The hotel was like any other that they had stayed in thus far, shared rooms, a lot of security, fancy stationary stashed in the nightstand on top of a bible.

Louis had joked that it was probably for writing letters to Jesus, a joke that Harry had politely smiled at. He wasn't finding much all that funny these days anyway.

It hadn't gone unnoticed by the other lads, he seemed elsewhere, always thumbing a piece of paper he never let anyone see.

It had taken him ages to find her address, since he knew going the easiest route wasn't an option, and with him moving from country to country faster than he could finish a meal, the prospects of looking her up himself seemed rather daunting.

Nonetheless, his charm wouldn't go amiss, and he would have that paper in his hands to ponder what to do with it.

He didn't know why this hotel, why this night or what made it special from many others. His text, the hope, a beacon in the storm seemed to go unnoticed. It didn't occur to him that maybe this blast from the past was just an unwelcome guest in her conscience.

He had also conveniently "forgotten" what had transpired between them almost two years ago. Surely she wouldn't hold a grudge over something so silly.

Even he knew that wishful thinking.

He could hear her now. "Boys," she would scoff, the image of her eyes rolling practically out of her head elicited a chuckle out of him. Those eyes seared into his memory long before modern technology made stalking a fun past time.

With Louis fast asleep in the other bed, Harry was wide awake, wanting a moment just to himself, to feel normal until night broke into dawn and the cycle of a popular boy band member began again.

It could be so tiring being in the middle of such a well oiled machine. Everything had a schedule, every movement had a time frame. He really couldn't go anywhere without security and risk running into a crowd or paparazzi, he couldn't even piss on his own half the time.

So at half two, with his roommate sleeping, Harry decided to catch up on some Facebook time.

He had hidden his well enough, or so he thought, blending in with the impostors quite seamlessly. As he scrolled down his news feed in a trance like state, seeing relationship status' change, skimming over mind numbingly painful posts, a name stopped him dead in his tracks.

Kate Fairfield, someone almost nobody knew existed.

He couldn't have imagined it, not really thinking to look for her here, the whirlwind had swept him up too quickly. He hadn't even realized they could still have mutual friends, truthfully up until he had sent the text message, and between then and this very moment Harry didn't think of her at all.

It wasn't because she had ignored him, or that he had been holding his own grudge over their demise, her had just been so busy.

Yeah…that was it, he reassured himself.

Clearing his throat, the cursor, much like his finger on the proverbial trigger of the mouse, hoovered over her name. The pause he took would have agonized even the most patient person. His uncertainties that seemed to only manifest when he was alone were on high alert. He wasn't so sure what he was scared of, if scared was even the right emotion.

He psyched himself up, only to back out right at the last moment. What if she could somehow detect that he was looking at her profile, if he could even see it at all. What if that wasn't the same Kate and he had worked himself up over the wrong girl?

Then he started to worry about things not even pertaining to the task at hand. Things like her having seen the tabloids hard on for what girl he was standing next to these days, becoming suddenly self-conscious of what she must have been thinking.

Suddenly a noise jolted Harry away from the screen sitting on his lap, the faint tick seeming to echo through the entire room like a bomb erupting fifty feet away.

The look of sheer terror on his face rivalled that of the victims of that horrible girl from the ring. His head turned with the speed of a sloth back towards the screen.

She had always been horrible at keeping things a secret. He had told her one once, well he had told her many but this instance stuck out like a sore thumb. He had made something up, wanting to prove that she was shit at not spilling juicy gossip. Two days later everyone knew, and she was flush when he confronted her about it, embarrassed rather than angry that she had been caught and that he had won.

Smiling at the sweet memory, Harry scrolled up and down her unblocked profile. He didn't know what to look at first, like a kid in a sweets shop wanting to try everything before his parents dragged him out.

He would save her face for last, wanting to bask in it, dream of it clearer than he had in ages.

He knew the basics, where she was now and where she was from, her favourite films, but he picked up some new information. Music she had come to like, books she had read and grown fond of. It was as if he was discovering a new species, a distant cousin to this long lost girl.

Once he had meticulously combed through the textbook that was Kate's new life, Harry hit on what he wanted to see the most.

She didn't have many albums, and what were in those were scarce of her face. Her profile pictures would be the gold mine he hoped.

Right now her default was s silhouette, hers he assumed, pitted against the setting sun fighting for one last moment to shine. He couldn't see her face, desperately searching for a glimpse before he clicked, almost as if he was preparing himself for the prick of a needle plunging into the sensitive skin of his arm.

The sound rung out again as he took the plunge, convinced this one would have woken Louis up, him grumbling about all of the noise Harry was making.

There she was though, in all of her glory. She was beautiful, painfully so. A blonde, his type, something people had made a note of. Blue eyes as big a saucers, the kind that grabbed hold of you and would not let go no matter how hard you kicked against their current.

He sat like that with her photo open, not a care in the world for what seemed like hours. He had forgotten that he was in a hotel room, that he was the Harry Styles. All that existed was a bunch of pixels moulded together to make the flesh of her.

He had even forgotten what sat in his hoodie pocket until a thought finally crossed his mind.

He wished he could hear her voice.

That was all it took for his brain's mechanics to whir up again. He knew where she was, and if he could wind her up enough he could at least drag a phone call out of her. That was the best part of knowing somebody sometimes, even if you had been out of touch for a while. The same old things could push all of the right buttons, buttons that needed to be pushed quickly for his benefit.

Kate had always been so polite, it was part of her charm she would say. But she could also be cold, shut things off without a care, and she was a runner. She could ignore you, even run away from you, but if you were persistent enough, she could crack. Oh how he wanted her to crack.

Slamming his laptop shut with such force, he tore open the side drawer on the nightstand. Fishing through the top anxiously, he yanked out the stationary pad, the bible following shortly after that, hitting the floor with a thud.

Leaning over to grab it just after he flicked the bedside lamp on, finally hearing a groan from the boy on the other side of the room.

"Harry, mate, what are you doing?" He groaned.

"Writing a letter to Jesus."