Chapter Text
⋆˚⊹ ࣪⋆─── Harry ───⋆ ࣪⊹˚⋆
Harry's late.
"Fuck!" He swats at the alarm clock and flings himself out of bed, tripping on his guitar case and slamming his knee into the dresser.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" He curses through clenched teeth. Gripping his throbbing kneecap, he stuffs his laptop, microphone, and other film equipment into his carry-on bag, then hobbles into the toilet to squirt toothpaste into his mouth. He pulls a baggy hoodie over the clothes he slept in and jams his feet into the closest pair of trainers, then stumbles back to his suitcase and yanks everything into the hall.
"Why didn't you wake me up!" he shouts, toothpaste foam flying from his mouth. "My flight's at 10!"
"I thought you were up," Violet says without looking up from her phone.
Harry winces as he barges into the kitchen to spit in the sink. "Sometimes I hate you, you know that?"
"No, you don't," his sister says. "I'm your favorite person. And you're mine. We both know that."
"I can hate you even if you're my favorite person," he shouts as he tugs his luggage toward the door.
"No, you can't," Violet says, trailing behind.
"This argument is so dumb!" Harry roars, storming out of the house.
"All arguments with you are dumb, H. That's why I don't participate. It's better when we're just mutual favorites and say nice things to each other like 'good morning' or 'thanks for driving me to the airport'."
"Fine," Harry shoves his guitar and suitcase into the boot and throws himself into the passenger seat with such force it rocks the car. "Good morning," he grits through clenched teeth as Violet slips behind the wheel. "Thanks for driving me to the airport, you traitor."
"You're welcome, baby brother, emphasis on baby," Violet rolls her eyes at him and starts the ignition.
Harry flips his middle finger.
"You're nervous," she says.
"Nervous? Hah!" Harry's voice cracks. "Why would I be nervous to spend twelve weeks in a foreign country riding around in a piece of junk vehicle with a dull-as-fuck mechanic who thinks he's a model and smiles too much just to impress our mother? Do you know he winked at her? He fucking winked Violet!" He glares at the side of his sister's head as she backs out of the drive.
"He thinks he's a model, does he?"
Harry ignores her smirk. "Betrayed. Pissed off. Abused! Those are more fitting words that describe my state of mind."
Only a week ago, Harry was summoned to his mother's office, introduced to a complete stranger, and assigned the stupidest project he's ever heard of. Now, he's on his way to America to shoot videos of the newest investment properties she's acquired, and turn the footage into a travel vlog of all things. A travel vlog! It's ridiculous.
"Do you have any idea what it takes to build a successful channel? Newsflash, it's more than ugly houses. Oh, and my chaperone, slash video editor, slash mechanic, is a total stranger with zero personality! Who I'll have to spend three fucking months with! I don't understand why she's doing this to me, Vi," Harry hears himself whine.
"Harry. It's not that bad. It's just marketing—"
"Marketing for what? For whom? Am I the product?"
"No. Don't be dense."
"Fuck off, Vi. You know what I'm saying!"
"Harry, I know you're upset, but—"
"And do not patronize me!"
"Fine! The properties are the product. And you know that, H."
Harry does know. The properties are always the product. Always his mother's focus.
"Everyone in Britain knows that, Violet, for fuck's sake. But that's not enough for her, is it? No. She has to take over America—"
"Harry, you know how she is. And to be fair, I'd rather be part of a successful company than a failing—"
"Fine. But why me? Why do I have to be the chief tool in this operation?"
"You don't have to be anything Harry," Violet says with a sigh. "I just thought… with your talents—"
"The properties aren't even finished being renovated! This is so stupid Vi. You know it. How the hell am I supposed to film them, let alone turn the footage into content for a travel vlog?"
"Louis is a video editor, Harry. He'll turn the footage into usable content. You just have to be your handsome, charming, charismatic self in front of the camera."
"I literally just told you not to patronize me, Vi."
