Chapter Text
It was a really weird sensation, being dead that is. Harry blinked his eyes open slowly, trying to get accustomed to the sudden darkness encompassing him. He seemed to be enclosed in a small space. Pushing his hands out to the side, his heart skipped when they met firm mahoghany wood on both sides.
Coffin. He was in a coffin.
One reach to the top confirmed his suspicions. Weirdly though, he didn't seem too bothered by the limited supply of oxygen or moving space. Harry placed the palm of one hand flat against the top of the coffin and pushed, muscles straining. He knew it was stupid, everyone knew coffins were impossible to get out of--
And then he was out. Harry actually fell over from the sudden burst of sunlight. He clenched his eyes shut but he could feel the tears burning behind his eyelids. His skin seemed to sizzle under the harsh rays, feeling as though entire flakes were peeling off. Harry cranked his eyes open a miniscule bit just to duck underneath a huge oak tree.
A few minutes later, he was able to open his eyes fully and his body didn't feel like it was on fire anymore. Surveying his surroundings, he wasn't surprised to find himself in the middle of a graveyard. Given the intensity of the sun, it was probably around noon and the cemetery was deserted. Squinting, Harry's eyes sought out a specific gravestone and took in the engraved words:
Harry Styles
1994-2017
Beloved son, brother and friend
Always.
Okay. So he really was dead. It was funny though, Harry stared at his hands. They looked exactly the same. Still huge, awkward and clunky. He didn't feel dead. Stretching his legs out, he felt his muscles tense up before relaxing. He wasn't that sore though so he probably wasn't in that coffin for long.
Speaking of the coffin, how exactly did he manage to get out? The ground beneath his gravestone looked unperturbed, the soil even and glistening with a thin layer of runoff rainwater. Frowning slightly, he reached a hand out and placed it against the bark of the tree trunk. His palm sat there for a moment, the wood cooling to the touch. But then his fingers started sinking in, disappearing as the wood seemed to liquefy beneath his touch. Gaping, he continued pushing his arm in, until he was up to his shoulder, his entire arm buried inside the tree. Flailing a bit, he could see his fingers sticking out on the other side.
What? This is impossible.
Slowly, he began to push the rest of his body through the bark, sinking until all that was left was his right shoulder and leg. Throwing himself a bit further, he popped out the other side with a wet smacking sound, the bark immediately hardening again.
Breathe, Harry instructed himself. You're fine. You can just pass through things, it's fine.
The sound of dead leaves crinkling under someone's shoes sent his head turning. A man donned in a black jacket and skinny jeans approached his gravestone. Harry squinted, trying to get past the sunlight to look at the man's face.
He seemed to be in his early twenties, with a toned and extremely fit body. Kneeling, the man rested his knee softly against the marble gravestone and brought a hand up to the words. His lips moved silently as he traced the fourth line with his finger.
Always.
But what did it mean? Who was that guy?
Before Harry could run forward, demanding answers from that mysterious guy, pain ripped through his body, shredding his chest in the process. It burned a red hot fire, scalding the insides of his veins until Harry was shuddering on the ground, curled up in a fetal position. It took a few more minutes before the aftershocks stopped raking through him.
What the bloody hell was that?
Harry stood up shakily, steadying himself with one hand on the tree. The man had gone. Without thinking, Harry ran back out to his gravestone, eyes widening at the white orchid that now leaned against his grave.
It must have been him, he contemplated. Do I know him though?
A warm breeze flew by and the petals of the orchid trembled before one peeled off and fell onto the cold marble. Harry picked it up, rolling it back and forth between the pads of his fingers. It was a dying flower, he murmured to himself. Why would he do that, give me a flower that wouldn't last long anyway?
The sun tingled against his skin, unpleasant but not unbearable now. Harry squinted up at the clear sky, a cerulean canvas that spanned to infinity.
Follow him.
The voice of the command was soft, like the murmuring of a meandering brook. It brushed over him like a soft curtain, pushing him to follow.
