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a million tiny little things

one

Harry Styles felt as though he was visiting a foreign country when he travelled from West Hollywood to Downtown Los Angeles, despite his view of the high rise skyline from his bedroom window. The pace was faster, the traffic busier and the entire neighbourhood was on maximum volume. He much preferred the quiet calm of his Hollywood Hills neighbourhood, and he only ventured downtown when he had to – even then he tried to hold most meetings over Skype.

The Mad Batter’s Bakery was the only good things about business meetings on Figueroa. Harry avoided using Postmates to order sweet treats from the bakery; he liked to look at the apple fritters as a treat and a reward for making it downtown without a fender bender. There had only been one time he didn’t deserve the fritter – but he did, anyway. He figured the stress of the minor collision in the parking garage would subside with a treat. It hadn’t, but it tasted delicious.

“Oh! Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Harry assured the girl in front of him, taking a step backwards so she could examine the pastry case without stepping on his feet. She looked at him for a moment longer than necessary, and Harry wondered if she was trying to place him. As she gave him a warm smile, he tried to place her familiar face, too. With another half smile in his direction, she turned back to the pastries, pointing as she gave her order to the barista in a quiet voice.

He thought he recognised her, but he couldn’t be sure. While seeing a familiar face in Los Angeles was not rare, many celebrities looked ordinary away from the red carpet and bright lights. He himself had kept his Chelsea boots and tight jeans in the closet and opted for a pair of runners and cotton shorts. His long, curly hair set him apart from others, but a trendy man bun helped hide his familiarity, or so he liked to believe.

He waited patiently behind the petite blonde, his foot tapping only in time with the music. His mind wandered to his upcoming meeting at the high rise across the street. It was exciting to meet with record executives and discuss a possible new solo contract, but he had a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He knew there were other parties involved in his life and career and he should have discussed his plans with them first, but being the only one in charge of his future was an exciting thought.

Harry snapped out of his trance as the barista smiled at him, motioning him forward. He stepped to the counter and placed his order, deciding to push the guilt thoughts from his mind and enjoy his apple fritter. There would come a time he would have to deal with his colleagues, but now was not that time.

He settled into a chair with his coffee and treat and pulled out his phone, absentmindedly scrolling through social media. Harry loved Instagram and loved it even more since he’d opened a private account. Now he was free to like as many pictures of models or ex-girlfriends without the media reading too much into it. Sometimes he just liked the fashion!

Harry looked up from his phone as he heard a loud ring echo through the quiet bakery. The blonde girl was quick to decline the call and didn’t glance up from her book as she swiped her finger across the screen. Not that unusual, but when the phone rang again following her rejection, he furrowed his brow curiously. He wondered if she knew she could turn the ringer off.

The phone rang one more time and Harry found himself agitated by the constant noise blaring through the restaurant. A normal person would either turn their phone down or answer the call and take it outside. He wondered if she wanted the attention an annoying phone would bring, but she hadn’t even looked up from her book. Despite his irritation, he found himself curious about her actions.

For a few minutes, the bakery was silent. Harry fell back into his Instagram trance as he chewed on his apple fritter, wishing he’d ordered a second one. He was debating ordering one to go, when the girl’s phone rang a fourth time, the sudden break in the quiet causing him to jump.

He looked up; she wasn’t there. Her sweater was on the chair, her phone on the table, but her seat was empty. The phone continued to ring, causing other patrons to look up from their coffees with annoyance. He didn’t think anyone would just abandon their expensive phone – hers was a newer model than even his was – and assumed she was in the washroom. As an older gentleman across the bakery sighed with impatience, Harry jumped up. No one needed a grumpy old man chastising them, no matter how annoying their phone habits were.

Harry grabbed her phone, noticing the name of the caller was just “Her”. Curious. He intended on declining the call as the girl had been doing, but he swiped the wrong way, wincing as he answered the call. He could hear a startled voice through the speakers, sounding surprised someone answered the call. Harry hesitated. He wanted to hang up, but instead he pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the garbled voice on the other end.

“Hello? Baby, are you there?”

The woman on the other end of the line sounded intoxicated and emotional. He exhaled as he frowned. He couldn’t hang up on her now.

