Know: A Harry Styles Fan Fiction

This isn't technically a chapter, but a compilation of chapters or partial chapters (scenes) that didn't make the final cut of the story. Some of them are first drafts, so you might come across something you've already read, while others are completely new and have never been posted. At any rate, these are all totally optional to read and do not affect the final story in any way.
Thank you again to anyone and everyone who supported this fanfic. I know I'm repeating myself but I seriously appreciate it.
Enjoy.

fuckyouharrystyles x.

IMPORTANT: If you have not already read my story, these deleted chapters will most definitely spoil it for you.

• • • • •

Chapter 6: Friend Is Safe
Harry calls Jules on the phone while she's doing homework.

"I was walking by the London Eye earlier and it made me think of you," he says.

"Why?"

"Because it's beautiful."

I feel myself turning the color of a ripe tomato. Thank god we're only on the phone.

"I've never been on it," I confess.

"You must be joking."

"...No."

"People from all over the world come to London for this thing and you're telling me you've never been on it?"

"I just haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Well you're getting around to it now."

"What?"

"You heard me. You're going on the London Eye with me, right now. Where do you live?"

"Hold on there, buddy," I chuckle nervously. "What makes you think I want to go with you?"

"Becaaaause," he drags. "It'll be fun." Sensing my reluctance, he adds, "Go with me as a friend."

Friend is fine. Friend is safe. I like the word friend.

"Okay," I say. "Just as a friend."

I feel kind of silly for wishing Effy was still home to help me pick something to wear, but it's suddenly so difficult to be satisfied with how I look. One dress makes me feel fat while another top makes me feel skanky. Why did it matter to me anyway? I'm not trying to impress this guy. He's just a friend, at most. That's all he'll ever be.

Another text arrives in my inbox from Harry.

On my way. 15 mins.
Already? My hair's still wrapped in a towel! I quickly decide on some black skinnies, a band tee and a thick, knit cardigan. I apply a little more makeup on than usual, leaving me no time to do my hair. I guess a wet bun will have to do.

Knock, knock, knock
"Coming!" I holler as I stab the last bobby pin in my hair.

When I swing open the door, I don't realize it's him at first because his messy mop of hair is tucked into a beanie and his black sunglasses obscure his jade green eyes.

"Harry?" I say apprehensively.

"Yeah?" he replies, taking off his glasses.

"It's not sunny in here."

"Erm, right. So I take it you haven't figured it out yet."

"Figured what out?"

"Never mind. All set to go?"

I nod, lock the door, and we journey down twenty-one flights of stairs. Outside, it's a bit chillier than I thought it would be. My cardigan, although thick, has many tiny holes that the draft enters through, and gives me goosebumps.

"Do you want my coat?" Harry asks.

"No thanks," I say, recognizing the romantic gesture.

It's no use. He's already removing his outer layer and blanketing me with it. I want to protest but it's so warm and smells deliciously like him.

It's a short ride on the subway to the London Eye. When we get there, I stop in my tracks, awe-stricken. The world famous ferris wheel towers over the tallest skyscrapers, its bright, changing lights seem to illuminate the entire city. And that's only at ground level.

We stand in our capsule and I feel the structure jolt to life. As we're lifted higher and higher, the London skyline gradually comes into view. Lights from the ferris wheel beautifully color the ripples on the river below. City lights seem to twinkle in sync with the stars in the sky. Once we're at the peak, the sight is absolutely spectacular.

I stand close to the plexi-glass, taking in the panoramic.

"Aren't you glad I convinced you to go?" Harry asks from behind me.

I nod. "I don't know why I haven't gone before."

For a few minutes, we don't say anything, only admiring London's beauty and listening to the low hum of the outside air.

"Thanks again for the other night," I finally say.

"No problem at all," he says. I'm not facing him but I can practically hear his handsome smile.

"Do you always hang around night clubs waiting to rescue girls from dirtbags?" I ask sarcastically.

"Not quite," he chuckles. "I don't frequent bars or clubs or anything. I'm not big on drinking, just enjoy being around my mates."

"Ah, I see," I say. "So what do you do? School? Work?"

"I'm not in school currently," he begins, sounding careful. "I'm just part of a horrible band that sings horrible songs."

I swivel around to him and laugh. His eyes twinkle as he watches. I can tell he's satisfied with how easily he can bring a smile to my face.

"I'm sure you're not that bad," I say.

He shrugs. "Some people like us, which is cool."

"Can I ask you something, Harry?" I say.

"Anything." He closes the space between us but I take half a step back.

