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“I've got sunshinnnne on a cloudy day,” Harry crooned into the spatula he held in his hand as he swayed back and forth in front of his morning omelette sizzling on the stove. “When it's cold outsideeee I've got the month of Maaaay. Take it away teacup, you know the words!!
He held the spatula out to Teacup enthusiastically, his fluffy cat perched on the kitchen counter. She stared back at her owner with her eternally unimpressed expression, front paws tucked together in a heart. She was too lazy to enjoy his antics this early in the day or any time of the day for that matter.
“Such a buzzkill,” he shook his head in faux exasperation. He still gave the fluff behind her ears a good scratch anyway before turning back to his omelette, glancing back to shoot Teacup his best disgruntled kitten face and pouted out his bottom lip. “You could at least play along. No omelette bites for you, you meanie.”
He started humming to himself again, picking up where he left off. It was a beautiful morning, the sun shining through his small kitchen window and warming the patch of countertop that Teacup had parked herself on. Though he didn’t have any obligations in his currently unemployed state, he still liked to rise with the morning light. Being unemployed came with a stigma that made him feel uncomfortable. He felt that if he could at least kept the routine he had maintained while being a student, he wouldn’t focus so hard on that detail or how anyone else might be judging him. It had only been a few months anyway and he had enough in his savings account to keep up with the modest rent of his tiny crackerbox. It wasn’t much but had suited him well through university and now it continued to keep a roof over his head while he tried his best to find a job he would enjoy. It would hold him over for a couple more months anyway. Maybe. If he dedicated himself to becoming creative with ramen.
Of course if it came down to it he would take whatever paying position he could, even fast food if they were the only ones hiring. He was just really really hoping and praying he would be able to find something closer to his interests before then. It wasn’t that he judged people who worked at McDonald’s, he just really didn’t think he could pull off the polo and visor look very well. That and he had just finally seemed to outgrow his bursts of acne. He didn’t want to put himself in any type of situation that might aggravate that.
He had majored in music composition and production with a double major in education, a detail he had added when his family wouldn’t stop telling him that he needed to think about a practical career option.
“You’re very talented with music, Harry, but you need to have some other options in mind as well,” they had always told him gently. So he had modified his long term plan to involve finding a teaching position while he shopped some of his songs around, see if he got any bites. So far no one had been interested in a rookie music teacher or contacted him about any of his song submissions. He had to be open to other options, was worried he would have to bank on that. He still remained optimistic, though.
“I guess you’d saaay, what can make me feel this waaay? My Teacup, my Teacup, my Teacup!” he improvised after the second verse, Teacup blinking at him before closing her eyes.
“Really? Nothing? I’m serenading you on this fine Monday morn--” he cut himself off when his marimba ringtone sounded from his bedroom. Bed corner, more like it.
With spatula still in hand he answered the unknown number hesitantly, cradling the phone against his raised shoulder.
“Am I speaking with Mr. Styles?” a professional voice greeted him. He cleared his throat subtly before answering, wanting to make a good impression on whoever might be calling.
“This is he.”
“Hello Mr. Styles. This is Rita calling from 78 Productions on behalf of Mr. Tomlinson.” Tomlinson… That name definitely sounded familiar to Harry but he couldn’t quite place it. He wandered back over to the stove, flipping his omelette and turning down the heat.
“He received your resume some time ago but has been working out of the Los Angeles office over the summer. We recently had a position become available, this morning actually, and it is critical that we find a replacement as soon as possible. Are you available to come to the studio offices for an interview in one hour?”
“An hour?” he squeaked, hand stilling on the handle of his skillet. He didn’t even remember what he had applied for but he wasn’t about to out himself and ask. “I’m not sure I can make it there in an hour. Public transit is crazy this time of day but I would be more than happy to come in today.” Did he sound too eager? He hoped he didn’t sound too eager.
