Know: A Harry Styles Fan Fiction

It's a little past ten in the evening when I land in Connecticut. Upon stepping into the terminal, I immediately throw on my pitch black sunglasses and tuck my hair into my hood, which earns me some strange glances. But nobody stops and asks for a photo or crowds around me, which is my exact goal. I need to find Jules' house and I can't have anything slowing me down.

After an airport cab drops me off in Adamsville, it occurs to me that I still don't know where she lives. My decision to come here had been a bit rash to say the least. I had tried getting her address from Effy but of course, received a door in my face again.

I just want to get as close to finding her as possible. I would figure out the rest along the way.

I can see what Jules meant when she told me about her hometown. Adamsville is indeed small and sleepy. Actually, it sort of feels like I've stepped into a different time period. Every car I've passed has not been from this decade, buildings are scarce and the ones I do see are made of decaying brick, like the kind you'd see in those black and white films. Still, this town has a sort of charm to it.

I aimlessly wander along the snow-covered road until I see a lone shop with its lights still on. Inside the cramped space, a middle-aged woman behind the counter peers up at me from beneath her thick glasses.

"Hi, sweetie, I was just about to close up. How can I help ya?" she asks.

"I was wondering if you know where I can find a, erm... Coke can fort?" I tentatively say.

"You mean Davey's Fort? That's on the other side of town," she answers. "Take Timber Road all the way over the bridge and make a left on New Haven Lane. It'll be the middle house inside the court."

"Thank you," I say, and before turning around, I add, "Do you happen to sell any maps?"

She studies me with curious eyes.

"Your accent... where're you from?" she asks.

"England," I answer.

She laughs. "This is New England, dear."

"No, I mean, the country of England."

She stares at me blankly.

"United Kingdom. Great Britain. Kate Middleton?"

"Oh!" Instantly, her face lights up as if she's just heard the most exciting news of her life. "And you came all this way to see old Davey's Fort?"

"Yeah," I say, chuckling. It's not a complete lie. I was curious about this fort when Jules first told me about it.

"Hm! How about that?" she says, and grins to herself. "And everyone tells me Adamsville never gets any tourists."

She opens a drawer under the counter and fishes out a spiral of keys. "Come with me, sweetie, I'll take ya."

"It's alright, you really don't have to," I say.

"Nonsense!" she objects, swatting her hand in the air. "Us small-town folk treat everyone like family. Now let's go."

She bundles up in her coat and locks the shop behind her. We then board a rusting sky blue truck sitting behind the small building and take off down the road. Several times I try to make small talk but the loud, rumbling engine keeps it limited. I suppose it's not too bad because it gives me a chance to be alone with my thoughts.

When I peer out my side window, I see nothing but black, not even a sign of light aside from the faint headlights piercing through the fog ahead. The last street lamp I saw was outside the woman's shop, which would explain the tremendous amount of stars visible in the sky. My mind drifts as I stare at the galaxies above, and that leads me to remember about the Andromeda Galaxy. What an appropriate name for a girl who shines with the light of a trillion stars.

I only hope that I haven't dulled any of it.

"Here we are, the famous ol' Coke Can Fort," the woman announces as we pull off into a dirt road. The area is dense with high trees, whose branches are naked of leaves and sagging from recent snow. The homes are huge, three stories with many additions on the sides, but appear tiny in comparison to the towering forest surrounding them.

"I don't think Davey's awake right now," the woman says in a concerned tone. "He usually doesn't take visitors this late."

"That's okay, I'll work something out. Thanks for the lift," I say as I hop from her truck, "and Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, dear. Good luck!"

I smile at her gratefully, needing more of that luck than she'll ever know. Standing in the road, I wave as the ruckus from her truck grows quieter down the street until it blends into the night wind.

When I turn around, I gaze up at the Coke can fort in astonishment. Why had Jules talked down about it? This thing is remarkable. With a closer look, I see that the structure is, in fact, constructed of empty cans of Coca-Cola. Sure, it doesn't look like it would hold up in any real battle or combat but it apparently withstands snow and is almost as big as the house behind it.

There's even a doorway and intricate window openings near the top. As I begin to wonder if there are actual floors inside this fort, I give my head a brief shake and refocus my attention to the task at hand, the true reason for my trip.

There are two houses on either side of this Coke can fort. Both have two cars in the driveway. Both have strands of multicolored lights draping from the edges. Both appear about the same on the outside. But only one of them contains the girl I'm looking for.

Gripping tightly to the luck that the kind woman wished me, I trek up the steps of the house on the right and knock on the door. I count the seconds as they pass until a face appears then disappears behind the curtains in the window. My stomach lurches---I recognize it immediately.

Several more excruciating seconds pass and the door is still unanswered, so I reach up to knock again. Just before my knuckles strike the surface, the door swings open.

How this girl manages to look stunning in pyjama bottoms, an oversize jumper and a messy knot on the very top of her head is beyond me. She must have been reading but folds her glasses and tucks them into her collar. Her light brown eyes almost appear golden without the usual black line over them. They're large and alarmed as soon as they meet mine.

"Harry?" she says, her voice hushed. She nervously glances back inside then resumes to scrutinize me.

"Hi," I manage to croak.

She begins firing off questions faster than I can answer them. "What are you doing here? How did you find out where I live? Why aren't you with your family? Do you know what time it is?"

"I'm sorry for coming by so late but I took the first plane over here. I needed to see you," I explain.

"Is your girlfriend okay with this?" she asks with a bite in her tone.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Sure sounded like it to me."

"She's not my girlfriend. She thinks she is, but she's delusional. We're not together anymore. Please believe me."

"Why should I?" she asks apprehensively.

I pause for a brief second, sighing. "Because I'm about to tell you some more truth. Something I should've done a long time ago."

"What are you talking about?"

"I wasn't being completely honest with you in the beginning," I carefully start to say. "I hadn't broken up with Samanthora yet when you and I were going out. But then I lost every interest I had in her as soon as---"

"So you're saying you were two-timing us both?" she asks, her eyebrows rising in disgust, seeming to only focus on the first part.

"Yes," I say softly. "But only for a short time. I promise you."

"Only for a short time..." she echoes, staring into space. She doesn't say it but she doesn't have to---I can tell by the vacancy in her eyes that it doesn't make a difference how long I was juggling two relationships. It's the mere act that repulsed her.

"You said we were just friends anyway, didn't you? S-so, erm..." I trail off at the end, unsure of where I'm going with this sentence.

"Really?" she says, narrowing her eyes. "Are you really gonna use that against me now? Did you come here to apologize or just pass the blame?"

"I'm sorry."

Her mouth flatlines into a forced smile. "Thank you."

"Wait," I say, but she's already closed the door.

I knock again.

"What?" she says sharply, poking her head out.

"I really am sorry," I answer.

"And I really do thank you for that. I'm so glad you showed up on Christmas Eve and delivered this wonderful news. Thank you."

She starts to close the door again but I flatten my hand on it to stop her this time.

"Give me five minutes," I say, trying but miserably failing to keep the pleading tone out of my voice.

The whistling breeze blows a piece of her raven-black hair loose, and she tucks it behind her ear. She watches me, chewing on her bottom lip. She does that when she's thinking hard, so my hope begins to grow. I wonder if she knows how crazy it makes me.

"I've just spent eleven hours on a plane," I say, "all I ask from you is five minutes. Please."

After what feels like days, she steps outside, slowly and silently shutting the door behind her. Her hands retract into her sleeves as she hugs her arms across her body. I begin to remove my coat but she promptly shakes her head.

"Five minutes," she says. "I'm counting."

Notes