad.”
“We rehearsed,” you murmur sleepily. “Years of serious commitment to the bit.”
There’s a brief silence before Anthony speaks up again.
“So, what happens now?” He briefly looks at the machines and then back at you. “Recovery-wise, I mean.”
You gently squeeze his hand. “Now we rest,” you reassure him with the same calm voice that once soothed scraped knees and anxious stomachs before an important exam. “The worst part is over, so now we take it one day at a time. Let the body do what it knows to do.”
One day at a time.
The words land deep in Harry’s chest and suddenly he’s taken back to a particular moment from many years ago.
The warmth of summer and the smell of freshly cut grass coats the air around you. The garden is alive with the sound of carefree laughter after the school year has come to an end and the children can finally sleep a bit longer in the mornings.
You’re crouched near the flower beds, your hands covered by the dirt-smudged garden gloves. Two small bodies flank yours as you show Anthony and Robin how to hold a sunflower stem without snapping it. All curls and concentration, Anthony frowns at the sunflower larger than his tiny face. Robin is right beside him, determined to pick the one with the brightest petals, narrating her every move as though she were the host of a critically acclaimed gardening show.
“Mummy?”
“Yes, bug?”
“When we planting the tomatoes?” A six-year old Anthony asks.
“In a moment, bug. We just have to finish up the flowers first.” You reassure the child.
“Mummy, can I have a flower for my room, please? They’re marvelous!”
“Of course you can, love.” You say with a laugh, impressed with Robin’s correct usage of the word. She recently took it upon herself to learn as many new words as she could during the summer. She’s gotten off to a good start and you’re curious to see how many new words she’ll retain by the end of the summer holidays.
After a while, the three of you have moved to a different spot in the garden, while four small tomato plants are waiting to be planted. While you’re digging holes deep enough for the plants, your two children patiently let Harry reapply sunscreen to their faces.
“Alright. You ready?” You ask them excitedly.
Harry’s watching the scene of you three kneeled beside the vegetable patch unfold as though it were something sacred, not to be disturbed. You glance up at him from under your floppy hat as he takes in the dirt on your cheek and the pure joy on your face.
“Gentle,” you whisper as you guide their tiny hands around the fragile roots.
Once the tomatoes have been planted, Anthony innocently asks: “Will we have tomatoes tomorrow, Mummy?”
“Not yet, bug. We have to wait a little while. Take it one day at a time. That’s how things grow.”
This is it, Harry thinks as a certainty settles deep in his bones. This messy, sun-soaked moment, this is the life.
“What are you smiling about? You look like you’re about to burst into song.” You joke, pushing the brim of your hat up a bit.
He shakes his head and takes a step closer to you. “Just… taking it all in,” he says softly. “Feels like everytime I blink, they grow another three centimetres.”
Glancing over at the two children occupied with placing the name tags in the soil, your expression softens.
“Then don’t blink,” you murmur. “Stay right here with us.”
His hand reaches for your shoulder as he pulls you closer to him. You lean in without thinking and smile to yourself, enjoying the quiet moment. The thunder of small, determined feet on the lawn and an excited squeal catch your attention.
“Mummy, mummy! Look!”
Robin barrels towards you with a daisy pinched between her thumb and index finger. She stops in front of you and Harry, breathless with triumph as she holds out the small flower to you.
“It’s for you,” she declares. “For showing us how to plant the tomatoes.”
You beam at her as though she’s just handed you a bar of solid gold.
“Oh wow! Thank you so much, my angel.” You say, gratefully accepting the small stem. “I’ll put it right here, so I don’t lose it.”
Harry and Robin watch you tuck the flower behind your ear, dirt-smudged glove and all. “Do I look prettier now?” You ask as you strike a pose, causing Harry and the children to laugh.
The garden feels louder and brighter, full of the chaotic sounds associated with childhood. As the sun sets, Harry realises that this is love. It’s not always the grand moments or gestures that people write songs about. It’s sunflower petals stuck to sweaty cheeks, it’s dirt under fingernails.
It’s you saying, one day at a time.
The golden hue of that summer sunset fades as the hospital room returns in its place. The sunlight that has fallen through the blinds is starting to disappear, making the room feel a little cooler. Outside the room, there’s a hum of footsteps and muffled announcements calling specific doctors to another unit.
