looking for america ★ L.S.

Prologue

It was one of the coldest winters in the decade, so cold; news casters wouldn't shut up about it. Every morning it was the same old same old, flashing exaggerated tempature graphics across city billboards that sparked coffee shop conversations. The people of New York City didn't heed the "stay cozy" warnings which much caution, and one can assume a city that never sleeps sure as hell isn't going to hibernate.

The streets were particularly busy this fine Wednesday morning, so much so that it slightly heated the streets and tempted the sane people out of their homes for the first time since the twenty fifth of December. It was early January now, and was it unrelenting.

A private jet had been flown into the city at exactly 12:00am New Years Day, the passengers celebrating their holiday from the sky. And celebrate, they did.

Niall Horan often prided himself on his ability to party without question, to lift even the worst people's spirits in times they needed it. Gave em' some super impactful advice with his Masters in Drama and helped them wash it down with some well-rehearsed jokes (there may even be a bit of alcohol theory entertained). His companion aboard this plane really needed some Irish magic, and he needed it desperately. See, his friend had just been shipped across seas (literally) like some kind of traded good by his own Mother. It was bound to happen at some point, Anne getting oh-so fed up with his "useless hillbillying around" and "waisting her money— not to mention time." Of course she chose to send him to the one place that he dreaded most of all— New York City.

"Niall, there is no one I'd rather be spending my new year with right now." The shipped goods said, sipping on expensive champagne and smiling over the rim of his glass.

Niall laughed a bit as he picked up a flute as well, toasting to the air. "Happy New Year!" he said, knowing that both of the past statements weren't true. His friend may be a quieter one, but he was no less of a partier than Niall was. In fact, the lad probably had more parties under his belt and was invited to more clubs than even A-List celebrities could fathom. And for the second statement... just context clues.

The co-pilot made himself known by obnoxiously clearing his throat, causing Niall's partner to stiffen his shoulders and roll his eyes, plastering on the fakest, teethiest smile he could muster. It was all Niall could do not to snort.

"Yes, Robert?"

"We will be landing sooner rather than later, Harry." The co-pilot said.

"Oh, how wonderful. I've longed to smell the wretched stench of the city for weeks upon weeks!" Harry exclaimed, and in the moment Niall could honestly hand Harry his diploma, and say, 'here, have it: you deserve it more than I do.'

Robert nodded awkwardly and headed back towards the cockpit, but Harry had more to say.

"And Robert— no need for the Harry, you can call me Mr. Styles, thanks." He said, waving off Robert and looking back down at Niall, frowning at the leprechuan's expression. "Niall, don't look at me like that."

"Why shouldn't I? You're being a bitch, mate." Niall said, staring into Harry's eyes.

"I'm pissed off, leave me alone." Harry sat back into his white leather chair, crossing his arms and looking out the window.

"Pissed off isn't an excuse to treat someone like shit, you know that. B-I-T-C-H."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, it is."

"Harry-"

"Whatever, I'm over it," Harry huffed, "See?" He plastered on that fake smile again, looking through Niall's unconvinced gaze.