Twenty Days (A Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter One

Dedicated to the Filipinoobs who I would definitely want to spent twenty days (or more) with.

I huff, leaning against the backrest of a bench. It's the day of my internship interview at Pages, one of the most prestigious publishing companies in all of New York and I had the audacity to be late. I check my wristwatch again. Thirty minutes late, I think to myself, so much for a good impression. If my parents were here, they would've had my head on a stake. They didn't like the idea of me becoming a writer ("That's not where the money is, Al" "Honey, please be practical") and had practically bent over backwards to let me fly out here on my own and try to get in the company. God, if they find out about this, the only thing I'll ever have published concerning me would be a newspaper article about how two mad parents murdered their 'good-for-nothing' child.

I look around the subway as I wait for the next train, wondering who's on their way to see who or who's leaving whom. My eyes land on a little blonde boy on his mother's lap. He fidgets a lot and once or twice, she gives his chunky leg a slap to keep him still. I grimace but don't speak up.

Someone else does.

I don't think I would have noticed him if he hadn't gotten up from his seat. But even if I had, I probably would've labeled him as a bum. His disheveled curls. His worn out Chuck Taylors. His fedora. His unfinished sleeve tattoo. Everything about this boy sends my red light beeping. But for some reason, I can't look away. I watch him approach the woman and her son, stand directly in front of her and say, "You think it's nice? Hitting your kid?"

The woman looks straight at him but doesn't answer.

He laughs almost mockingly. "Ma'am, do you know that by slapping your child, you're lowering his self-esteem? At such a young age, you're already showing him you're reducing him to some household pet you can discipline with a smack of a hand."

This time, I'm sure I'm not the only one who's looking.

"You don't tell me how I raise my kid so leave me the fuck alone."

The woman shoots him one last glare, stands up, gripping her child's wrist and storms away from the man who had singlehandedly humiliated her in a subway full of people. The scene is over but all eyes are still on him. He doesn't mind. In fact, the swagger in his stride makes it seem like he's used to this. He's used to attention and boy, did he bask in it.

When the train finally comes, I'm one of the many people who hurry inside. But because the universe seems to be toying with my tolerance today, I end up next to him. Out of all the people in a subway train in possibly the busiest city in all of the United States, he's beside me. The doors close and the train begins to move, putting to rest all my thoughts of getting off. I breathe deeply to calm myself. It's just five minutes until my station. That's not so bad.

"You were staring at me." He says without giving me as much as a glance.

"It was hard not to, considering how big of a ruckus you were making." I retort.

From the corner of my eye, I see his lips curl.

"Spend the day with me."

His words register in my mind and I gaze at him with a look of pure disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"Spend the day with me," he says again but this time, he looks at me. And it's only then that I catch a glimpse of his eyes. They're green; the kind of green that you know you'll never get tired of seeing. "Ditch whatever you have to do or whoever you have to see."