“Mr. Tomlinson is scheduled for a lunch meeting before his flight to Los Angeles at 1pm. I’m afraid that if you are unable to make it, we will have to move on to the next available app--”
“No! No, I can make it!” he cleared his throat and tried to sound less desperate. “I will be there in one hour.”
“Excellent. I will send you an email with the address to our offices and instructions on what to have prepared per Mr. Tomlinson’s request. I will send an intern to meet you at the secured entrance in the lobby. It has been a pleasure speaking with you Mr. Styles."
Without waiting for a reply the line went dead, a punctuated click of a phone being placed in its cradle signaling the end of the call. He stood for a moment with his phone still cradled against his cheek and his shoulder, hands still tending to his breakfast in a state of shock. He had most certainly not been expecting that phone call today or to have an interview set up so quickly.
In an hour.
Oh shit in an hour! It would take at least 45 minutes to get to that part of town without a car. But even with traffic it would be pushing it. Niall’s apartment wasn’t far from the building he was heading to. He had become familiar with the logo he had seen a million times. He knew exactly where he was going. And exactly how long it would take to get there. Which meant…
“Fuck!” he exclaimed as he looked down and realized he was still in his pajamas, his hair no doubt a nest of wild curls and frizz (always made worse by his flannel pillowcase but he refused to give it up). He hadn’t even washed his face yet! The skillet clanged loudly as he pushed it off the hot burner, spatula ricocheting off the wall behind the stove and clattering to the floor after tossing it in the general direction. He could deal with that later.
His socked feet slid over the scuffed wood flooring on his way to his wardrobe several paces away. The doors hit the wall loudly as he flung them open and ripped out the first suit his shaking hands touched. He flung it onto the bed and ran into the bathroom, it wouldn’t be laying there long enough to wrinkle with any luck. The water that hit his face was freezing but he couldn’t wait for it to warm up, there was no time for luxuries. He had never felt more frantic, worse than even oversleeping for a big exam.
He lopped some toothpaste onto his brush and attempted to brush his teeth with one hand while sliding his fingers through his hair to tame it with the other. The coordination wasn’t quite in sync which lead to him stabbing himself in the gums painfully several times before he gave up all together and threw the toothbrush into the sink in frustration. He ran some product through his hair before deciding there was no hope and pulling it up into a messy bun. He strategically pulled out several curls frame his face and called it good enough with a small huff at his reflection.
He yanked his pants down and fumbled over his feet to free his ankles from them while crossing back over to his bed. The clock’s glowing red numbers were like a quickly approaching wildfire and he yelped after seeing 5 precious minutes had already passed.
His head nearly slammed against his night table while attempting to get his long legs into his suit pants but jerked away at the last second. He didn’t have time to skull himself on his own furniture today. The fitted suit jacket was sitting on his shoulders before he realized he was missing a shirt and nearly ripped the seams in his haste to peel it back off.
There was no time for a once over or even to button his shirt and he sprinted for the door with his shirt tails flying. At the last second he remembered to grab his wallet and phone, key nearly breaking off in the lock as he went for speed instead of precision.
Sweat was collecting uncomfortably along his hairline by the time he was sitting in a seat on his train, the several block sprint not aiding his appearance whatsoever. He ignored the weird glances as he finally took the time to button up his shirt, realizing much too late that he had forgotten to grab a tie. He hoped it wouldn’t count against him.
Half way through his ride and one transfer later, Harry realized he had forgotten about the email he was being sent. He opened his mail on his phone and clicked the newest sitting in his inbox.
“Thank you for making yourself available at such short notice,” he read, “Mr. Tomlinson has requested that you bring a demo of your recent projects to showcase your work…”
He stopped reading and groaned, face dropping into his open palm. At this point he might as well turn around and march right back into his unemployed little studio apartment and lament his misfortune. His latest work consisted of songs about caterpillars and monkeys he made up to entertain his mate’s toddler. Not that he had any of that with him anyway. The job was lost before he even made it to the interview. He had nothing prepared that Mr. Tomlinson wanted to see let alone have it with him. He had stupidly deleted them off his phone not even a week before, needing the storage space for cute pictures of Teacup obviously.
