Daydreams | Harry Styles One Shots

La Villa Gialla.

A/N - Soft, famous Harry.

C.W: Mentions of alcohol (wine) sexual content (smut is more soft in this one) & coarse language (of course, it's me writing) . That's about it for warnings, other than that, enjoy!

Word count: 10.9k... get some snacks.

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"You've got to be kidding me."

Harry gripped the key in the ignition and turned it harshly as if a more aggressive approach would suddenly bring his car back to life. Wishful thinking. He hit the steering wheel and swore loudly, flopping back into the seat with a deep sigh. It seemed his love of vintage cars finally came to bite him in the ass. His Range Rover would never betray him like this.

He was in the middle of nowhere. It was late in the afternoon, nearing the evening, and he was expected by his friends in a few short hours. He slipped his phone from his pocket to call them but surprise surprise, his phone had also died. Just. Great.

He peered at the Italian countryside through his yellow-stained aviators. There were hills, fields abundant with produce and grapevines. He surveyed his options. He couldn't just stay here in his car. He'd traveled quite far down the endless road towards the less populated countryside. The last town he saw was about an hour's drive away. Rome, where he was staying, was even further.

Then he recalled a small, yellow villa tucked in a boisterous garden about a kilometer back. It was the last sign of civilization he'd seen that rendered some kind of hope. He sighed, absolutely vexed. It really was his only option. He could hope for a means to charge his phone and relax while he waited for help from his mate.

He gathered his wits, his valuables and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. He made sure his car was locked, not wanting to leave it unattended. However, that seemed kind of pointless. When he said he was in the middle of nowhere, he really fucking meant it.

His feet kicked and disrupted the dirt road as he trailed his way back. It was also hot, progressively boiling him under the festering heat of the sun. His blue jeans were getting more and more uncomfortable as he trudged along.

The one time he tried something spontaneous and the universe decided to fuck him over. He'd needed the aimless escape to nowhere. Just wanted to drive and drive and drive. That dream quickly died with a deadly splutter of his car engine giving up on him.

The walk to the villa took him an age. The reality was it was probably less than fifteen minutes but time goes by slowly when you're being boiled alive in denim jeans. He'd thought about just collapsing on the side of the road and hope that someone would drive by and see him. But not one car passed him and he knew he'd been right to not stay put and wait for potential aid from someone driving by.

His throat was dry and parched, and he was sure his green and white striped shirt was sticking to him. He was almost too miserable to admire each and every abandoned farm, and nooks that led to large fields. There were definitely worse places to be stranded in.

The villa came into view and he just about collapsed to his knees in thanks. The garden was buzzing with insects and abundant with plant life, beautiful red roses that stood bright against the yellow exterior of the house. A couple of old bikes sat against a side gate that he would presume led to the back garden.

The path up to the house was soft gravel that melted into ancient cobblestone. A patio led to the front door and he took a second to admire the view of the Italian countryside. In any other circumstance, he'd take a picture. But his phone was dead, so he'd have to make a mental note of this memory.