Bloody hell. “Uhm… uh…”

The woman let out a strangled gasp. “Who’s this?” she demanded. “Are you Fallon’s boyfriend? Is that why she hasn’t answered me?”

“No, no…” Harry tried to explain, but his protest fell on deaf, drunk ears.

“Are you keeping my baby from me?!” the woman screeched, her volume causing Harry to flinch and hold the phone away from his ear.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Harry whirled around at the sound of the girl – Fallon’s – voice. The cute smile she had offered him in the lineup was long gone as she strode across the restaurant and snatched the phone from Harry’s hand. “What are you doing, touching my stuff?”

“I… I…”

“I, I,” Fallon mocked, a look of disgust covering her pretty face. She swiped her finger across the screen, showing no remorse as she hung up on the drunken woman on the other end. “You can’t just go around answering people’s phones, you know!”

She was right, but he didn’t enjoy being mocked or yelled at. “Your phone was ringing like mad and annoying the piss out of everyone in here!” he pointed out, frowning at her. “And, also… I meant to reject the call,” he offered, assuming she would not accept his accuse as an apology.

She didn’t.

Fallon threw her hands in the air, again mocking Harry. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Well, that changes everything!” she snapped. She elbowed Harry out of her way, grabbing her sweater. “Go play with your own goddamn phone!” she shouted, shooting Harry a final glare before she flounced out of the bakery.

The room was silent for a few beats before the old man in the corner began to clap. Harry glared at him. He was not in the mood.

**

Fallon rushed out of the bakery, her face hot with humiliation. She never reacted like that, never with such fire and emotion. ‘Conceal, don’t feel’ wasn’t just Elsa’s motto but her own. She would rather sidestep an issue than confront it, and she struggled with boundaries. It was one of the many - many - reasons she was hurrying across the street to the downtown office. Weekly therapy sessions had been almost as constant as her menstrual cycle and judging by her therapist’s expression as Fallon burst through the door, they would have more to talk about than just an hour allowed.

“Fallon!” she exclaimed as she greeted her client. “Are you okay? Your face is all red and have you… Are you crying? Come here, come in,” she urged, stepping aside to allow Fallon to step further into the small office.

Trudy was one of the best therapists in Los Angeles, but it was her lack of grandiose and not her reviews that led Fallon to her office years prior. She didn’t have employees - sometimes Trudy’s husband answered the phone, but only if he was in the doghouse - and the small space was akin to a homey living room, not a medical office. She kept a list of her client’s favourite smells and always ensured their favourite scented candles were burning, making the office such a place of comfort, Fallon didn’t want to leave. Trudy wasn’t her friend, but Fallon wished she was.

“I’m not crying,” retorted Fallon, pretending to scratch her cheek as she checked for a tear. No, she wasn’t crying. “But I just… totally lost it on a guy at the bakery.”

Trudy gestured for Fallon to take a seat on the overstuffed corduroy sofa. “Why did you do that?” she questioned, setting her phone on the coffee table as it recorded their conversation. Fallon didn’t mind the recordings - it was better than Trudy scribbling words in a notebook while humming and asking Fallon “and how does that make you feel?”. It was easier to pretend she was having a heart-to-heart with a friend than a therapist if the notebook stayed away.

Fallon covered her face with her hands. “God, I’m mortified,” she sighed, her voice muffled. “And he’s not just a guy! He’s in a band! A famous one!”

“Okay, but why did you snap at him?” Trudy pressed.

Fallon looked up. Comments like that - therapist comments - reminded her that Trudy was not her friend. A friend would have asked what band he was in. Trudy wouldn’t have known the band, and she was getting paid hundreds of dollars an hour to not care about what band.

“I left my phone on the table while I went to the bathroom,” Fallon explained, resting her chin in her hands. “I guess it was ringing and ringing and he thought it would be appropriate to answer it. So I snapped. Oh, my God, Trudy, I yelled so much!” she moaned, covering her face again.

Trudy moved from the armchair, joining Fallon on the seat. She placed a comforting hand on Fallon’s knee. “He touched something that wasn’t his,” she reminded Fallon. “And rather than keeping your displeasure to yourself, only to have it eat at you later, you stood up for yourself and told him how you felt. That’s progress, my dear.”