Harry blinks, grounding himself in the feel of your hand still wrapped in his.
One day at a time.
Anthony notices the slight change in the air before either of you says anything. He watches Harry with the same quiet attentiveness he always had and looks at your joined hands again before directing his gaze at his father.
“You went somewhere,” he says knowingly.
“Yeah,” Harry admits, a huffy laugh escaping his mouth as he shakes his head. “I was thinking of that summer when you and your sister helped your mum plant those tomatoes. You had asked if they would grow overnight.”
Anthony’s face scrunches in embarrassment. “Seems like waiting was never really my strength.”
“No, it wasn’t.” You reminisce, voice thick with sleep and fondness as you think back to when you didn’t have to reach up to hug your youngest. “You used to stand over those plants almost every day waiting for the first tomatoes to come in.”
“As if to say, ‘Grow faster, I’m watching you.’” Harry adds.
“Well, in my defence, you made it sound like magic! You put a few seeds in the dirt and suddenly you’re making pasta sauce with tomatoes from the garden. It was a miracle we managed to harvest at least a few tomatoes.”
“That was because you tried to water them three times a day, Ant.”
“It was dedication, Dad.” Anthony rolls his eyes at his father’s comment.
“It was drowning, bug.” You counter gently.
“Hey-”
“And yet, they survived. Much like your houseplants now, right?” Harry interrupts, trying to keep the atmosphere light.
“Low blow, Dad.” Anthony says, pretending to be deeply offended.
“Knock, knock!” A bright and familiar voice says from the door.
Robin bursts into the room like a summer breeze with her tote bag slung over her shoulder, curls slightly windblown and eyes immediately finding yours.
“You’re still awake, good. I brought you your favourite-”
She’s distracted by the flowers on the windowsill.
“Oh good, they’re still upright. I was worried Ant would have knocked them over by now.”
“I’ve been sitting still for the last twenty minutes, Robin.” Anthony scoffs, lightly rolling his eyes.
“Statistically suspicious for you to sit still for so long,” she replies, crossing the room towards your bed. She leans down carefully to press a gentle kiss to your cheek and softly hums. “Hi. You look good. How are you feeling now?”
“I feel alright,” you tell her as she takes a step back from the bed. “Bit tired.”
Robin nods, resting her elbow on her brother’s shoulder as she stands next to him. “Thought as much. You okay with us staying a bit before visiting hours are over?”
“Of course, angel. You all being here is necessary for my recovery, Doctor’s orders.” You grin at your daughter.
“Perfect. Oh, before I forget…” Robin moves towards her tote bag on the overbed table at the foot of the bed and starts to rummage through it, “I brought you those dried mango strips you like… and…” She continues to dig through the organised chaos. “A new word puzzle book to help pass the time and keep your brain sharp while you're stuck in here.”
“Oh, thank you, angel.”
Robin beams as she places the items within reach. “My pleasure. And before you ask Dad, I made sure that the snacks were okay for Mum to eat.”
Freeing his hand from yours, Harry raises both his hands in an act of surrender. “I'm sure you know what you're doing, bub.”
As you fall into easy conversation with your children, Harry takes in the scene unfolding in front of him - you flipping through the puzzle book, Anthony perched on the edge of the plastic chair, also interested in the puzzles and Robin unpacking enough recovery snacks to last at least two months.
The room feels full. Not with fear or with uncertainty anymore, but with the familiar noise of love and being present. Harry lets himself sit in it, in this bright and ordinary love; it’s the kind of medicine that doesn’t come in a pill bottle.
“That’s not really necessary, is it Rob?” Anthony notes as he watches his sister attempting to rearrange the snacks in an aesthetically pleasing way.
“Presentation matters, Anthony.” Robin rolls her eyes, staying focused on the colourful packages.
“This reminds me of how you reorganised the spice rack.”
Robin straightens, immediately defensive. “It needed a system.”
“It had a system,” Anthony argues back.
“A chaotic system, yes,” she shoots back. “Alphabetical order makes sense.”
“It only makes sense when you put the labels back on the jars. We had to smell-test everything for the better part of a week. Remember the chicken?" Anthony shudders at the memory of eating a chicken breast that was seasoned with cinnamon instead of coriander.