"Listen. I know that you don't like working for the family business, but it's a creative assignment—"
"It's not the business! Or even the fucking assignment!." Harry scrubs a hand over his tired face. "It's her, Vi. You know that."
"Of course I know. But Harry, honestly. It's barely half eight. At this hour of the day, we can't have our usual bitch session without Mimosas in hand. Or a latte at the very least."
He knows she's trying to lighten the mood. But he will not give in. Harry throws his head back against the headrest and shuts his eyes.
⋆˚⊹ ࣪⋆────··⛐࿔̥̊ ࣪⊹ ࣪────⋆ ࣪⊹˚⋆
"I don't understand why you're doing this to me!" he'd yelled at his mother as she stood glaring at him from behind her desk at the Elite Real Estate Corporation headquarters.
"Darling. You can't lay about in your room like a moody teenager for the rest of your life, especially when you're not a teenager anymore," said his mother.
"Laying about? You clearly don't understand me at all! If you did, you'd—"
"You're right. I don't understand," his mother cut him off. "However, as your mother, it is my job to make sure that you can support yourself and stand on your own two feet. And since you've decided that you don't need a university education, you are going to do this job for me. For us. And that's final."
"Hello again, Ms. Styles," said a voice by the door.
Harry spun around as a man with icy blue eyes and hair swept up off his forehead followed Violet into the office.
"Louis, I'd like you to meet Harry," Cynthia motioned at Harry to stand. "You will be partnering on this project."
Harry raked his eyes over the man's ill-fitting black pants and a vibrant blue shirt rolled to the elbows and squinted at the set of the man's shoulders, his chiseled cheekbones, the angle of his hips, how he rubbed his left palm with his right thumb. Was he trying to look like a model dressed like that?
Harry hated him already.
"Pleasure to meet you," said Louis, reaching out with a cordial smile.
Harry might have gripped his hand a little too firmly just to watch the smile melt off his perfect face. "Charmed, I'm sure."
Cynthia gave him a look. "Harry. Sit down please," she said before pivoting back to Louis. Sit, stand, sit again…Harry felt like a trained pet.
"Now that you're both here, let's jump into the specifics of this arrangement." She nodded at Violet to open a laptop.
"Just for some background Louis, The Elite Corporation is ubiquitous in the British real estate market, and we can proudly say that ninety-five percent of our renovation projects are successful. Consequently, we're looking to expand. Specifically, in the U.S. market." A map of the United States appeared on the screen, with the entire East Coast highlighted. "As a sort of trial run, we have acquired a small portfolio of five properties from an estate. We will turn each of the private residences into vacation rentals. Our goal is to market these properties as destinations in and of themselves. We want them to be seen as unique get-away opportunities."
Violet stood up, and took over. "Through social media, we'll build a niche following, then expand organically." she advanced to the next slide. "As you can see from these charts, our target audience relies heavily on social for recommendations. And of course, it's no secret that video content is king."
Cynthia stepped in front of the screen. "So that's where the two of you come in. You will create the marketing content for these properties. A travel vlog. We want to see the trip that you go on. We want to hear your thoughts on the places that you visit and the restaurants where you eat, but mostly we want to get your thoughts on the properties once you stay in them."
"Here is a rough itinerary," Violet said, handing Harry a thick packet of paper."I've also included potential conversation topics, beginning on page 42."
Harry couldn't take anymore. "I can't believe you're sending me off to another country with a stranger to ride around taking fucking video of houses! Conversation topics, Vi? This is insane. You both do realize you're insane, right?"
"No. We are perfectly sane, Harry," Cynthia clasped her hands on the desk. "Louis, do you have any questions?"
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Oh, um—right. How long do you think we'll be away? Assuming I say yes, that is. Also, how will we get around? You know, once we're there?"
"These are great questions!" Cynthia beamed at Louis, making Harry's stomach lurch. "We'll be flying you into Boston. You'll pick up the vehicle you'll use for the rest of the trip at the first property. We anticipate the whole project will take about 12 weeks."
"Three fucking months?" Harry exclaimed.