“ Fuck, ” he breathed out, pulling both his hands down his face. He made eye contact with a scowling mother pointedly covering her small child’s ears, giving him a death glare. He mumbled an apology for his language and sighed.
The next stop rumbled closer, the one he was very familiar with.
“You can’t say you failed if you never tried,” he mumbled under his breath and stood to tuck in the loose tails of his shirt into the waist of his pants. People always told him he was a charmer, a smooth talker who could usually steer conversations in his favour. It came naturally for him and it would come naturally as he talked up his potential rather than what he had already done. That would get him the job. Of course it would. People with confidence get what they want.
At least that’s what he told himself.
He walked briskly down the block towards the office building that he assumed also housed their studio. It wasn’t the biggest record label but he at least had some knowledge of what they did. He had seen the company name branded on many cds and promotional posters around the city.
The big logo on the side of the sleek office building somehow had always reminded him of Studio 54. Disco seemed to be imbedded in the vintage style font while the metallic face of the lettering shimmered in an array of colours as the light hit them at different angles. At night they were lit with an outline of neon lights coloured in the order of a rainbow. If he were to see that sign anywhere else, he would have immediately assumed it to be a gay night club. He had often drunkenly wondered if that choice was on purpose as he stumbled home from Niall’s in the pale rainbow glow.
It was the only modern style building on the block and it stood out like a shiny new Porsche in the middle of a used car lot. He supposed it was good marketing if that had been a part of the design planning or maybe it was just a coincidence.
He felt a nervous sweat begin to prick at his skin with three minutes left on the clock. One foot hit the pavement after the other, maybe 10 steps to go. His lungs felt tight as he forced himself to take a deep breath before pulling open the lobby entrance and was hit with a chilled air conditioned burst.
“Mr. Styles?” a young woman in a pencil skirt greeted him. He was confused to find a pair of purple converse completing her outfit but somehow it worked. There wasn’t enough time to dwell on her shoes when he wasn’t even wearing a tie for a job interview. Maybe that was a good sign. He needed as many of those as he could get.
“Yes, please call me Harry,” he plastered on a confident smile and shook her offered hand.
“Oh, you have some…” she shyly gestured to his face, directing him to one of the framed mirrors hanging artfully on the wall. He glanced quickly in confusion before doing a double take. How had he not noticed the white crusty toothpaste that had now dried onto his skin at the corner of his mouth?? Of course he knew that it was toothpaste but a blush crept up his neck at what she must be thinking after seeing a white crusty substance around his mouth. Or could be thinking. Toothpaste was a normal first conclusion, he reminded himself, and blowjobs were not. He hoped.
“Oops, was in a bit of a hurry this morning,” he chuckled nervously and rubbed the toothpaste off his skin with a little more force than necessary.
She smiled politely and led him to a bank of elevators that took them up to the top floor. He was instructed to have a seat in a lounge area that looked much closer to someone’s den than a professional office. He liked it, though, it was homey and slightly less intimidating.
The cushions of the couch sucked him in as he sat, adjusting his clothes so he wouldn’t stand up a wrinkled mess. If he could overlook a face full of toothpaste who knew what else he had missed. He pulled out his phone and switched to the front camera, discretely using it as a mirror to make sure nothing else was out of place. Other than the missing tie he seemed to be in order. His abandoned toothbrush at home was another story. He was sure it had clattered onto the floor after splashing water over the counter. ….Had he left the water running? No, he remembered turning it off after spitting (most of) his toothpaste down the drain.
He knew he left his pajamas on the floor, though. Laundry had been piling up but he still disliked having his room cluttered, even temporarily. That’s what the laundry basket was for.