Robin flings a serviette in Anthony’s direction, missing him entirely. “Excuse you-”
“Hey, behave. Both of you.” Harry quietly warns his children, trying to keep the peace for the benefit of your recovery.
Robin looks down with slight indignation, but it slowly melts into a soft grin. Anthony looks unbearably smug for half a second before he cracks, laughter slipping out despite wanting to take his father’s words seriously. The mock battle between the two dissolves into the easy kind of quiet only siblings can fall into after years of affectionate teasing.
As you watch them with a tired fondness, you reach out to stroke Harry’s shoulder lovingly. “That cinnamon chicken was… memorable. I don’t think we’ll ever forget that dinner.” Your voice is soft yet amused.
This time, it’s Harry who can’t help but laugh as he shakes his head. “I mean, we survived the ‘Great Spice Incident’ despite the label mix-up; that’s what matters. Most importantly, we lived to tell the tale."
“Ugh, you’re all so dramatic,” Robin groans, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “It was one unlabeled jar.”
“It was several unlabeled jars.” Anthony corrects immediately.
“No risk, no fun, right?” Robin winks, trying to put a positive spin on the mishap. “Where’s your sense of adventure, brother bear?”
The sound of your children’s bickering feels almost comforting rather than disruptive. It reminds you of when they were half the size they are now, legs swinging from the dining table chairs as they argued about meaningless things. It feels steady and familiar, replacing the tension from earlier.
The hour stretches on as the four of you fall into easy conversation.
*
Outside the window, the light shifts as the evening air has settled in. The orange hue from the streetlights falls through the glass and onto the floor. No one has the heart to say it out loud, but the awareness that visiting hours are coming to an end settles in. Anthony glances at the wall clock before looking back at you. His expression softens.
“We should probably let you rest, get settled in for the night.” He says quietly.
Robin nods, her tone gentler now. “Yeah, we don’t want to overstay our welcome on day one.”
“You could never,” you murmur and softly stroke your daughter’s hand. Your index finger catches on Harry’s rose ring he gifted her on her 18th birthday. “But I understand. Will you be back tomorrow?”
“Of course we will. Promise.” Robin whispers into your ear as she leans in carefully to wrap one arm around you in a hug that’s warm and lingering without disturbing any of the wires.
Next is Anthony, who sweetly pecks you on the cheek, “Get some sleep, okay. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Anthony leans in carefully, wrapping you in a hug that’s warm and lingering without jostling you. “Get some sleep, yeah? We’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Alright. Thank you for coming,” you reply softly.
Harry takes the time to embrace each child, somewhat reluctant to let go. He makes sure to whisper his sincere thanks, leaving a peck on Robin’s temple and gently patting Anthony’s back. “Love you,” he adds, chest a little tight as he tries to hold onto his emotions.
“We love you,” Anthony says from the doorway.
“Very much,” Robin adds. “See you tomorrow.”
With soft footsteps and one last smile, they slip out into the hallway. The door closes behind them with a quiet click and the echo of their warmth and laughter settles in the air.
Harry leans back into the chair next to your bed. He holds your hand in both of his and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The rhythmic beeping of the machines fades into the background as Harry’s thumb traces lazy circles against your hand again. He’s not entirely aware he’s doing it, yet you say nothing, as it may be something that soothes him after all the uncertainty of the day. You watch the movement for a moment and feel the steady reassurance his thumb seems to imprint into your skin.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The hum of the corridor fades into the background, replaced by the soft rhythm of your breathing and the distant murmur of evening settling into the building.
“They’re good,” you murmur.
He smiles down at your joined hands. “They are,” he agrees, a quiet pride in his voice. “They’ve got their mum’s heart.”
“And their dad’s good looks,” you tease.
“Yeah, yeah.” Harry relents. A small, tired laugh escapes him and settles into the space between you. He lifts his gaze to you, his eyes soft and filled with relief, saying I’m here.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been as afraid as I was this morning.” He admits quietly.
“Ditto.” You reply softly, squeezing his hand. “But now the worst part is over and we take it one day at a time.”
Harry leans in to kiss you gently on your forehead, before leaning his forehead against your own. “One day at a time,” he echoes.
