Sycamore Tree // H.S. (HIATUS)

forty

It's a sunny day in Norway's capital today. It's actually the perfect weather for a first show. An upbeat pop song is playing from the radio in the black van in which Harry, Matty and Oliver are escorted from the airport to the arena. Since Harry chose the last possible flight and because of the one hour time difference between London and Oslo, there's no time to drive to the hotel first.

"What time is it?" Harry doesn't bother taking his sunglasses off as he looks over to Matty sitting facing him.

"Half one," Matty replies, "we'll get there in twenty."

You're on the plane right now. You'll land at two. Harry checks his phone for the third time since they left the airport ten minutes ago. None of his notifications are from you, of course not, you're flying right now.

"I'm so fucking tired," Harry sighs and lets his head roll back. You stayed up with him until the early hours, talking over one and a half bottles of wine that he can still feel in his head now. He'll be fine for the show tonight, but for now he likes to wallow in his self-pity and slight hangover.

"There's fans already waiting," Matty says and checks his phone. "I mean, of course they are, that's no surprise.

"Get them some food," Harry says and looks out of the window. "And some extra security if they need it."

The black van passes the queue of excitedly waiting but also tired looking fans not soon after. Barely anyone takes notice of it, the windows are toned, they can't see that he is inside the van. It's only when the driver waits by a large gate to be let into the staff parking lot of the arena, that a handful of fans realise who might've just arrived. The driver parks the car behind the gate and a fence, still in sight of the queue.

"Ready?" Matty asks, putting his sunglasses back on. After years of working with Harry, the fans know Matty pretty well, too.

"Yeah. Let's go," Harry says, opening the sliding door of the van and stepping out of the car with his backpack hanging from one shoulder. He checks his phone again. 1:54 pm.

"Has she not texted you?" Oliver got out of the car last. He looks over to the fans quickly before looking back at Harry. He stands with his back to them, they haven't realised it's him yet.

"She's still on the plane," Harry has and locks his phone again. He looks over to the fans who suddenly all seem to realise who he is and start screaming in excitement. Harry would lie if he said he wouldn't like that even just a little bit. He smiles and waves to his supporters before following Matty and Oliver into the cool, dark inside of the arena.

"We got an hour until soundcheck and a team meeting," Matty says. "I also found you a new assistant, Harry."

"Cool, I'll go find my dressing room," Harry replies slightly unbothered. He's got an hour of free time, which means, an hour to catch up on sleep he missed last night.

"Hi! My name's Emma." A girl, maybe one or two years younger than you, with a yellow beanie over her straight brunette hair and a grey T-shirt on, suddenly pops up in front of Harry and his friend. Or rather, she has stood there the entire time, but Harry hasn't been paying attention. First Matty and then Harry shake Emma's reached out hand before she wraps it around her black clipboard.

"I'm your contact person today," she says with her accent shining through here and there. She chuckles nervously and pushes the round glasses up her nose again before she checks her clipboard. "I was told to show you your dressing room first, yes?"

"Yes, please," Harry says and the girl nods.

"This way please," she says and turns around in the heel of her Vans. She guides Matty and Harry through the endless corridors of the arena until they reach the dressing rooms.