“I didn’t tell him, I yelled him,” Fallon argued, but Trudy had a point. Perhaps those hundreds upon hundreds of dollars were finally seeing a return. Still, it didn’t ease her embarrassment.

**

Harry sat at one end of the long table, his antsy legs jiggling. Being yelled at in the middle of his favourite bakery had been humiliating, no matter how justified the girl may have been. It was also bothering him how he couldn’t place her familiar face. She had smiled at him when they made eye contact – was it because he was famous? Everyone seemed to know him, and it gnawed at him when he couldn’t say the same.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” Harry looked up, five professional faces looking at him expectantly. He realised he hadn’t been paying attention to their discussions. He didn’t even need to be in the meeting – he tried to understand the legal talk, but it was impossible. Harry didn’t understand why lawyers felt the need to say something with a hundred words when ten would suffice.

Jeff pointed to a section on the contract in front of Harry. “This part,” he supplied. “What do you think?”

Harry groaned to himself, leaning over the paper as he tried to make sense of the words. He was not a stupid person – at least he didn’t think he was – but this contract was making him second guess himself. It had been different in One Direction – they had been so young and so new, lawyers had explained everything to them as though they were toddlers. Harry wished it still was that way.

He squinted his eyes and focused on the words. During each Contract Period, Label will cause the Artist to record and Artist will Deliver to Label Masters sufficient to constitute one (1) Album (the “Recording Commitment”). An “album” shall consist of approximately twelve (12) tracks with a total duration of approximately seventy five (75) minutes (the “Album”).

He read it a second time, ensuring he understood – but not feeling confident – before he looked back up. “So… what if I can only write ten album-worthy songs?” he wondered. “Or… if I write seventeen?” He watched the label executives look back and forth at each other, and he cleared his throat, hoping to explain. “I mean… what if I only write ten, and I have to put two shitty songs on the record? I’m sort of more about quality than quantity…”

“You don’t write shitty songs,” his lawyer admonished. Harry glanced over, seeing his lawyer squirm at his words. Harry realised he needed to watch his words – a record label would not want to sign an artist who wrote self-proclaimed ‘shitty’ songs.

“But, we’ll make a note…” Jeff decided, scribbling on his copy of the contract. “Okay, so this next part…”

Harry sighed. This would be a long night.

**

The hallway was dark as Fallon stepped out of Trudy’s office. Because of the evening appointment, she had been able to have extra time with Trudy. She would receive a hefty invoice for the overtime, Fallon knew, but it had been worth it. Trudy had such a way of calming Fallon’s nerves and idiosyncrasies without being judgmental or negative. Fallon supposed that was why she was such a sought after doctor.

“I’ll see you next week,” Trudy told Fallon as they stood at the door. “And remember… even though you felt embarrassed today, you stood up for yourself. Keep it up, and it won’t be embarrassing anymore.”

Fallon nodded. She wasn’t so sure she would publicly chastise a stranger ever again, but she understood Trudy’s advise. “Thanks, Trudy,” she said gratefully. “Have a good rest of your night.”

With a smile and a nod, Trudy closed the door as Fallon walked down the dim hallway towards the elevator. She heard voices around the corner, so she quickened her pace. She wasn’t afraid, she didn’t want to share the elevator down thirty stories.

“We’ll go over the changes with our lawyer, and we’ll have him send your office a draft as soon as we can,” Jeff was saying to Harry’s lawyer. Harry shifted his weight, eager to leave the meeting and head home. The discussions had gone on for ages, and there hadn’t been a bit of the conversation that helped Harry understand any of the contract. He blew out a quiet breath. He would have to find a way to understand at some point.

“All right, well…” Harry stated, his vague statement an attempt to end the meeting. He and Jeff were standing in the door while Harry’s lawyer and Jeff’s colleagues remained in their chairs, reviewing the documents for the nth time.

Jeff met his father’s eyes. “You can go on ahead, Harry,” Jeff offered. “We have to close up here, anyway. But we’ll be in touch tomorrow,” he promised.