Harry knew which direction the man went in. It felt instinctual, to choose a path and trust his gut to take him there.
Plus, what do I have to lose? He told himself. So far, he's the only one who might have answers.
Brushing the dirt from his pants, Harry stood up and chose the path he saw first.
After walking for several hours, Harry learned three things.
One, he used to live around here. Each building felt familiar to him, bringing on a faint tug at his heartstrings. Once he lay eyes on something, he could name it immediately. And yet--
Two, he didn't have most of his memories. He knew when he passed by Bryant's Park, a place that he could feel he frequented as a child yet he couldn't pull up any memories on the fields or swings.
And finally, three, and perhaps the most important; no one else could see him. For the first hour, he tried to make eye contact with everyone on the street, hoping someone would jog his memory and give him some goddamn answers already. But everyone appeared to look right through him, their gazes always faraway and unobservant. Once, Harry tried to grab someone's arm but he immediately felt a faint pulling where he made contact with the person and soon, he was on the other side of the person, who probably only felt a small chill throughout the entire process.
Only hours later though, did he find the man he had seen in the graveyard. Harry caught him when he was entering the subway station at Lexington Ave, 59th Street. He had immediately recognized the black jacket and skin tight jeans. Running to catch up to the man and his long legs, Harry was not proud to say he had run through a couple of people.
It turned out to be useless though. The man simply sat down on one of the wooden benches and crossed his legs. He seemed content to watch the trains arrive and depart one by one. Harry watched him from afar as the man let the N train leave, the Q, the R.
A while later, the man pulled out a cigarette and placed it softly between his lips.
Harry grimaced. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he hated smokers. They were selfish, especially if they did it in public. Second-hand smoking actually did turn out to be a problem for many and everything could be blamed on these rebels who needed to smoke to look "cool."
The man never lit the cigarette though, which confused Harry. After a few hours of spying, Harry's legs were almost crumpling with exhaustion and there was no one else at the station.
"You can come out now," a voice said smoothly.
Harry blinked, instantly alert. "Me?" He asked out of habit.
"You," the man confirmed. He turned around and that was the first time Harry saw his face full frontal. The man had exotic eyes, two pools of a dark bottomless brown outlined by the curve of long lashes. His cheekbones were high, hollowing out his cheeks to create a serious, mature look on him. And oh god, his lips. They were luscious, framed perfectly and almost glistening under the lighting of the subway.
The man continued to stare at Harry, silence filling the station awkwardly.
Finally, Harry broke out of his trance. "W-wait. You can see me?"
The man nodded. "Hear you as well."
"Really?" Harry couldn't help but break out into a broad grin. "You're the first person I found today that could."
The man didn't reply, simply shrugging as he continued to stare down at the subway tracks. He didn't seem surprised, which bothered Harry a little bit. Who was he exactly?
Harry was never one for awkward silences. "Do we know each other?"
The man's lips tilted slightly upwards into a small smile. "I don't think so."
Harry frowned. "Did you visit a graveyard today?"
He looked at Harry, puzzled. "How did you know that?"
"Erhm, I saw you in front of my gravestone and you left a white orchid so I assumed that we, you know."
The man laughed. "I'm sorry. I do that sometimes. Whenever I'm kinda stressed I'll go to a graveyard and place flowers for the graves that seem like they haven't been visited in a while. It helps me, in a weird way."
Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that.
"We really don't know each other then. In that case," Harry thrust a hand out. "I'm Harry!"
The man's eyes sparkled. "I'm Zayn."
Zayn was an enigma to Harry. He invited Harry to follow him without a second thought and didn't seem ashamed at all when he let Harry into his apartment.
The place was a complete mess, with comic books and sketchbooks strewn across the table tops. Dirty clothes hung on every chair, the scent barely covered up with a quick Febreeze job.
"Make yourself at home," Zayn yawned as he threw his keys onto a random table. "I have nothing for you to steal anyway."
