***Harry Styles***
Monday, July 16th, 2012 – North London, England

I was a basket case of nerves as I drove from Gemma’s to the recording studio on Monday morning. I didn’t want to go, but she had convinced me to – not only because I could get in trouble for violating the contract, but because all five of us guys had had a day to cool down, and maybe we’d all show up and everything would be okay. And I needed everything to be okay. I needed my friends back. I needed my Louis.

Gemma had helped, a lot. We spent most of Sunday just talking, and I cried. I cried a lot. She hugged me a lot. She smiled her contagious smile a lot. She gave me advice when I asked her for it. She told me I could stay at her place as long as I needed to, but commuting five hours a day to get to the recording studio and back didn’t sound appealing to me. I decided I would see how it went that day with the guys, and then if worst came to worst, I could always get a hotel room nearby. When I left Gemma’s that morning, she hugged me for a long time, and I thanked her. I wasn’t sure what would’ve become of me had she not been there.

I pulled up to the recording studio and walked inside, not even thinking to check and see if the other guys’ cars were there as I’d never had to do that before. I took the elevator up to the floor our studio was on, and the butterflies in my stomach grew bigger the closer I got. I took a deep breath, and walked in the door.

Liam was sitting there, on a stool, messing with a guitar. That didn’t surprise me – Liam would always be responsible whether he wanted to be or not. Niall was also there, fiddling around with the sound board. Also not a big surprise – Niall liked to keep the drama at a minimum. The one who did surprise me, though, was Louis, who was strumming his guitar in a corner of the room. They all looked up when I walked in, but nobody said anything, and I found a stool away from them and sat down, playing with my phone. We all kept glancing at the door, though, waiting for Zayn, hoping he would come. As mad as we all were at each other, the band was still the band, and we wanted to make music, and our sound wouldn’t be the same without Zayn.

Finally, the doorknob turned and Zayn walked in. I knew the rest of us were relieved, but none of us said anything and he sat down quietly, then the producers got set up and we began recording. The five of us only spoke to each other if it had something to do with the music, and although the tension in the room was heavy we were able to be civil with each other. It was torture, though, being in the same room as Louis, and listening to the sweetness of his voice and knowing he wasn’t mine anymore, and never would be again.