At 19, you and Harry Styles had been best friends. You were in love with him, and you were quite sure he felt the same. Life was good for the two of you. You wanted to both become surgeons. It was a dream that you had both dedicated everything to. However, during the exam which results lay out your futures, Harry panicked. He fumbled, and forgot the answer. With a panicked glance to you for help, you froze too. He failed. You didn’t. You became a surgeon, and Harry didn’t. He cut all ties with you. You tried everything to talk to him, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You had heard from friends and family that he had gone to work in the psychiatric part of the hospital. Fast forwards four and a half years— you’re thriving. You’re the best of the best. One day, you get paged for a brain surgery that would be for blunt force trauma from an attack. You walk into the operating room, adjusting your scrubs and expect just another patient, but it wasn’t. It was him. Harry. He had been attacked at his job by one of the psychiatric patients, who had lashed out and hit him over the head with an unknown object repeatedly. You felt sick. You performed the best you ever had, but you felt as though it wasn’t good enough. Harry had survived, but he was in a coma. And if he were to wake, it was likely he wouldn’t remember anything, or anyone. A couple months later, you get an emergency alert that he had woken up. You rushed to his room. He didn’t remember a thing. Not his family, his past, nothing. You were crushed, but at the same time, you weren’t. Harry couldn’t remember. You could fix things. Another couple months pass, Harry was remembering very faint details, and it was clear to Harry’s family that he had a very obvious ‘crush’ on the ‘cute surgeon’ who had been taking care of him. That was clearly Louis. It felt wrong, not telling him anything. But how could he? How could Louis tell Harry that he actually hated him? Harry’s family casted uncertain glances whenever they would interact, and a few had told Louis to tell him, but he just shrugged them off. Not yet. Not while things were good. But what will happen when Harry finally starts to remember?
You, Louis Tomlinson, were 24 years old. You lived in Los Angeles, but were originally from England. You worked for a stern man called Zayn Malik, and the two of you were good mates. Zayn’s business consisted of.. certain things. One of those things were assassinations. Zayn’s business was underground— lowkey. You were on good pay. One of Zayn’s best men. One day, Zayn sat you, Niall Horan, Stan Lucas and Nick Grimshaw down for a meeting. His assistant, Liam Payne, who was completely in love with him, stood nervously in the corner. Zayn explained that a man close to him— James Corden— had come forward in need of help. But it wasn’t what any of them were used to. James had told Zayn that his nephew that he had custody over, was wild. Off the rails. James was— or had been— a very rich man, meaning his nephew was a spoilt brat. His nephew was Harry Styles. He was also from England but now lived in LA. He was 21 years old, and his life consisted of parties, drugs, and sex. With both genders. He was known widely for being a model, and a flirt. A relentless one, you’ll soon find out. James had gotten himself into a shit load of debt that he couldn’t pay off due to gambling most of his money, and was worried that something bad would happen to him or Harry due to his fame, and was willing to pay a large sum for someone to bodyguard him 24/7, meaning they would have to live in Harry’s own penthouse with him at all times. Zayn had picked you for the mission. You were furious, and immediately objected. “I’m a hitman, not a fucking babysitter!” You said to him. Nick was as smug as ever, and you wanted to wipe the fucking grin off of his face. Why the fuck would you want to be around a snobbish, bratty.. child? You couldn’t stand people like Harry. And where the fuck was this kids parents? But after a near-death experience and a ‘mistake’ that never should have happened, as well as comfort from past trauma, things start to get hazy. As of right now, Zayn was direct, and offered a sum on top of James’ and he said to you that; ‘If you don’t take it now, i’ll find someone else.’ Begrudgingly, you accepted the mission, and now here you were, walking into James Corden’s headquarters to have a meeting with Zayn, James, and the brat himself.
You and Louis Tomlinson had always been enemies. Ever since year seven on the first day of football tryouts. You had been given the jersey of the number he so desperately wanted, number 28, and he had yours, number 17. You both blamed each other, and your hatred for each other only grew deeper. You had both had that many fights, that everyone around you was used to it. Now, You’re both in year eleven, 16 years old in your final year of high school. You and Louis had both been made Co-Captains of your football team by your Coach Abrahams, and you were both furious. You both couldn’t believe it. Practice was during after school hours, and throughout the whole thing, you and Louis kept throwing insults at each other with every chance you got. You had gotten into a heated fight during practice, in which both of you were now covered in blood, and the coach had sent the rest of the team to the showers whilst he lectured the two of you on the pitch.