I couldn't even if I wanted to, Harry wanted to say. He reached out sadly to graze a lamp sadly. His hand shot through like usual and emerged on the other side of the lampshade. Am I touching the bulb right now? Harry wondered. And indeed he was. He was completely numb to it though. He didn't feel the soft warmth that usually radiated from lightbulbs. Come to think of it, the only sensation he really had the entire day was the pain he felt back at the graveyard.
And he'd rather not experience that again.
"Why aren't you scared of me?" Harry blurted out suddenly.
Zayn tugged his head out of his comic book. "Why should I be scared?" His voice was tinted with a bit of amusement.
"No one else can see me and you visited my grave so I'm most likely a ghost. I can't touch anything, I can pass through you. Why aren't you scared?"
"You aren't some supernatural though," Zayn said, closing his book. "You're just a petty human like the rest of us."
Harry wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not.
"But hotter?" Harry tried.
Zayn laughed, full and deep for the first time that day. "But hotter," he repeated.
Harry smiled back. He still didn't know why he was dead or how he ended up in this position but this was hardly the worst situation he could've put himself in. Zayn seemed nice enough, kind enough to take him in but still young enough to joke around with him.
Plus, you know, he was an extremely attractive lad.
"Z, you little fucker, why didn't you answer my text?" A voice interrupted, the sound making its way to them before the door even opened.
Zayn seemed unperturbed, leaning horizontally on the couch while chewing slowly on some chicken pieces.
A loud jangle was heard through the door and someone cursed lowly.
"Help me, goddamnit!"
"Uh, Zayn?" Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Should we...you know--"
"He'll figure it out," Zayn rolled his eyes. "'s been doing it for almost three years now."
The door finally slammed open and a bag of groceries was suddenly upended on the carpet, fruit and vegetables rolling into their piles of dirty clothes. A feather headed boy burst in, eyes an electric blue and sparking in anger. His face was shaped daintily too, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, giving him a delicate look.
Yeah, he was hot as fuck.
"Why didn't you help me?" The boy demanded angrily.
Zayn looked at his carpet in dismay, mouth hanging open. "You spilled the entire jar of Nutella on the carpet."
"Not my fault, not cleaning it up," he plopped onto the sofa next to Zayn, automatically taking the plate of chicken and popping a piece into his mouth.
"So anyway, today at work, you know that bitch Mrs. Stewart? Oh god, she came in today--"
Maybe it was instinct, or he just wasn't used to being dead--Harry cleared his throat.
Two heads turned to look at him. Two.
The boy blinked at Harry, eyes widening in surprise and--Harry faltered. Fear. The boy was terrified of him.
Before Harry could wonder why though, his attention was captivated by two other boys currently standing in the doorway.
A muscular boy clucked his tongue and crossed his arms disapprovingly. "Louis, what did I tell you--"
The blonde next to him laughed, cutting him off. "Come off it Liam, I've never gotten to eat Nutella off the carpet before."
"The carpet's disgusting, don't you dare--" the brunette dove towards the blonde who was trying to shove a fingertip dripping in chocolate into his mouth.
"Niall--" The feather haired boy whimpered, turning all attention to him. He curled up into himself, a complete turnaround from the boisterous personality Harry had witnessed meer seconds ago.
"Holy fuck," the blonde--Niall's--eyes widened as he finally noticed Harry. "Are you...there's no way."
Zayn had an utterly confused look on his face. He turned to his friend, obviously not used to how the feather haired boy was acting. "Louis?" He asked, voice tentative. "Mate, are you okay?"
The boy named Louis blinked rapidly, keeping his gaze confined to the ground. "Y-yeah, I'm just, uh. Freaked out, you know? I mean, yeah."
The muscular brunette finally broke out of his trance in the doorway and strode over to Harry. "Hello, I'm Liam," he said curtly, extending an arm.