Harry nodded. He assumed the professionals were waiting for the artist to leave to continue discussing the contract, but Harry realised he didn’t care. He wanted to go home and sleep and let the men he paid handsomely figure out the rest of his life.

“Sure,” he agreed. “Goodnight, guys. Thank you,” he added before starting down the hallway towards the elevator. He noticed a woman in front of the elevators, waiting, so he quickened his pace. He didn’t want to wait any longer than he had to.

The elevator doors opened as soon as Harry arrived, but as he stepped in behind the waiting woman, he heard a voice call his name. He turned around, blocking the automatic door with his arm as Jeff jogged down the hall towards him, papers in hand.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the contract into Harry’s hand. “You left this on the table.”

On purpose, Harry wanted to say, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded his head and smiled at Jeff. “What would I do without you?” he joked. “Hey, you want to grab lunch or something tomorrow?” he asked, forgetting about the woman waiting in the elevator as he held it up making lunch plans.

Fallon was aghast when Harry Styles, of all people, hijacked her elevator – there were two others he could have taken, alone – but she was even more astonished when he stood in the elevator entrance and made plans with his friend while she had to wait for him. This man had no respect for anyone.

She wanted to yell at Harry, but one confrontation a day was enough. Instead, she exhaled and cleared her throat. Perhaps her impatient noises would remind Mr Styles he was not the centre of the universe.

Jeff looked over Harry’s shoulder at Fallon. “Sorry,” he apologised.

Fallon didn’t answer, her face scrunched into a scowl. She hated frowning – it caused so many wrinkles – but the situation required heavy frowning.

“See you tomorrow,” Harry told Jeff, stepping into the elevator and allowing the door to close behind him. He checked the buttons, letting his finger graze the lit up Lobby button. He pressed it again, just to make sure.

“It’s pressed…” Fallon sighed out, her voice almost inaudible.

Harry glanced at the girl. He heard what she said, but he didn’t answer. He had been yelled at by a cute blonde already today, he didn’t need to be yelled at by another cute… Wait. “Hey… phone girl…” he stated, offering her a weak half smile.

Fallon scoffed. It could have been worse. Still, she said nothing.

Harry rocked on his heels. He was not used to someone having such a blasé attitude towards him. “I really was just trying to decline the call,” he tried again.

Fallon waved her hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter,” she told him, even though it did. Her appeasing comment would not please Trudy.

She had a terrible poker face. She may have said it didn’t matter, but her face told a different story. “Obviously it does,” Harry countered. “I wouldn’t have even cared, but the old guy in the corner was getting quite pissed off. Didn’t really want you to come out of the loo and have him scream in your face,” he muttered. He wasn’t all bad.

Fallon crossed her arms. “So, what?” she wondered. “Are you looking for a thank you?”

Harry shrugged. It wouldn’t have hurt. “Maybe.”

“Thank you,” Fallon deadpanned, her words sounding anything but gracious.

Harry sighed. He didn’t need her gratitude, but it would have been nice for her to understand he wasn’t a nosy jerk and had only been trying to help her. At least he knew.

He didn’t respond to her thank you, and Fallon wondered for a moment if he was telling the truth. Why would Harry Styles care so much about who was on the other end of her call? He probably didn’t even know who she was, and Fallon could guarantee, without a doubt, his contact list was a hell of a lot more A-list than hers.

Still, he could have let the call go to voicemail.

She kept her eyes on the numbers above the door, watching the floors count down. As the number flashed twenty-one, the lights inside the elevator flickered and the cabin jolted. Fallon glanced at Harry, who met her eyes. She believed herself to be religious, but she never prayed for superfluous things. In that moment, though, she prayed she would not end up stranded in a tiny elevator with Harry Styles.

“What’s…” Harry began, stopping short as the elevator lurched to an abrupt halt. He gripped the handrail as he almost lost his footing. His stomach tightened as the lights flickered before shutting off completely. An emergency bulb above the door blinked on, but it was almost futile. “Shit,” he whispered under his breath. His voice wavered – he hated enclosed spaces – and he hoped Fallon didn’t hear.