And his omelette! His poor abandoned breakfast he had been so looking forward to. That would be hard and stuck to the pan by the time he returned. He should have bagged it up and brought it with him to eat on the ride over. His stomach was rumbling now that he thought about it and the eggs were just firming up just right when he had to abandon them and…
Oh god. He hadn’t turned the stove off. Had he? No, he was absolutely certain he hadn’t. His eyes closed and he tried to recall his movements in his frantic state but he couldn’t see it.
Skillet to the side, spatula on the floor, the sound of plastic on wood… no memory of turning of the dial to cut the heat. That vital part was absent
Fuck. He was going to completely embarrass himself in a job interview AND burn down his building all in the same day.
“Harry Styles!” a bright voice jarred him and his eyes flew open, “You don’t mind if I call you Harry, right?”
“N… No, Harry is fine. That’s my name,” he stuttered out after a small pause. That should have been the easiest question of the day but his brain was across town in his little home that was surely up in flames already, fire licking at his lovely lace curtains, his wooden drying rack reduced to kindling.
“Of course it is. I’m glad you could make it in today on such short notice. Louis Tomlinson, founder of 78 Productions. Its really nice to finally meet you,” he raised his hand to shake and he hoped his slow motion reaction only seemed that way to him. He had to assume the world was moving at a normal pace while his mind struggled to focus. He barely registered the figure before him and he struggled to zone in on any detail to ground him, to bring him back to the present. Converse. White Converse that looked to have been tossed around before being worn or taken on a long journey. Converse seemed familiar. And oh, he was talking again.
“Can I grab you anything to drink? Tea? Water?” There was a bit of concern in Mr. Tomlinson’s voice and he shook his head. He could do this. Focus.
“Thank you but I’m alright,” he pulled out a smile and plastered it on, making sure his dimples popped out, that always seemed to work.
“Let’s head into my office then, get the formal stuff over with,” he nodded towards a door that he opened for Harry. “Take a seat.”
Harry lowered himself into one of the chairs facing the large marble desk, straightened his jacket and looked around.
“You have a lovely office,” he smiled, hoping he appeared genuine. And really, he was. It was a very lovely office with floor to ceiling windows with a nice view.
“Thanks! I had my hands in most of the designs for this place, wanted it to really feel like mine.” He might have kept talking but he wasn’t sure, his thoughts back on his stupid forgetful self back at his apartment.
“I’m sorry, what?” Harry startled after hearing his name being said aloud.
“I asked if you had ever toured our studios before,” Mr. Tomlinson was leaning forward on his desk, his forearms rested on the surface in a bit of a casual slouch forward.
“Oh. No sir, I haven’t.”
“We’re not that formal around here. I told you, call me Louis.”
He had? When had that happened? Certainly he would have remembered his request to call him Louis. That fit the worn out Converse wearing person in front of him much better than “Sir”. That fringe definitely didn’t belong to anyone who went by Mr. Tomlinson. It was a nice fringe too, by the way. It swooped across his forehead in a perfect slant, the longest strands curling at his jawline. It was a nice jawline as well, he noted.
“Do you have any of your latest work I could take a peek at?”
“Oh, um… Well, I had a 45 minute train ride to get here on time… and I didn’t, um, see the request until, uh, I was already halfway here.” So much for being charming and directing the conversation. He couldn’t even get out a proper sentence. This thing was already over and he had barely said a thing and what had come out of his mouth was not very flattering. The best option was probably to walk out and save himself from the trainwreck it already was before he made it even worse.
“I apologize for the short notice. I just wanted to make sure to squeeze you in before I had to be back in LA. I’m glad you made it in general. So tell me about yourself.”
“Um,” he swallowed and then regrouped, giving his basic history and education speech that he could recite on autopilot after practicing his interviewing techniques so many times. Teacup was a good stand in interviewer, listening to everything he had to say-
Oh god. Teacup.
As much as Harry loved his cat, there were several things about her that he did not love but still tolerated with the endeared annoyance one might have towards a toddler testing their boundaries. Her long white hairs stuck to every piece of clothing he owned no matter what he tried or how often he brushed her. She turned her nose up at anything but the most expensive cat food (which he never should have spoiled her with in the first place). At 4:30am every single morning she woke him up hissing at the neighborhood squirrell without fail. If left unguarded, she would stick her face into whatever plate of food you were eating, even if she had no interest in it. And he was absolutely unable to keep her from jumping onto any surface in the house.