The evening sky continues to darken and the room grows softer. You feel the familiar pull of sleep settle in as your eyes start to fall closed, Harry’s comforting presence beside you as he watches you fall asleep. The last thing you remember is the steady warmth of your husband’s hand in yours, anchoring you as it always has.
Outside, the night sky settles over the city.
Inside, your hand rests in Harry’s like it has a thousand times before.
It’s not always the grand gestures and public declarations, but the gentle certainty of you choosing each other in the small, ordinary moments. Through the noise and the quiet of life, through the years in which things have bloomed and withered and bloomed again. There is a steady knowledge between you that whatever grows next will be met with the same words as everything else has.
Summary: Harry retreats to the beautiful country of Ghana for creative solitude. There he finds his greatest inspiration & distraction in a vibrant young woman (Y/N) who challenges everything he thought he wanted.
CW: drugs/alcohol mentioned, sex mentioned, flirting, sexual tension, cursing, age gap!
Word Count: 5.9k
Famous!Harry x Black (Ghanaian) Fem!reader
A/N: I’m so excited to share this series with all of you!! I hope you enjoy it and find it very entertaining. You may laugh, cry, feel all the feels!! I hope everyone has a wonderful time reading, even if you aren’t a POC. ❤️ No racism or hateful comments please! Lmk if you have any ideas or drama to add into this series because I would love the feedback! I will try do my research on Ghana / Ghanaian culture & I hope not to offend anyone if something is presented wrongfully! Just let me know, I’d be happy to learn and make the change. 🇬🇭❤️
The heat of Accra was an absolute fever dream. The thick air filled with constant noise and bright colors were an embrace to Harry’s chaotic mind. He needed an escape, somewhere he could just be himself and forget about his fame for a while. Harry was currently on a break, a much needed break. After touring for almost two years, he decided he’d disappear until he felt normal again.
On his grand tour of the world, he explored many different countries. He found himself in cities he could barely pronounce. The leisurely travel was tedious as a remind him of tour but filled his mind with a distraction. Currently, distractions were his favorite.
What were the distractions, you may ask?
Well, he got violently high and intoxicated at Berghain. Stuffed his face with sweets in Paris, took a temporary lover in Rome, ran a marathon in Tokyo, dance until morning in Phuket and the list continued.
The drugs and alcohol came easy to him, cocaine, ecstasy, bottles of Pinot Noir and dark brown liquor were his favorite. Then, there was the sex. Harry had loads of time, money, and resources — his favorite distraction? Sex.
Harry felt most free when he was being intimate with whoever he wanted. It helped fill a void in his heart and mind. He welcomed the late nights, awkward NDA’s and horrible taste the morning after.
A pleasurable distraction that was often in his benefit.
The funny thing was — Nobody stopped Harry. Yes, he was famous and got recognized a few times but his management? They let him do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t until a drunken night in Mykonos — A very public makeout earned him a heated call from Jeff. Since then, Harry slowed his tour of toxicity down.
“Jeff, I promise… m’not gonna do anything stupid,” he threatened, feeling quite offended. “This is a writing retreat, need a peaceful place where nobody cares to recognize me to get back on track. Tyler is going to head out here in a week.” Harry convinced himself, boarding his flight to Accra, Ghana.
Jeff would think it’s another album in the making. To Harry, it was another escape before heading back to his familiar Hampstead home which, he promised Jeff he’d do after a few weeks.
Now that he had been in Accra for the last few days, ate all the exotic fruit and jollof rice — Boredom was setting in. This is how it always started. Harry felt alone and craved to be surrounded by people. The market he visited in the morning itched the fix but as night came, he needed more connection.
“It’s Saturday night,” he said, plainly to himself. He immediately opened Google, searching a club to have an authentic Ghanaian experience. He tsked in disapproval, seeing the club he chose was 30 minutes from where he was currently stayed in a luxury resort.
“Fuck it”, he cursed, stood from his sofa to go get ready for the late night ahead. He dressed in a tight, red and white colored shirt that showed off his tattoos. He put on faux leather trousers to match his top. In the short time in Accra, he hardly got recognized. Many locals believed he was a tourist but didn’t ask much more of him than where he was from. There was no screaming fans, no chaotic crowds or worry who may see him. There, he felt completely free.