I look up at him. His skin glows light blue from the lights of the wheel. Those emerald eyes are staring at me with intent again. "What are you doing with me?" I ask.

His eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"First off..." I begin slowly. "You're not interested in me. You can't be. What are you doing this for?"

His eyebrows furrow even deeper, in a vaguely angry way. "What makes you think I can't be interested in you?"

"Look at you, Harry," I laugh, gesturing at him. "And look at me. You're like one of those guys I'd daydream about in high school but don't know I exist."

"Then you went to high school with a lot of blind guys."

He's tempting, this boy. His words are almost as good as his looks. It's taking everything I have not to fall in his arms and let him sweep me away like some fairy tale prince charming. I look past him, at the foggy horizon. I try to focus on that instead of the eyes I can feel gazing at me.

He leans in closer. His chest rises with a slow breath. I feel his arm around my waist as he pulls me in and whispers, his voice low and gravelly, "Besides, we're just friends, remember?"

• • • • •

Chapter 20: Welcome To Cowlingham
Jules and Harry find a spot to sit at the outdoor theater.

"Harry?" I say.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you like me?"

He laughs. "I'm sorry?"

"Why do you like me?"

"Are we really going over this again, Jules?"

"Well I just wanna know, because um..." I trail off, unsure of how to phrase my thoughts.

"Whatever it is, you know you can tell me," he says, his expression sincere.

"Okay, so I was wondering, why me? There's a million other girls out there that are dying for your attention, girls that are way prettier and cooler and whatnot."

"There's always going to be someone prettier, someone cooler, or whatever your concern is," he says.

He removes his hands from his pockets and takes mine, fiddling with my fingertips as he talks.

"But I don't care," he continues. "They're not you."

"But why me? Why am I good enough for you? I didn't even know who you were."

He interlocks our fingers and places it in his lap. A prominent smile grows along his lips as his jade eyes sparkle at me.

"That's exactly why," he says.

• • • • •

Chapter 27: Heartbreaker
[Harry's POV] Instead of going to Louis' birthday party, Harry has the boys over at his apartment.

We spend the afternoon in my flat, gathered around the telly and taking turns on Halo.

"Zayn, look out! Behind you!" Louis yelps.

It's too late. One of the alien enemies has found Zayn and killed him.

"Come on, respawn, respawn, respawn," he mutters, focusing on the screen.

Niall emerges from the kitchen hugging two bags of potato crisps.

"Don't worry, I'll share," Niall says before any of us say anything.

He plops on the sofa between me and Liam and digs his hand into the bag.

"So how've you been, Harry?" Liam asks. "We hardly see you outside of work ever since you told us you were seeing that girl. Jules, was it?"

"Yeah, but I might've just ruined that for myself," I answer in dismay.

"What do you mean?" Niall asks, shoving a handful of crisps into his mouth and handing the bag to me.

My appetite all day has been nonexistent so I pass it to Liam.

"She found out about Samanthora," I answer.

"How?" Liam asks.

"Answering machine."

"Oooh, Harry, rookie mistake!" Louis says, not taking his eyes off his game. "Never let the current girl find out about the ex on her own."

"Right, but that wasn't even the worst part," I say. "Samanthora was chatting away in the message, calling herself my girlfriend and everything."

This time, all the lads let out sympathetic 'oooh's and displeased groans.

"I've always thought that girl was a bit off," Liam says.

They all mutter and nod in consensus.

"So Jules thinks you've cheated on her now, doesn't she?" Niall asks, crunching on another handful of crisps.

"Well, yes, but erm..." I'm not quite sure how to go about this part. It's the part that nobody knows and that I'm highly, highly ashamed of.

"Harry," Liam says slowly, "you haven't cheated on her, have you?"

I can feel Liam and Niall's burning glares but I avoid their eyes and watch the game onscreen. A deep exhale expels from my lungs.

"Technically, yes. I did," I say in a tiny, mouse-like voice.

Louis pauses the game and throws his hands in the air, flipping the controller over in the process.

"Oh, for fuck's sake Harry, what's the matter with you?!" he scolds.

"I didn't mean to," I weakly defend.

The boys all start talking at once, until Zayn says, "Guys! Let him explain."

Zayn isn't the most talkative person in the world, so when he does say something, we all know to pay attention. He nods in my direction and all their eyes shift to me.

"I did date Samanthora and we did break up but..." I sigh, "there was a bit of an overlap between her and Jules."

"Why?" Louis presses. "Couldn't you just break up with Samanthora so you wouldn't have to lie to Jules?"