Which was why his eyes had started watering as imagines of Teacup’s burned little paws took over his thoughts. He would never forgive himself for her wounds, her scarred feet a constant reminder that he had put his baby in danger. She always walked across the stove which was why he could never leave something to cook unattended, sniffing too close to boiling pots and singeing her whiskers that strayed too close to hot grease more than once in the past.
“Harry?”
He looked up from the horror story building up in his imagination that he surely had left at home to meet eyes that he just now noticed were the clearest blues. It was the first time he had focused on them.
“I think my work ethic. I always see things through to the end and am very organized. I’m also a team player.” And… What? What was the question?
Louis stared across the desk at him for a moment, his brows knit in confusion. Fuck, had that been the wrong answer? Was that not what he wanted to hear?
Louis reached over and held a box of tissues out for Harry silently.
“Thanks. Hayfever,” he explained, dabbing at his eyes before blowing his nose, “Always hits at the worst of times.”
Louis nodded and continued to stare at him with an odd expression like he was trying to figure him out. He should have just walked out when he had the chance.
He could barely recall the rest of the interview. How could he when he had left the burner on with its searing malicious heat? When he had severely injured and possibly even MURDERED his cat?? When he had set his entire building on fire?? Possibly from Teacup’s fur catching on fire, the flames being spread through his living spaces as she ran around as a fireball of panic.
What would the police say when he showed up to turn himself in for murder?? What would be his sentence?? His apartment would be gone so at least he would have a bed to sleep on in jail.
“It was very nice to meet you, thank you for having me,” Harry remembered shaking Louis’ hand after he had walked them to the exit.
“We’ll be in touch,” Mr. Tomlins- Louis had told him, his face reading a mix between amusement, confusion and concern as he saw Harry out the door.
Whatever had happened, hearing that someone rarely turned out to be a good thing. “We’ll be in touch” was the “thanks but no thanks” of the world, the polite way to end the interaction without concrete obligation.
But it didn’t matter, his whole little world was burning to the ground. He didn’t have time to dwell on something so trivial. What good was a job when he was serving hard time for animal cruelty??
He grabbed the first taxi he could and rambled off his address. Another strange look was directed his way when he described his building as “probably on fire” but he brushed it off. The driver would see what he meant when they arrived.
It seemed like hours before they were pulling up to his building. Much to his surprise there were not any flames shooting out of the windows, it wasn’t swarmed by tire trucks and sirens and general chaos. There were no mothers throwing babies out of windows.
One small victory, he supposed.
He ran up the steps, losing his footing a few times but finally making it to his door. He pressed his palm flat against the smooth surface, it didn’t feel hot. Not even warm. It felt cold to the touch and made him want to press his flushed cheek against it for a brief moment. No time to relax. The key jammed into the lock a little harder than normal and he pushed it open with such force that it slammed against the wall, the knob making a small crater in the drywall upon impact.
“Teacup?? TEACUP??” he called frantically and he began to search.
Teacup stood and stretched out from where she had been curled up in the middle of his bed. She sent him her most disgruntled look for being disturbed before turning and curling up in the same spot she had been warming.
He breathed a sigh of relief, the weight of the past hour using his breath as an exit, hanging heavily in the air before disappearing altogether. His limbs felt like noodles as everything drained from his body. He turned to the stove in his jelly state, hoping that all of his worrying hadn’t been in vain.
His omelette was there in the skillet, cold and hard exactly where he had left it. He gripped the handle and dumped it into the trash, beyond saving after sitting out for so long. He set the dirty pan next to the sink with the rest of his dishes, swooping down to snatch up the spatula as well before he turned back to the stove.