As his driver drove towards the inner city, he sat back in his phone. Emails from management, he ignored and texted back in his friend group chat about his plans.
“Club hopping in Accra? Wild mate, enjoy it.” His close friend, Pauli messaged back instantly. A grin pulled to Harry’s face as they texted back and forth. The time passed quickly as his driver slowed and announced his arrival in a monotone.
“Thanks,” Harry gave a hefty tip before hopping out. His jaw ticked as he saw the scene of the vibrant lights, crisp air, faint music and beautiful people waiting to get into the intoxicating environment. He joined the line, noticing a few foreigners like himself. Nobody paid particular attention to Harry but he had his guard up as he moved forward in line.
As he entered the party scene, familiar Afrobeat’s transported him to a different dimension. He vibed to the sound, heading to the bar to get a well needed drink. Harry was most friendly when drunk. He made the most friends and fun that way rather than his more reserved, respectful sober self.
He ordered a strong dose of vodka and a chaser to start. His eyes scanned the night club, landing on a particular pair of friends that seemed to be having so much fun. He spotted a birthday sash and watched as the dark skinned girl downed her shot of what looked like tequila. A smirk appeared to form on his face as his eyes never left the strikingly gorgeous birthday girl. His thoughts were interrupted by another British accent speaking to him. A male voice came just over the music, pulling his attention.
“First time here, mate?” Harry eyed the brown skin man who leaned bit closer to him. “Can spot an Englishman straight away in a crowd like this,” he chuckled, attempting to get the bartender attention.
“Is it that obvious?” Harry questioned, eyes drifting back to the group of women. He was careful with his tone, wondering if the man recognized him. British, around the same age? How could he not?
“Right, before you get all… proper about it, I ain’t gonna tell a soul,” the stranger promised. “Have fun, who cares? I certainly don’t.” The music shifted to something more softer. “I’m Lucien.” He offered his hand but took it away as soon as the bartender gave him a second of attention.
“Can I order 10 tequila shots and another of whatever he had?” He yelled over the music, nodded in Harry’s direction.
“No, mate — I don’t —,” he got cut off by his new friend, Lucien.
“Don’t worry, mate I can foot the bill.” The man grinned, turning his back towards the bar table. “So, this what we gonna do — act cool, approach those gorgeous ladies and wish whoever’s birthday it is, a fucking proper one,” he said, cheerfully.
Before Harry could protest, Lucien put 5 shots in Harry’s hands leading the way towards the group of women. Harry cursed under his breath but followed reluctantly. As he got closer, he noticed the birthday balloons and feminine energy that emerged from the small, crowded booth.
“I’m fucked,” he whispered to himself, looking directly at the group of girls who didn’t notice Lucien arrival yet.
Lucien broke out in ‘Happy birthday to you,’ loudly as he cheered the birthday girl who looked slightly confused. “We wanted to join the fun, Happy birthday — you look absolutely smashing by the way,” Lucien rambled as Harry stood behind him.
Some of the girls shrugged with polite smiles and accepted the drinks. “Promise, we didn’t put anything in these,” Harry finally spoke up, setting his set of drinks down in front of the group. He immediately caught one girl who’d looked at him wide eyed for a second before correcting her face.
“Uhm, I — that is so kind of you both, thank you.” The girl with the birthday sash said, looking between the strangers. “Uh, would you like to join?” Her accent was incredibly sweet, like a melody to Harry’s ears but he could barely hear her over the club music.
Lucien sat down next to a girl in a short, sparkly dress, chatting to her instantly. The only spot left was one next to the birthday girl, which Harry politely asked if he could take. The whole experience was sobering him up fast which was the exact opposite effect he craved for.
“I’m sorry, are you famous or something?” Harry heard the third girl ask, who was tucked close to the other side of the birthday girl. Harry’s mind scrambled for a few seconds. Did he admit what they already knew or play it off?
“Something like that,” he gave a charming smile, looking towards the birthday girl for a beat. “Happy birthday, by the way.” He leaned in, slightly closer to the point where he could smell her fruity perfume. He grabbed two shots of tequila, spreading them out in front of the two girls nearest to him. “Lucien said he’d get the bill for the whole night so, celebrate properly,” Harry could hear the nervousness in his own voice. He hoped they didn’t pay attention to it.
