branching out l.s.

one.

June 2009

Seventeen-year-old Harry Styles didn't think that his day could get any better. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally graduated high school earlier today.

Yes, he graduated a year early. His classmates called him a super genius. Harry just said it was because he skipped Pre-K.

But that's not important now.

His older sister Gemma had thrown a small party for him and his friends this afternoon, and now his mom and stepdad were taking him out to a late dinner at Nobu, quite literally his favorite restaurant.

While the two of them checked in, Harry excused himself to go to the bathroom.

When he walked in, he found it to be empty, except for one other guy. He was standing in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection as if he was questioning the meaning of life.

Harry took in the other guy's appearance. He had bright blue eyes, feathered caramel colored hair and razor sharp cheekbones. He looked to be a little bit older than Harry, maybe by about two or three years.

"Hey, are you OK?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I'm fan-fucking-tastic," the stranger replied. "Better than I've been in a while, sweetheart."

The boy let out a chuckle then, although there was really nothing funny going on.

Although, now that Harry looked closer, the boy's eyes weren't nearly as bright as he thought they were. They were dull, glazed over and really bloodshot. The boy's balance wasn't quite up to par, either, as he slightly swayed back and forth even though his grip on the counter top was turning his knuckles white. He was definitely high or drunk. But Harry guessed it was both.

He looked at Harry then. "You want a picture, babe? It'll last longer. Plus, you'll probably want a souvenir. The night you met me before I went away for good. And besides, who knows if I'll make it back here alive?"

"What?" Harry was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to rehab tomorrow. As if you didn't know. Everybody knows. I'm the greatest fuck-up there is in this town. Like it's my fault. Now I gotta get shipped out to 'sort out my demons,' as my mom puts it. What a joke."

Harry didn't have the time to respond because someone else burst into the room then.

This new boy looked like a fucking model, with tan skin, gelled up black hair and light stubble around his perfect jawline. He was skinny, but definitely had some muscle to him. And he looked a little more than intoxicated, as well.

"Louis, we gotta go," the new guy said, a slight slur to his voice.

Harry didn't think this new guy was in any condition to get his friend anywhere, but he was in far better shape than Louis.

Model Guy noticed his presence for the first time. This seemed to sober him up a little, because, within seconds, he had Harry pinned up against the nearest wall of the bathroom.

"Did you take any pictures? Huh? You gonna tip off even more paps that he's in here? Sell them to the tabloid that makes you the highest offer?"

"What? No!" Harry cried out.

"Let me see your phone!"

Harry reached a shaking hand into his back pocket and pulled it out, handing it over.

"Zayn, relax," Louis drawled out from beside the sink. He almost lost his balance trying to take a step over to them.

But Zayn didn't relax. He slid Harry's phone unlocked and opened the photo album.