Chapter Text
Harry's life officially starts when he walks out onto the stage.
His heart beats in time with the cheers the crowd greet him with, and the bright lights overhead seep through his skin and keep his blood pumping. The judges smile, and Harry smiles back, and it's it. The first moment of the rest of his life.
He stops in center stage, and smiles again, flashing the audience dimples and white teeth and they cheer. He laughs, brushes it off, but the whistles he receives speed up his heart rate until he's sure his hands must be shaking. It's so surreal. He's fucking here.
Finally, one of the judges laughs, looking up at Harry and Harry slowly looks back down at her. In the part of his mind that hasn't melted, he recognizes her as Jesy Nelson, and it's, like, it's fucking insane, being stripped bare and stood in front of one the biggest musicians in the world.
"Hi, honey," she greets, and Harry dimples again.
The crowd roars.
"Hi," Harry greets, after a moment of looking back out at the audience with white teeth and pink cheeks and a laugh laced with awe.
Jesy laughs again. "Bit nervous, are you?"
"Shit, you have no idea," Harry agrees, and when the crowd laughs, he presses his lips together. "Shit, I'm not supposed to swear, am I?"
"It's fine, it's fine," she grins. "Tell me a bit about yourself, babe."
"Uh," Harry says. "I'm Harry Styles, I'm twenty five, from Cheshire, and I like to curse on national TV." The crowd laughs again, and Harry can't keep himself from grinning. "That was really bad, I'm sorry."
Another of the judges, James Arthur, waves him off. "What made you audition today, mate?"
"My son, actually," Harry says. The crowd seems to soften a bit, as they coo in unison, but Harry shakes his head as he runs a hand over his hair. "It's not as cute as it sounds," he explains. "He told me to audition because I can sing and do absolutely nothing else."
Jesy leans forward again. "How old is your son, love?"
"He turns three in a couple months," Harry tells her, and she smiles.
"That's so sweet. Is he here with you?"
"Yeah, he's backstage."
Jesy nods. "With his mum?"
Harry's heartbeat falters for a moment, and he glances down, feeling almost too exposed beneath the bright spotlights before the endless crowd. "Uh, no," he says finally. "His mum passed when he was born."
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," Jesy rushes, but Harry shakes his head.
"It's fine," he breathes. The crowd coos again, and Harry cracks a smile, schooling his confidence back on as quickly as he could manage. "I mean, it's shit, but at least I had her while I did, yeah?"
His answering smile's slightly sad, but the crowd cheers again, and when he glances back up from his feet, he's beaming, wearing another crooked grin born beneath the spotlight.
When the crowd dies back down, Michael Clifford leans forward, and flashes Harry a wide smile. "So, single father Harry from Cheshire, what do you do for a living?"
"That was worse than one of mine, mate," Harry says, and Michael laughs. "But, uhm, I'm a tattoo artist. I own a studio in Cheshire. Sink Ink, if anyone wants to pop buy for a tattoo."
Jesy laughs. "Do you have any tattoos, baby?"
"I do," Harry nods, and when the crowd roars again, Jesy claps her hands down on the table. "Now you have to show us."
Harry laughs, and glances out at the crowd again, but the the answering roar is of a crowd with their minds made up. Harry rolls his eyes as he steps back from the microphone. He shrugs out of his jacket, and the crowd whistles, before he pulls his shirt over his head, and they scream. He has full sleeves, one in colour and one black and grey, and a chest piece that has grown down enough to completely cover his right pec. The ink colours one side of his neck, and crawls all the way down to his fingers on the opposite arm, and while he can willingly admit most of his tattoos are stupid, they drive the crowd to their feet. They cheer, and Harry blushes, pushing his hand back over his hair.
"I have some on my legs, too, but I figured I'd keep from dropping my pants."
"Shame," chimes the final judge, Louis Tomlinson, from the end of the table, who meets Harry's answering gaze with a grin and a wink.
"I would, babe, but that would make this a different kinda show," Harry replies, and when Louis laughs, the crowd laughs with him.
"Try and keep your pants on for right now, honey," Jesy says. "What will you be singing for us today?"
"A mashup of Happily, by, uhm, Louis, actually, and Hopeless Wanderer by Mumford and Sons."
"Happily and Hopeless Wanderer?" Michael repeats.
Harry nods. "In the style of Mumford and Sons."
"That sounds terrible, love, if I'm honest," Louis says.
Michael snorts, and the crowd jeers along with him. "Terrible?" He says. "Sounds fucking brilliant! What made you decide on those two songs?"
"Originally I had planned on only Hopeless Wanderer," Harry explains, "but Happily is my son's favourite song. And on the way over here he asked if I could pretty please sing them together for him."
"So you did?" Jesy smiles.
"Can't say no to him."
"That's brilliant," she says. "We're ready when you are."
Harry nods, and takes a deep breath and another step back from the microphone. He starts to strike the opening chords on his guitar, when Jesy raises her hand and successfully ends his song before it's begun.
He looks back up, fully prepared to hear he's about to die beneath the spotlight. His heart started on stage, and he fears that's where it will stop. But then Jesy's laughing again, and motioning for all the judges to turn to the side of the stage, where the tiny head of Harry's son had appeared from backstage.
"Is that him?" Jesy asks delightedly.
Harry nods, glancing over at him fondly. "That's him, yes."
"Bring him on, bring him on!" She cheers, and Harry laughs, before placing his guitar down carefully and rushing across stage. The young boy perks up immediately, and rushes halfway to meet him, jumping into Harry's arms as best he can before Harry lifts him up higher and rests him on his hip. The crowd cheers, and Harry thinks if his heart were gonna stop on that stage, he would die without regret. For that has to be the best moment of his entire life.