All the knobs for the burners were turned to the off position and the stress he had just released snapped back into him like water in a sponge. He hadn’t even left the stove on in the first place.
He groaned and slid down the cupboards to sit on the floor in his expensive dress pants as reality settled upon him. He had been interviewed for what he now realized was one of his dream jobs. He had just fucked up his chances by hyperfocusing on a worry that was completely unfounded.
He was sure this was going to be the thing to haunt him for the rest of his life.
---
“Hello?” Harry answered his phone to the unknown number several days later. Maybe it was McDonald’s. They had at least seemed interested. But they were probably interested in anyone willing to apply. It took a lot of manpower to operate that food train 24/7.
“Harry! How are you??” a voice greeted him. He pulled the phone away from his ear and double checked the number. No, he didn’t know who was calling.
“Um, fine?”
“Its Louis Tomlinson from 78 Productions, we met last week?”
“Oh, yeah, very funny Niall,” he rolled his eyes. Of course Niall would do this to make fun of him. He could match almost any accent, it was a strange talent that he often used for evil rather than for good. It always amused Harry until the moment it was being used against him.
After his disastrous interview, he had taken Niall up on his invitation to go out and get hammered. After several shots of tequila, the whole detailed story of the worst day of his life had tumbled out of his mouth, reliving it with another wave of humiliation. Niall wouldn’t be Niall if he didn’t rib him about it at least a bit.
“Speaking of NIall, he told me what happened and I can see where you were coming from. I have my puppy back in LA that I’m always worried about. He’s a big baby who likes to chew things up when there’s thunder. I’m always worried I left an iPhone charger or something plugged in when it starts to storm. Poor thing is going to electrocute himself. Hopefully not under my watch.”
Wait, what?
“Niall?” he asked hesitantly.
“Yea, I called him up the other day to ask him how you came so highly recommended when you couldn’t even hold a conversation.”
“I can hold a conversation,” he couldn’t help but get just a little defensive.
“Harold, I asked if you were alright and you told me that you used to work in a bakery which gave your work ethic a good foundation. And that wasn’t your strangest answer…”
He wanted to be offended but he could hear the laughter in Louis’ voice and he knew what a trainwreck that entire experience had been.
“Okay I don’t really remember a lot of what I said,” he admitted with a small laugh, trying to play it off, save maybe just a sliver of his dignity.
“It happens. But you do come highly recommended from Niall and I’d trust that kid with my life. He’s played me some of your rough recordings before but it was just never the right time to call you up. I’d really like it if you would join our team.”
“Wait, you know Niall??”
“That’s what you’re focusing on? Niall’s my man of mystery. It seems more organic to send out my scouts like ninjas.”
“I was scouted…?” What had he eaten before bed? This dream was definitely getting too weird.
“Not exactly. I think you were friends first but he knew you were something special.”
Harry sat there in stunned silence. He pinched his thigh several times just to make sure this phone call really wasn’t some elaborate dream.
“I’d like you to join one of our creative teams,” Louis continued, “I founded this company wanting to build something real in the music industry. I like things to feel organic. I like writing songs and letting them become whatever they want to be before matching them with an artist instead of the other way around. I’d like you to be a part of that.”
“I… But I… Even after that interview?”
“Harry, I was going to hire you before I called you in. Sometimes the best music has come from whack jobs,” Harry could hear the smirk in his voice and even through the phone it seemed infectious. He blushes and grins, glad he could hide on the other side of the line. “Who am I to judge?”
“I guess I’ll have to almost burn my house down more often then,” he joked back, he could see Niall being friends with this man. He could feel himself drawn to him.
“That’s the spirit! So I’ll see you on Monday, Niall’ll show you the ropes. Oh, and Harry?”
The blush was spreading darker across his face with the excitement bubbling up deep within him. “Yeah?”
“Please go home the next time you’re that distracted. You already told your new boss in a job interview the size of your dick, we don’t need you writing songs about it too. See ya Monday!”
Oh god. Harry was never going to live this down.