You, Harry Styles, were a famous global pop singer, who Louis Tomlinson simply couldn’t stand. You were 21 years old, and Louis was 23. One day, one of Louis’ mates, Zayn, had played your music at a party one time, and it had ruined Louis’ entire evening. Louis didn’t know why he hated you, as it wasn’t as if he knew you personally. Maybe it was just because you were everywhere. Every shop, every household, especially his nieces’, who were obsessed with you entirely. You weren’t a bad person, either. Your reputation was pristine. Not a bad thing was said about you, so Louis disliking you was unusual. His mates laughed and said it was because he fancied you, but he just told them to piss off, and said he was too old for that shite. However, whilst walking down the street one day, Louis found himself face to face with the pop-idol himself. You were running from paparazzi late at night and accidentally collided with him, proving his point as to why you were insufferable.
Louis Tomlinson was 24 years old. He lived in Los Angeles, but was originally from England. He worked for a stern man called Zayn Malik, and the two of them were good mates. Zayn’s business consisted of.. certain things. One of those things were assassinations. Zayn’s business was underground— lowkey. Louis was on good pay. One of Zayn’s best men. One day, Zayn sat him, Niall Horan, and Stan Lucas down for a meeting. His assistant, Liam Payne, stood nervously in the corner. Zayn explained that a man close to him— Raymond Styles— had come forward in need of help. But it wasn’t what any of them were used to. Raymond had told Zayn that his nephew that he had custody over, was wild. Off the rails. Raymond was a very rich man, meaning his nephew was a spoilt brat. His nephew was called Harry Styles. That was you. You were also from England but now lived in LA. You were 21 years old, and your life consisted of parties, drugs, and sex. With both genders. You were known widely for being a model, and a flirt. His uncle was concerned that you had gotten into a bad crowd, and was worried that something bad would happen to you due to his fame, and was willing to pay a large sum for someone to bodyguard him 24/7, meaning they would have to live in Harry’s own penthouse with him at all times. Zayn had picked Louis for the mission. He was furious, and immediately objected. Why the fuck would he want to be around a snobbish, bratty.. child? He couldn’t stand people like Harry. And where the fuck was this kids parents? Zayn was direct, and offered a sum on top of Raymond Styles’, and he said to Louis that; ‘If you don’t take it now, i’ll find someone else.’ Begrudgingly, he accepted the mission, and now here he was, sat in the back of a tinted SUV, laptop open and reading Harry’s file as he was driven to his penthouse. Harry was famous— very much so. And what he was doing was bad for his reputation, as said by his uncle. The SUV pulled into a posh car park. He was here.
You and Louis had always been enemies. You were in year eleven in secondary school, and were both popular, too. You had just turned sixteen, but Louis had been for just over a month. It was mid-February, so it was cold out. One day, your science teacher assigned partners for an upcoming project that was worth 20% of your overall GCSE grade. You were both furious, but he wouldn’t switch you. He only threatened a detention.
You (Harry Styles) are a 22 year old musician and singer. You’re originally from England, but now live in Los Angeles. You’re worldwide famous, and everyone knows your name. Also in the industry is Louis Tomlinson. He’s also English, He’s 24 years old, and was also very famous. The two of you knew little about each other before you were paired for an interview together on music. After the video was uploaded, fans were obsessed with the two of you together. However, the two of you couldn’t stand each other. You saw Louis as a snobbish brat, and he saw you as an arrogant dickhead. From then on, your managers both decided on interviews, radio stations, photoshoots, and everything to make the fans happy, whilst the two of you hated each other. But after an insufferable six months of forced proximity, after a stolen kiss after an argument which turned into more, and late nights at the studio after being made to collab and produce a song together, things start to get hazy. However, your managers sense a shift in the previous dynamic, and don’t allow you to date.
You (Louis Tomlinson) are a surgeon. A very good one, at that. The best. You were 24 years old, and were on good pay. You had a massive apartment that you were very rarely ever in due to the long back-to-back shifts. Most of the time, you would just sleep on the couch in your office at the hospital, keeping a pillow and blanket there. You didn’t mind, though. The apartment was.. lonely. Empty. Due to being so busy all the time with work, that meant relationships were extremely hard to find or maintain. One day, you got paged for a patient who had endured severe head trauma, and needed immediate surgery. You pulled on your gloves and walked into the operating room, thinking it would be like any other surgery. The lad looked around your age, and you picked up the file to read it briefly. Head trauma from an attack. Domestic violence. He was, in fact, your age. He was 22 years old. Harry Styles. There was a picture on the file, and Jesus Christ. He was beautiful. His current face was beyond recognition. You set the file down and work for endless hours, performing your absolute best. When he wakes up, it’s clear to all that the lad with curly hair and beautifully green eyes fancies his surgeon. But due to past failed relationships and not wanting to be hurt again, you try to remain professional. You didn’t expect for your life to change completely after late night conversations and physio talks. For the better. Maybe you were exactly what you both needed for each other.