He walks back to center stage, and Jesy laughs again. "Oh my goodness, he's precious! What's his name?"
"I'm Tony!" The boy chirps, and Jesy covers her grin with her hand.
"I bet you are, sweetheart! How old are you?"
He holds up five fingers, and Harry can't keep from grinning as he nudges him. "No, you aren't."
"No, I'm not," Tony agrees.
Jesy laughs. "How old are you really, honey?" He holds up two fingers, and she nods. "You're so big!"
Tony nods proudly.
Louis smiles. "Are you ready to hear your dad sing, love?" He asks, and Tony nods again.
Louis' smile widens. "Alright, Harry. Anytime now, baby."
Harry nods, and carefully lifts Tony onto his shoulders, who grips his hair as Harry leans down to pick his guitar back up. He tunes it for a moment, before he starts to strum, before finally, officially, starting to sing.
"You don't understand, you don't understand," he starts slowly, fingers moving swiftly over polished wood and taut string. The crowd starts to cheer again, though it means so much more this time around, as they cheer for talent stripped bare beneath the spotlight, instead of painted skin and quick wit. "What you do to me when you hold his hand. We were meant to be but a twist of fate, made it so we had to walk away."
Tony giggles from above him, and Harry laughs into the words. "So leave that click in my head, and I will remember all the words that you said. Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart, but I was sure we could see a new start."
He glances from the crowd, to the judges, all of who are wearing small smiles and smug looks at Harry can't keep himself from laughing again because fuck, he's fucking made it.
"So when your hope's on fire, but you know your desire, don't hold a glass over the flame," he sang. "Don't let you heart grow cold. I will call you by name, I will share your road." He pauses for a moment, before Tony giggles again, and Harry grins. "'Cause we're on fire, we are on fire, we're on fire now. Yeah, we're on fire, we are on fire, we're on fire now."
"I don't care what people say when we're together, 'cause I'm a hopeless wanderer. And hold me fast, hold me fast, be the one who holds me when I sleep. Hold me fast, hold me fast, cause I'm a hopeless wanderer and I just want it to be you and I forever."
He strums a final chord, before he music finally falters, and Harry steps back from the microphone. He barely has time to register what just happened, that he had just finished singing in front of thirty thousand people and he hadn't even thrown up, before the crowd and the judges and the crew backstage are all on their feet and clapping and cheering. Harry runs a shaky hand over his hair, and breathes out a shakier laugh, and steps back to the microphone with a stunned murmur of, "Thank you."
The applause only grows.
It continues for a solid several minutes, and Harry's almost surprised that he doesn't start to cry. It's Jesy who finally sits back down, and raises a hand; silencing the audience until she cries, "That was brilliant!", and the applause starts back up.
Harry laughs. "Shit, thank you. Thank you so much."
Jesy laughs, and claps along with the audience, until Louis leans forward against the table again. "Harry," he says, and Harry's breath catches. "That was absolutely unbelievable," he tells him. The crowd shrieks. "I can't believe it. You absolutely proved me wrong. That was incredible."
"Thank you," Harry repeats. He's numb.
Michael laughs. "I don't even think I need to say anything, mate. I loved you. Everybody loved you. It's a yes from me."
Louis grins. "It's a yes from me, too. If you promise to continue to mashup my songs in the future."
Harry nods quickly, unable to keep from cracking a smile. "I promise."
"Yes," Jesy continues. "Absolutely, a hundred percent."
Harry nods again, heart in his throat, and turns to James. Who grins.
"That's four yeses, mate. Congratulations."
.
Harry's heart officially starts beating hours after he's walked off stage.
He's still bumming around behind the scenes, signing paperwork and doing interviews and watching Tony from the corner of his eye as he plays with the crew and the young siblings of other contestants. His hands are still shaking, and it's all still so surreal, but it doesn't touch on the way he feels when Louis fucking Tomlinson walks in from the stage, and walks over to Harry without hesitation. Harry almost doesn't look up, until Louis claims the chair next to him, and Harry has no choice but to look over to him with an arched brow and a flushed expression.
He's tinier up close, is Harry's first thought.
"Hi, love," Louis greets finally, and Harry barks out a laugh.
"Hey babe. Everything alright?"
"Of course," he smiles. "I just had to come see you before you left. Couldn't get you out of my mind, love."
"Are you serious?" Harry grins, and he swears Louis looks fond as he nods.
"Dead. You're a talent, and your voice is unforgettable."
Harry shakes his head. "This is fucking mad," he says, running a hand over his hair. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."
Louis laughs. "You're very welcome. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."
"Can't blame you," he shrugs. "I know how morbid my speaking voice sounds."
Louis laughs again. "That's not it at all," he assures Harry, placing a hand on his knee. That's when Harry's heart starts to beat again. "It's just how drastically different it is to mine. I wasn't sure how the difference in tone would sound."
"And you think it sounded good?"
"Better than the original. You have a career in music ahead of you, love, trust me."
"Shit, thank you."
Louis beams, looking, for all he's worth, like he doesn't know Harry's heart beats along with every word he says. "Anyway, love," he finally chimes, and holds a small sliver of plastic out to Harry. "I have to get back to the panel. I just had to let you know how much I adored you, and give you this."
"What is this?" Harry asks, and Louis grins again.
"My room key," Louis says, and Harry's heart threatens to give out all over again. "I'll be at the Royal Columbian. Room 1306."
.