i. MEDICINE harry styles [ON HOLD]

xi. EPSILON

MARCH 4,     2018.
— BLOOMSBURY, England

It was rather early when Adrian rose from his sleep, the morning of his first day at Paris Fashion Week. Adrian, having done early-morning ballet classes almost a decade of his life, was not only used to waking up early, but did so naturally.
   His driver would arrive in about an hour and fifteen minutes, so as soon as his eyes adjusted, he was up and moving. The first thing he did was open the shutters on his windows, a pointless act, given it was still dark outside.
   Then, he boiled his kettle. Whilst it was boiling, he went over to his kitchen window, and opened one side. From a little tin he retrieved a lighter and blunt. He lit up, pushing the smoke out the window, into the cold and brisk morning air. It was medical marijuana, to ease his seizures.
   A little while later, he put out his blunt and began to prepare a cup of tea. Whilst steeping, he went for a shower. Less than ten minutes later, Adrian was seated at his kitchen counter, drinking tea and eating a single slice of toast.
   The excitement really kicked in as he got dressed, with about forty minutes to go.
   The first item he put on were cuffed, faded blue denim jeans. They looked like any other pair of jeans, but the packaging and tag said Burberry, so Adrian knew they were worth hundreds of pounds. After them, he pulled on a John Elliott corduroy pearl-coloured crew, something he knew would be expensive, but not overly. He'd done enough research to know the next item of clothing needed to be handled carefully. It was a Burberry jacket worth over a thousand pounds. His shoes, which he had yet to put on, as he didn't wear shoes in his apartment, were Givenchy casual sneakers.
   Adrian could barely feel his fingers as he finished off the last of his packing. He'd fit everything into a large suitcase and matching carry-on. Minutes before the chauffeur texted that he had arrived, Adrian quickly bagged his medication by international travel protocol, and packed his tin of low dosage cannabis, alongside a card that would allow him to travel with it. 

New World had been the biggest gig of his life, and now, going to Paris for it, he wondered if his life would be like this now. 'This' as in driving to a waiting first class seat in a black tinted private vehicle.

! !

— LONDON HEATHROW AIRPORT, England

As the chauffeur had helped Adrian gather his luggage, he asked if he was in need of any assistance through the airport. Adrian assured him no, he had not only been to Heathrow more times than he could count, but had taken this exact flight. He didn't say the latter; he never told anyone the latter.
It was a short walk to his check-in desk, to which he was able to breeze through in the priority line. Customs was, for the most part, quick, due to his experience. There was a slight hiccup, of course, when he stated he was carrying drugs, but it was soon cleared, for he had all the necessary papers.
Once through customs, he went directly to his gate, arriving in such perfect time that he walked straight from the concourse walkway onto his plane (business had priority boarding).
The plane was as good as a one-and-a-bit hour flight could be, and he knew his seat was much better than that of economy. At the entry of his cabin was a fridge of fresh fruit and beverage. He grabbed a water bottle and apple, for he needed to eat and drink when taking his Valproate (he took one at around eight in the morning and night, as well as Lamotrigine around lunch time) which he would be having during his flight. He pushed down the bitter thought that it didn't matter if he took his meds or not, he still had several seizures per week. He knew, however, that it did matter. He was part of some thirty percent of epileptics who's seizures were still prevalent despite medication, but he hated to think of the amount he would be having without intervention.

Adrian had a window seat. He settled in quickly, pulling out his phone and a book called 'The Children Act', which he believed was about to be released as a film. Until takeoff, he scrolled through social media, swapping over to his book when there was no longer connection. He knew he wouldn't get through much of the book, he struggled reading and writing—not as severe as, say, someone with dyslexia, but not too great.