Chapter Text
“Come on, Paul. I need to take a wee.” Harry Styles put his hand on his bodyguard's arm and nodded toward the public loos.
Paul glanced up the street and sighed. Girls were starting to congregate with their phones out. A few more minutes and even his worst steely glare wouldn't be enough to hold back the mob. “Can it wait?”
Harry was all but hopping with urgency like a little kid. “Nope. Just a quick stop. You can keep them from breaking down the door.”
“Fine. Make it fast.” Paul did a quick check to make sure the stalls were empty before heading back to guard the door.
“Good lad.”
The moment the door closed, Harry grinned. Now was his chance! Moving quickly, but quietly, he climbed onto the the back of one of the loos and easily slid open the frosted glass window, just like his friend has promised would happen. A quick look showed that there were no fans in sight so he boosted himself through and landed softly on his feet.
Five minutes later, his phone started buzzing and he ignored it. He'd make it up to Paul later. Now, he had a party to get to.
The sky was already bright with the coming dawn as Harry climbed through his second bathroom window of the night. This one was the Uni's girl dormitory loo and he sincerely hoped no one had snapped a pic of him going in. Unfortunately, it was on the third floor so he had to get down three flights of rickety fire escape without anyone noticing. He shivered and grimaced as a bit of raw egg moved under his collar and down his back. Without thinking, he ran his fingers through his curls and came away with a slimy hand.
He definitely owed Jen an apology, he realized. After all, the egg-throwing party-crashers only came because someone tweeted that he was there. Hopefully, now that he was out of the crowd, they'd leave the students alone to continue partying. Too bad, though. It was a great party and he'd been having a blast hanging out with his old friend.
The phone in his pocket buzzed yet again and, figuring he'd have to deal with the fury of his team sooner or later, he wiped the egg off on his pants and fished it out. Yeah, there were about fifty texts waiting for him, but what caught his attention was the notification of a new trend -
#thrutheloo. Harry Styles escapes fans through loo window.
He was almost doubled over with laughter at the picture of Paul halfway out the window as he jumped down the last few steps and headed for somewhere private where he could wait to be picked up.
Several meters later, a rock skittered at his feet. He looked down, confused, because, even drunk as he was, he knew he hadn't kicked it. A yell from behind had him glancing back and cursing. The egg-throwers were back and he had no crowd to get lost in.
He was turning to run when he saw something flying toward his head. He ducked but didn't worry too much. Eggshells only stung a little on impact, he'd found out. So the slicing pain in his temple shocked him as much as hurt and he stumbled to his knees as his head spun. He looked down and started to feel real fear.
Oh, shit! They were throwing rocks!
Getting to his feet, he felt something drip down his cheek and he wiped it away, staring a moment in shock when he saw it was blood. Was this really happening? A second yell and laughter was closer and he looked around desperately for a way to escape. Maybe there was an early morning dog-walker or jogger? No luck.
Harry heard the sound of cars driving by down a dark alley and, though he hesitated, he started running toward the noise. Surely whatever pictures and media-attention his appearance caused couldn't be worse than what the drunk men following him were planning.
He was halfway down the alley when he realized his mistake. There was a high brick wall standing between him and the traffic. Between him and safety. And the gang had just blocked the only way out.
The leader, who didn't like that a “queer little fag-boy” was “takin' all the hot women,” was tossing a fist-sized rock back and forth in his hands like he was just waiting for the perfect time to throw it. He was laughing lowly and the three men ranged behind him were echoing.
Harry was scared out his mind and had no idea what to do. So he put on his “famous and untouchable” persona, hoping that would work. Boldly facing them when he wanted to hide and cower, he asked, “You lads want an autograph?”
“Sure, fag-boy. How 'bout we get it written in your blood?” Leader asked. Lackeys 1 through 3 found it hilarious and Harry felt said blood chill a little. All four were casually walking closer and all he had to hide behind or use to defend himself was an overfilled dumpster and the bags inside. Not exactly an arsenal.
“I don't think that'll work, but if you all want to go away and find a pen together, I'll wait right here for you. I promise.” He made a little shooing motion.
Apparently, Leader didn't want to chit chat anymore because his only answer was a sneer. He jerked his head and Lackeys 1 and 2 slowly moved to flank Harry. Number 3 stayed behind to guard the alley entrance. Harry couldn't help but feel like they'd done something like this before, but he pushed the thought out of his mind, staying focused on that rock in Leader's hands. That would definitely do more than sting if it connected.
“Lads, really, I'm honored that you like me this much, but I really need to get back. If you could just run along, I'll call my driver and we'll never see each other again.”
The “driver” reminder might have been too much, Harry realized when Leader sneered again. “What, little fag-boy can't handle us on his own? Wasn't that was you said back at the party?”
More ill-advised words from a drunk mouth that Harry could kick himself for. He'd also called them “manky slags” but there was no reason to remind them of that at the moment. Best to do that right before the door of his limo slams shut behind him.
“J-Just giving you a chance to back down.” That's right, Styles, don't show fear. Haha.
Number 2 stumbled over a trash bag and, before he could think, Harry turned, hoping maybe for a chance to escape.
That was his mistake.
The moment his eyes weren't on Leader, the man threw the rock. This one wasn't aimed for Harry's head. It hit right on target with Harry's sternum and sent the teen to his knees, trying to regain his breath. Lackeys 1 and 2 were instantly there to haul Harry to his feet to receive Leader's fist in almost exactly the same spot as the rock.
Black spots started to form at the edges of Harry's vision as he tried desperately to gasp in some oxygen. Almost as soon as he inhaled, another punch came and knocked it right back out. He was allowed to drop to the ground and he could do nothing but groan and curl up as feet started raining down on him. He had no idea how long it lasted, but seconds seemed turn to hours because Leader was determined to keep him conscious, stopping the Lackeys from connecting with Harry's head.
Eventually, the blows stopped and Leader grabbed Harry by the neck of his hoodie. Harry just moaned as he was shoved face-first into the brick wall, only feet from what sounded like a busy street and, surely, someone who would stop this. “Now, we'll show you what we do to nancy-boy pillow-biters who think they're better than us,” Leader whispered in his ear.
Harry felt hands tugging at his clothes and, with energy he hadn't realized he had, he fought as hard as he could; biting, clawing, yelling, anything he could to get them to stop. But he was slammed hard several times into the bricks until his muscles turned to water and he prayed for the darkness that finally claimed him.