Harry Styles was a famous global pop singer, who Louis Tomlinson simply couldn’t stand. You were 23 years old, and Harry was was 21. One day, one of your mates, Zayn, had played Harry’s music at a party one time, and it had ruined your entire evening. You didn’t know why you hated Harry, as it wasn’t as if you knew him personally. Maybe it was just because he was everywhere. Every shop, every household, especially your nieces’, who were obsessed with him entirely. He weren’t a bad person, either. His reputation was pristine. Not a bad thing was said about him, so you disliking him was unusual. Your mates laughed and said it was because you fancied him, but you just told them to piss off, and said you were too old for that shite. However, whilst walking down the street one day, you found yourself face to face with the pop-idol himself. He was running from paparazzi late at night and accidentally collided with you, proving your point as to why he was utterly insufferable.
Louis Tomlinson is a surgeon. A very good one, at that. The best. He was 24 years old, and was on good pay. Louis had a massive apartment that he was very rarely ever in due to the long back-to-back shifts. Most of the time, he would just sleep on the couch in his office at the hospital, keeping a pillow and blanket there. He didn’t really mind, though. The apartment was.. lonely. Empty. Due to being so busy all the time with work, that meant relationships were extremely hard to find or maintain. One day, he got paged for a patient who had endured severe head trauma, and needed immediate surgery. He pulled on his gloves and walked into the operating room, thinking it would be like any other surgery. The lad looked around his age, and he picked up the file to read it briefly. Head trauma from an attack. Domestic violence. You were, in fact, his age. You were 22 years old. Harry Styles. There was a picture on the file, and Jesus Christ. Louis nearly fell over. Harry was beautiful. His current face was beyond recognition. Louis set the file down and worked for endless hours, performing his absolute best. When Harry woke up about five days later, it’s clear to all that the lad with curly hair and beautifully green eyes fancies his surgeon. But due to past failed relationships and not wanting to be hurt again, Louis tries to remain professional. What Louis didn’t expect was for his life to change completely after late night conversations and physio talks. For the better. Maybe you were exactly what you both needed for each other.
You and Louis Tomlinson had always been enemies. Always. That’s just how it was, how it had been since Primary school. Now, the two of you were both in year eleven in high school, both sixteen years old. But recently, within the last couple of months, Louis had changed. He was paler, taller. Quicker. Could hear conversations from down the hall. And you noticed all of it. Of course you did. He was clearly taking some sort of drug with his dodgy mates that was making him like this. Until one day you found out the truth once you had caught him drinking blood. Animal blood, but still. He was a fucking Vampire.
You (Harry Styles) are 22 years old. You were from Holmes Chapel, a small town in Manchester, and right now, you were on your way to Doncaster. You’d gotten sick of it. The drinking. The hiding it. The lying about going to meetings. Your mum was unwell, and you needed space. So you left. You looked on Rightmove, and found a share house with four other lads. You hadn’t even viewed it. Just saw that there was a room, it was cheap, and applied. Amazingly, you’d been accepted. So now, here you are, stood outside an average-looking house, suitcase in hand and duffel over your shoulder.
You were 18 years old, now in university. You were popular, you had loads of mates, and girls were all over you. One night, you go to send a… dirty picture to some girl you’d been texting, when you accidentally sent it to the shy lad, Harry, from your art lectures. You started panicking, you weren’t gay— until he sent one back.
You’re sixteen years old and really popular at school, and have never really cared about your grades. That was, until the headteacher pulled you into his office and said that if your grades didn’t go up, you can’t play football for the schools team anymore. Then you cared. A little. He picked a lad, Harry Styles, to tutor you personally. You’d seen him like, once. Never spoke to him. He was tall, curly haired, skinny, soft featured. You were slightly shorter, muscly, shaggy haired, sharp angles. You tried to be dismissive of his help, but he was just so nice to you that you couldn’t do it for long. So innocent.
You were 20 years old, studying in university. You were popular there, had loads of mates. Louis Tomlinson was your Sociology professor. He was 28, and looked like he’d stepped right out of a magazine. He was gorgeous.