She did. “It’s okay,” she assured him, wondering why she was attempting to comfort Harry. “It’s happened before,” she added, but she didn’t know if that was comforting or not. She picked up the emergency phone. “Hello, is someone there?”

“Hello, what’s the emergency?”

“Uhm… our elevator stopped and the lights are out,” Fallon spoke into the phone. She looked at Harry as she spoke. Even in the dim lighting, he looked white as a ghost. She felt a modicum of pity for him, but also wanted to laugh at the same time.

“Is anyone injured or have any medical conditions?”

“Yes!” Harry yelped. Fallon shot him a confused look. “Maybe it will help us get rescued sooner,” he whispered with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think it works that way,” she hissed. “No, no one is sick or injured,” she said to the operator. “Is it going to be long?”

“Uhm… looks to be electrical,” the operator answered. “We’re going to have to get the repairman in from Santa Clarita, I think.”

“Santa Clarita!” Fallon exclaimed. “But that’s like an hour away…” she moaned. While the confinement didn’t bother her as it did Harry, it didn’t mean she wanted to spend her evening holed up in a broken down elevator.

“I’m sorry, but it’s an older building,” the operator said. “There aren’t many repairmen for that type of elevator in the county anymore. I’ll page him right away, he shouldn’t be too long.”

Harry frowned. “Santa Clarita?” he asked. “Just tell them I’m sick!”

Fallon shook her head. “It’s electrical. It doesn’t work that way,” she reminded him. She turned her attention back to the operator. “Okay… thank you…” she sighed before hanging up the phone. She shrugged in Harry’s direction. “It’ll probably be less than an hour,” she told him. She didn’t know why she kept trying to comfort him.

Harry couldn’t appear like a scared wimp, so he matched her shrug. “Whatever…” he sighed, hoping he sounded as cool as he could.

His attempt at nonchalance was almost laughable. With a face as white as a sheet, Harry Styles was anything but calm. “We’re just lucky there’s still people in the building…” Fallon mused innocently, running her finger along the centre of the door. “At least we won’t end up like that guy in New York.”

Harry pursed his lips together. She was taunting him. He didn’t want to bite but he couldn’t help himself. After a moment, he asked, “what guy in New York?”

Fallon allowed herself a small smile, keeping her face turned from Harry. “Oh… this guy, I think he worked on Wall Street… Took the express elevator – you know, the ones that have brick walls all around them, so they only stop on certain floors? And there’s no way to get out? Anyway… it stopped, and he ended up stuck in the elevator for fifty-something hours or something like that.”

She was lying, she had to be. Still, the thought terrified Harry. “Fif… fifty-something hours?” he managed to squeak out. He hated how weak his voice sounded. “It’s… you’re lying.”

Fallon faced Harry. His face was even paler than it had been before, and he’d slunk to the floor, crouching on his hunches. Despite her aggravation, Fallon laughed. “I’m not lying,” she told him. “But… I guess I could have kept that story to myself.” She let out a quiet chuckle. “Payback for touching my phone?”

Harry sighed. This girl was infuriating. “I said I was sorry.”

“I don’t think you actually did,” Fallon pointed out.

Harry thought back. Perhaps he hadn’t. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’m sorry.”

Fallon leaned against the wall across from Harry. “Thank you,” she answered simply. She loathed when men had such a difficult time apologising. Before Harry could reply, the emergency phone on the wall rang.

Harry jumped up, but Fallon was closer and grabbed the phone before he could. “Hello?”

“Hi there,” the operator answered. “Just wanted to let you know we’ve contacted the repair company. Their worker is on another call, but you’re next in line. Just… hold tight, okay? It might be a bit longer than a couple hours, but it shouldn’t be long.”

Fallon blew out a breath. More than a couple hours with Harry Styles? “Thank you,” she muttered. This would be a very long night.

Notes

Comments

@JasperRenee
Thank you! I really appreciate that! It can be a bit difficult to get my head around a new character, so I really appreciate the praise! <3

harambejtrump harambejtrump
3/9/19

Oh I absolutely love Fallon! Something about the character just seems so... realistic if that makes any sense... keep up the good work!!!

JasperRenee JasperRenee
3/9/19