The table fell into a awkward quiet as everyone took a necessary shot of tequila. Harry downed his vodka as well, hoping it would distract him from the fruity, intoxicating smell he was slowly becoming obsessed with.
“What are your names?” Lucien asked the group, the girls giggled for a second before one of them finally answered.
“I’m Afia,” the girl closest to Lucien said, earning a flirtatious smile from him. Harry watched the encounter before the next girl spoke.
“My name is Esi, and this is Y/N, the birthday girl,” Esi half yelled, a grin spread across her face. “Lucien, right? And…” She trailed off, looking straight in Harry’s direction.
“Harry.” He said reluctantly but his thoughts were cut short when Esi playfully hit Y/N arm.
“See, I told you that was Harry Styles!” Esi exclaimed, Y/N gave an apologetic look towards Harry as Harry sent eye daggers at Lucien for this stupid idea.
“Just Harry is fine,” he told the group before reaching for another shot of tequila.
“Right, who wants to dance?!” Lucien stood up, giving Harry a warned facial expression. Harry scooted out of the booth, stepping aside. When Y/N stood up, he finally got a real look at her. She was absolutely gorgeous, breathtakingly gorgeous. He could tell she was young, most likely twenty like the balloons congratulated near the booth. Her perfume filled the air as Harry took in her dark features amongst the low lighting.
Lucien and Harry followed the group of girls to the dance floor. They were whispering to each other, Harry was sure it was about his fame or their weird presence for interrupting their friends birthday. Lucien grabbed Afia by the waist, already having a vibe with her. Harry eyed a few men that paid attention to Y/N and Esi. They stayed close together for a few minutes, swaying their hips to the music as the alcohol took its effect. Harry felt a surge of protective energy towards the group of women, especially the birthday girl. Afia seemed comfortable with Lucien and when a guy approached the other two women, he straightened his back. His jaw tensed but the man didn’t go for Y/N, instead asking Esi to dance with him.
Harry watched the scene unfold as Y/N encouraged her friend to dance. The crowd became more enclosed and Harry stood beside Y/N.
“Having fun?” He asked, leaning forward.
Y/N smiled up a him, nodding her head. Her body moved closer to his as she continued to dance. “Can I?” He asked, his hand hovering over her waist. When he earned a little nod from her, his hand engulfed her waist in a hesitant manner.
“How old did you turn?” He asked in her ear, pulling his head a respectful distance back after.
“Twenty,” she half yelled, leaning in. A small smirk spread to his face. He’d ruin her if he had the chance. At his twenty nine year, Harry hadn’t been with someone so young…Yet. The thought pushed memories of his twenty year old self in his head, he shook them away.
“You’re a baby,” he said, with a playful smile.
“How old are you?” Harry dreaded the question. Thinking Y/N may get disgusted by their age gap.
“Twenty nine,” he admitted. He watched as her eyes went wide for a moment before a small smirk curled up her own face.
“You’re an adult,” she joked, turning in his grasp. The music swelled, an upbeat Wizkid song surrounded them. Harry’s grasp tightened as Y/N began to slowly grind on him. The connection immediately lit a fire deep in his stomach. He cursed under his breath, tilting his head back to the ceiling to ground himself.
Y/N kept her movements slow but dirty, her tight dress riding up slightly against her thighs. Harry wanted to pull it down so others didn’t see but he stopped himself. Instead he tilted towards her again, whispering.
“Any birthday wishes?” His voice dropped an octave.
Harry caught a glimpse of her dark eyes glance back at him. The smell of her perfume mixed with the musty air of the club made him draw closer to her.
“That’s depends…”
(Y/N POV)
Her heart thumped in her chest, wondering if he could feel it racing. The whole night was going exactly how she’d never imagine.
“What the fuck is Harry Styles doing in Accra?” She asked Esi as they walked to the dance floor previously.
Now, Harry and her were close, intimate, fucking inches away from each other. It wasn’t good for her health. She wondered if a twenty year old could have a heart attack from the scent of a man’s cologne, the way he held onto her or the fact he was Harry fucking Styles.
“Depends on what?” His thick accent asked in her ear, his lips brushed against the skin there. She could smell the faint scent of alcohol and something sweet on his breath.