Harry was about to shake it when he realized his current predicament. "I actually can't, um--"
Liam rolled his eyes and grasped Harry's hand in his own. Their fingers wrapped tightly together. Harry gaped. "T-then, you too--"
"Mind if I explain outside?" Liam pressed his lips together and smiled, the gesture obviously forced.
The feather haired boy-Louis-whimpered and cowered slightly when Harry's gaze washed over to him.
"Out we go!" The blonde cheered, rushing Liam and Harry out the door. The hand rested firmly on his back, pushing Harry until he was out in the hall. The door slammed shut even before Harry could turn around.
"All of you can see me," Harry said, still trying to take in what happened.
Liam seemed to relax considerably now that they were out of the apartment. "Yes."
"And for some reason, I can touch you and the blonde--Niall."
He nodded. "Right."
"Why? Who are you?" Harry couldn't keep the questions in anymore. He spent the entire day wandering around as a ghost and now suddenly he found people who could all see him. He needed answers now. "Why is that boy so scared of me?"
Liam held a hand up. "Okay, slow down. I know you're freaked out right now--"
"I'm fucking dead! Of course I'm freaked--"
"--but you need to calm down," Liam ignored him.
Harry put on the most glaring look he could muster and huffed. After a few minutes of controlled breathing, he grumbled: "Alright, I'm calm."
"Let's take it one question at a time," Liam said. "What do you want to know most?"
"Who are you? How come I can only touch you and the blonde?" Harry bit his tongue to keep himself from rambling.
LIam smiled faintly before answering. "I'm an Angel. And Niall--that's the blonde--he's another ghost."
Harry gaped. He didn't think he would meet other ghosts, much less an Angel! "You, you're really--"
"An Angel, yes," Liam seemed a bit bored with the clarification. "Not a fallen one though. Like I didn't get kicked out or anything, I chose to leave--" He cut off like he realized he was revealing too much and pressed his lips shut. "Anything else you want to know?"
Harry decided not to press the subject. "How long have I been dead? Why am I dead?"
Liam took on a grave look. "I'm really sorry, Harry. I can't answer that."
Harry's chest was weighed down with a sudden feeling of despair. He had been running on adrenaline ever since he found people who could see and hear him. They would give him answers, they would fix his condition. He didn't know how but they would at least shed some insight on his death! But not even this boy, this Angel, knew how he died.
"I'm fucking dead," Harry hissed lowly, tears prickling at his eyes. "You said you were an Angel! Help me, goddamn it!"
His face softened and he looked almost apologetic. "I really can't. I'm sorry."
"But I am dead," Harry said.
Liam nodded. "Yes, that I can confirm."
Suddenly, Niall's head poked through into the hallway. "You guys are welcome to come back in now."
Liam nodded and stood up, brushing his pants off. "Come on, let's introduce you to the others."
Harry followed him back into the apartment to find the other boys arranged in a circle waiting for him. Feather boy wasn't cowering anymore, though he still avoided Harry's gaze. Zayn had gone back to his calm demeanor.
"Let's do introductions!" Niall chirped, eerily cheery for such a weird situation. "I'll start. I'm Niall," he said, smiling right at Harry. "I'm another fellow ghost, like I'm sure Liam told you. Been dead for about two years now--"
"I'm Liam," he cut in, clearing his throat. "'m an Angel." He sat down, indicating that was all he was going to say.
"Okay, um," Zayn looked around awkwardly before realizing he really was only doing this for Harry. "I'm Zayn. And this is useless since everyone here already knows me," he grumbled and sank back into the couch.
Finally, all eyes landed onto the feather haired boy. Harry was wary, unsure of how he would react.
"I'm Louis," the voice that came out was neither shaky nor tremulous. It even held a hint of the sassy personality he had displayed when he first walked through the door. "I'm Zayn's best friend and roommate. I'm actually not dead and erhm." He looked straight at Harry, electric blue eyes sparking. "I'm your ex-boyfriend."