His mother ignored him again. "The previous owner of the properties has left a classic car among the portfolio of assets. We think it will look beautiful in video footage, so we'd like to use that. I believe it's a…" Cynthia flipped through a few things on her phone and then turned the screen to Louis. "1967 Ford Mustang."
Louis whistled, a long, sliding sound that crawled right under Harry's skin.
"67 Mustang! Sick! It's a good thing I'm a mechanic, huh?"
And then, he winked.
Yes, that is convenient," Violet said, her eyes begging Harry to behave.
"Violet, how did you let this idea get this far?" He hissed. "This is beyond stupid."
"All of your expenses will be covered by the corporation,"Cynthia barreled on, as if he hadn't said a thing. "You will have a daily allotment for meals and other essentials. Accommodations and petrol will be covered. There's no reason why this can't be a wildly successful channel."
"Well. Since my future has already been determined for me, against my will, are we quite done here?" Harry was seething.
"Actually, Harry, I thought that maybe you and Louis would like to get to know each other a little bit. Violet has arranged for a luncheon at—"
"No. No lunch is going to make up for this."
Harry stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard that the wall rattled.
⋆˚⊹ ࣪⋆────··⛐࿔̥̊ ࣪⊹ ࣪────⋆ ࣪⊹˚⋆
"H, listen," Violet grips his hand, pulling him back to the present. "Please try to focus on the positive. Even if you can't win with her, I will always have your back."
He can't tell her what's really bothering him. And even if he wanted to, there's no time. The signs for the airport are overhead.
"She doesn't want me—the actual me. She wants a smiling, compliant and silent… doll. I'm just… fluffy stuffing crammed in a Harry-shaped plushie."
"Then fuck it, H! Be who you want! Define what you want the project to be. And then just go for it. Don't wait for permission, and don't get in your head about it. Take this trip for what it is: a creative opportunity. There are no rules."
"There will be rules. We just don't know what they are yet," Harry feels a familiar weight pressing down on his chest. "She'll dream up some impossible goal, then when I don't live up to it, which—spoiler alert—I won't, she'll consider it a failure. She'll consider me a failure. Like always."
"I will do my best to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Impossible."
"H, look at me," Violet waits for his eyes to find hers. "I'm serious. I will not let you down. I won't let her blow this up."
He massages the center of his chest, and shakes his head. "You know me Violet. I can't suck it up for three months. Twelve whole weeks! I doubt I'll make it past week one."
"Then we'll take it week by week, yeah? One at a time. I will help."
Harry feels tears welling up and swipes at them before they fall. "Fine. Whatever."
"H, I'm serious. I would never set you up to fail. I know you know that, right?"
"So you admit this was your brilliant idea," Harry pulls his hand from beneath hers. "Fucking, nice one Vi. You really are a traitor."
Harry doesn't bother to glance at his phone as they pull up to the curb. He knows he'll have to run.
"Harry. Can you please see this as a gift instead of a curse? The only parameters are that you visit all five houses and film content to post at a regular cadence. Beyond that, sky's the limit. Go fucking nuts! Make art. Or, a parody of art. Take footage of pebbles and leaves and people with weird haircuts or weird dogs. Interview them. Interview their dogs! You like dogs!"
"Wish me luck," he says as he hops out of the car.
"That you make the flight?"
"I don't know. For all of it I guess."
"Good luck. And Harry?" She levels him with a severe stare. "Be nice to Louis. He's a nice guy."
"He's fucking annoying." Harry yanks the handle of the suitcase and shoulders his carry-on bag, and tries to juggle the guitar case.
"You don't know that! You've barely exchanged two words!"
"Stop," Harry throws a hand up as if to push the words back at her. "You've banished me to a foreign country for three months to drive around in a car that's so likely to break down that I need to have a fucking mechanic along, Violet. That's annoying." He slams the car door.
"Be nice to him or else!"
"No!" he calls over his shoulder and races inside. But, as he runs toward the security checkpoint, Harry admits to himself that 'no' was never really an option.