“Depends on… “ Y/N let her voice trail off as her eyes darted to his very pink lips. “Depends on if we stay here,” she offered in a suggestive tone.
“And where would the birthday girl rather go?” He asks. Before Y/N can respond, Lucien and Afia come in view.
“Mate, we are going to head outside for a bit,” Lucien nodded towards the door. “Don’t fuckin’ leave,” Y/N gave her friend a look which resulted in a thumbs up. Once she knew Afia was safe and comfortable, her focus directed back to Harry.
“Oh, I followed you on IG! Better fucking add me back,” Lucien said over the music, guiding Afia towards the door.
“Is this the first night you met him?” Y/N questioned with a bit of a chuckle.
“Yeah, he’s a bit of a menace.” Harry’s jaw ticks in annoyance but he carefully schools his face back to her.
“Need some air?” He asked, “we don’t have to join them, don’t think I’d want to see him making out with your friend.” Y/N nodded, taking his large hand when he offered it.
Her mind raced but as she passed Esi, she pinched her arm. Silently telling her that she’d be getting some air. Esi gave her an encouraging nod before Harry tugged her away gently.
If she was daydreaming, this had been the most realistic moment ever in history. As the cool breeze hit her body, her gaze fell to Harry’s more noticeable figure. The street light shined down on him, marking his tattoos, styled hair and dimples all the more. He had his back towards her still as he muttered about ‘watching the step’.
People crowded the street as usual, street vendors lined up along the road. Harry stood close to her, kept his hand firm against her own. When he finally turned towards her, she got a little surprised. He looked so handsome under the fluorescent street lights. He was in fact, Harry Styles. Just slightly more scruffy than pictures she’d seen before.
“Sorry,” she apologized, realizing he had been speaking to her.
“I was just asking if you are hungry, can grab you a bite to eat?” He gestured towards the row of street vendors.
Y/N thought for a few seconds, deciding she should get a little sober when hanging out with a man. “Let’s do some food,” she guided him to a street vendor. She spoke quite rapidly to the woman who was behind the stand. “Indomi, kelewele — hold some of the spice and puff puff please,” when she glanced over at Harry, he pulled out some cedi notes.
When the woman handed the food over, Harry immediately reached out to grab it. She watched as his large hands held the food comfortably. They walked to a quiet, empty spot to sit.
“Have you tried these before?” She gestured to the food.
Y/N watched as Harry drew his fingers to his lips, thinking deeply as he stared down at the food.
“Uh, think I had this,” point to the kelewele, “on my first day here. The noodles look similar to something we have in England.” He spoke slow, seeming to be deep in his own thoughts.
She couldn’t help but grin, twisting the fork in the Indomi and bring it to his lips.
“Oh, this is happening?” He joked, opening his mouth to take a bite. “Hot, spicy.” He said few seconds later.
“Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” she laughed, watching him reach for some water. “Ok, try this. It’s kinda like a donut but ten times better, it’s sweet.” She fed him the puff - puff next. She watched intently, gauging his reaction.
“Oh, s’good. Soft, sweet, warm.” He nodded as he took another one from the tray. “That is a good pastry,” Y/N laughed out, taking one herself.
“Close enough to a cake,” she said with an small shrug.
“Oh shit, we have to get you a cake,” Harry said, sounding more serious. “Fuck, let me uh…” she watched as he pulled out his yellow covered phone, searching for something.
“Guess we’ll have to stay up until 9am for the bakery to open,” his tone was a bit sad, trying to think of ways to mitigate the situation.
“Harry, it’s fine.. really, this is quite the treat.”
“No, you need a cake. Especially for your twentieth.” His thick accent was more pronounced. “I’ll sort it.” He said like a promise.
Y/N still couldn’t believe that she was sat there with, the Harry Styles — eating Ghanaian street food that were her childhood favorites.
“This is so weird,” she admitted out loud, a nervous laugh escaped her. “I’m sorry but like… What are you doing here?” She asked softly, more curious then offensive.
“Well, I’m eating some delicious snacks with a pretty birthday girl,” he said in a cheeky tone, avoiding the question. Y/N smiled but encouraged him to go on.
She watched as he grew a little uncomfortable with the silence, turning towards her.
“I’m uh, I’m on a break and heard it’s really peaceful here… and I could use some peace and quiet,” he shrugged.