"I didn't have to lie to her anyway. She never asked if I was seeing anyone else. She didn't even want to go out with me in the first place so I thought we were just friends," I answer.

"Just... friends?" Niall echoes as they all give me strange looks.

"At least that's what we kept saying, but I knew I couldn't stay away," I say quietly. "I was seeing Jules a lot but Samanthora and I were still together and erm... I don't know. I just sort of made my decision."

"And you left Samanthora? Just like that?" Liam asks.

"If you met Jules and really knew her, and see her the way I have, you would've done the same thing," I answer with confidence. "She's beautiful, guys. She's headstrong and witty and sometimes shy in the most adorable way. Most of all, she didn't know who Harry Styles was and she didn't care. She liked Harry. But now she hates him."

Their expressions change again, etched with sadness and gloom.

"Have you tried talking to her?" Niall asks.

"I went to her flat. She's gone home to America," I answer.

Suddenly, they perk up, exchanging glances.

"Harry," Zayn says with a slowly growing smile, "what are you still doing here?"

I feel my mood start to lift as I read the other lads' faces.

It looks like I'm going to America.

• • • • •

Chapter 31: Small World (originally called Gray Eyes)
Instead of going on a date with Stanford, who she already knows, Jules goes on an actual blind date.

This is always the tricky part of blind dates, finding them in the meeting location. I slowly walk down the aisles of the dining area, keeping a close eye for any guy sitting alone. The diners are mostly couples, groups of friends or families, and then I spot a guy by himself at a booth.

"Hello, you must be Jules," he says with a broad smile.

"Yes, and you're Rothley, right?" I say, sitting down.

We shake hands, his are firm and strong, and begin to flip through the menu. I sneak a glance at him. He's in a white shirt and denim vest that looks a bit too tight on him. His naked face gives evidence that he shaved no more than an hour ago, his carbon black hair is combed over to one side, and his gray eyes dart up at me, catching me staring.

"Do you know what you're going to get?" he asks.

"Uh, no not yet," I stammer, avoiding his eyes. "I've never been here before."

"I'd go with something simple, like the grilled shrimp," he suggests.

After the waiter takes our order, Rothley clasps his hands on the table and looks me over.

"So what do you do?" he asks.

I tell him about my internship at London Studios and he tells me he studies electrical engineering at a university closeby. While he goes into detail about about how a circuit board works and the mechanisms of something or other, I find myself daydreaming about Harry. I wonder how he's doing, what he's been up to. I wonder if he's on tour or relaxing at home. But most naggingly, I wonder if he's seeing anyone, like that girl who was apparently his girlfriend, or one of the millions of girls worshipping the ground he steps on.

I tune back in just in time to hear the second half of a sentence. "...which is incompatible with a red cord."

"Oh, I see," I say, nodding with weakly feigned interest.

"Your accent is quite charming. Are you an American?" he asks.

"Yeah, I come from a little state called Connecticut."

"Never heard of it. I thought there was only New York and California in America."

Harry had a better knowledge of geography.
As soon as that thought enters my mind, another one replaces it. Cut it out, I mentally berate myself. I'm always comparing other guys to Harry. It's my worst dating habit and I've yet to kick it.

But truthfully, no one is as sweet, no one is as caring. No one makes me laugh as hard, no one gives me butterflies or goosebumps, not even close. No one can come close to Harry because no one is Harry. No one has ever made me as happy while equally and crushing my heart at the same time.

"Well, Connecticut is right next to New York," but he seems to have lost interest in the topic.

"Jules," he says, smacking his lips as if tasting my name. "That name is so peculiar. Do all Americans have peculiar names like that?"

I want to say, Your name isn't exactly common either, Rothley, but instead, I politely reply, "No. Just mine, I guess."

"Is it short for anything? Julia? Juliet?"

"Just Jules."

Thankfully, our food arrives on two steaming plates, ending this annoying exchange. We work on our dinner without saying another word. Even eye contact is awkward so my eyes lazily wander around the room, feeling a shortness of breath every time they land on a moppy head of hair that even remotely resembled Harry's.

It was both fascinating and humiliating the way I constantly think about him, no matter what context I'm in. Sometimes I wonder if he's thinking about me at the exact same time I'm thinking about him. Would that create a thought portal between our minds? Could it answer the question of telepathy once and for all?

Just when I shake the ridiculous idea from my mind (of course he doesn't think about me, he's surely moved on by now), I notice a mop of curly brown hair that looks too familiar to be anyone else.

Notes