Y/N didn’t respond right away, digesting his words.
“Have you found peace so far?” She asked, curious what was causing him so much distress that he was seeking out peace in a foreign land far from his own.
“Think I’m getting there,” Harry told her with a weak smile. “You should come by my place tomorrow,” he suggested. “Uh, not for… like, a uhm, friend visit. I’ll have your cake. Sing you a proper happy birthday — if your up for it.” He offered.
Y/N thought for a few seconds, nodding her head before speaking. “Think I’d like that,” she smiled.
“Oh, you have a little —” His thumb reached out to brush the corner of her lip. “Powdered sugar,” he sucked his thumb, keeping her gaze. Y/N felt her skin heat up as she cleared her throat.
Lucien and Afia rounded the corner just then, Lucien was already yelling some obscured thing but Y/N kept her eyes on Harry. She watched his face for a second, taking a mental picture in case the night ended in the next few minutes.
“Girl, you out here eating Indomi on your birthday… We need to get you some real food,” Afia said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s go get Esi,” Y/N wanted to curse at her friend for pulling her away from Harry but accepted her fate.
“Let me get your number,” she said quickly to Harry.
“Oh, Afia and I talked about going cliff jumping tomorrow and to the beach to properly celebrate the birthday girl. The fun doesn’t end here love,” Lucien smirked. “Unless you have plans…” His charm fully turned on. “Which you should definitely cancel because Mr. Styles will be there,” Lucien promised, giving Harry a look.
“Oh? Yeah?” Harry held back an obvious eye roll. “Right,” he grabbed her phone gently, exchanging numbers before handing it back.
“Cake and cliff jumping,” Harry said with a smile. “Guess, I’ll see you there.” His voice sounded easy as Afia tugged on her arm.
“Lucien, don’t scare him away!” Afia yelled before they both headed back to the club.
Y/N was in complete awe, the night couldn’t have went better than she had hoped. Afia immediately asked for details which Y/N gave as they drifted through the disbursed crowd to find their friend.
(Harry’s POV)
As he kept his eyes on her as she left, his heart sank a little. Must’ve held a noticeable expression because Lucien instantly spoke up.
“Right mate, don’t go all lost puppy on me now. You’ll see your girl again tomorrow.” He promised, half expecting a cheeky reply.
“Oh. Piss off,” Harry moved to trash the food. “Next time, warn me before you lead me to a group of young girls. I’m trying to keep a low profile —,” Harry was cut off by Lucien mocking him.
“Low profile, my arse.” He laughed, openly joking with him as if the had been mates for years. “We’ll get you sorted tomorrow, yeah?” Harry followed reluctantly as Lucien moved towards the street. “You have nothing to worry about, Y/N definitely wants to get in your pants mate. You know who you are, right?”
“For fuck sakes,” Harry cursed, bit annoyed now. “It’s not like that, we just talked.” Lucien gave Harry a look. “Right well, we will see about that tomorrow. You need any help with that cake? I don’t know shit about bakeries in Accra, man.”
“No, no… I’ll get it sorted, I’ll uh… DM you the details,” Harry promised. He smirked for a second, giving Lucien a cheeky look. “If I follow you back,” he joked and walked off. “Get home safe, mate.”
Harry found him thinking about Y/N non-stop. On his way back to his resort, he typed out a few text messages but deleted them all. The headache settling in wasn’t helping him with his choice of words. His fist balled as he rested it to his head.
“Fuck, Harry… Think,” he said to himself before typing something out.
Once back at his vacation house, Harry chucked his phone across the sofa as he rested back against it. Hoping he’d hear a familiar ping from his personal phone. Over the next few hours, he replayed the night in his head. Now that he was ridiculously sober. he could process the situation. He focused in on the intoxicating sound of her voice, how she felt against him and most importantly, how normal he felt around her. He drifted to sleep slowly, forcing himself not to check his phone every three seconds for a reply from Y/N.
the lecture period at my university is almost over which means there are a few assignments to finish up. after that things should be less stressful as I just have to write term papers and don't have classes.
that means that i'll have more time to write in feb/march. i haven't forgotten about the fic challenge set by @jarofstyles either, it's on my list! feel free to send in any requests you may have for a one-shot/blurb.
