Chapter Text
The sun streaked golden stripes through the half-closed window blinds, settling over the rumpled duvets on the bed. Harry blinked his eyes open against a sunray falling directly over his eyelids, letting out a groggy groan as he rolled onto his back. The mattress shifted beside him and soon he felt a hand wrap around his waist, blonde hair tickling his chest as the scent of sweet vanilla shampoo filled his nostrils.
He loved mornings like this, waking up to sunlight instead of an annoying alarm, being able to sleep in and snuggle in bed with his girlfriend until their stomachs started growling for breakfast.
This was perfect.
“Morning, babe,” Taylor murmured into his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his bare skin.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Harry smiled lazily, returning the kiss to the top of her head.
She let out a quiet giggle as she snuggled closer. “Did you sleep well?”
“Never better,” he replied honestly.
“Good. You deserve some proper rest,” Taylor said, meeting his eyes.
Harry blinked slowly at her, his smile easy before his gaze dropped to her lips. “I deserve a kiss as well.”
“Oh no, that’s far too much,” Taylor teased with a laugh, shifting away slightly.
“C’mon,” Harry pleaded, dragging her back on top of him.
“No,” she protested, her giggles growing louder as Harry tried to grab her wrists and when that didn’t work, he rolled on top of her. “Oh my god, Harry– stop–” she fought helplessly beneath him, still laughing. “I have my own free will!”
Harry slowed his movements, grinning down at her. “And I have my needs and desires,” he said, brushing her hair away from her eyes, a gesture that seemed to convince her enough to accept her fate.
Taylor stared up at him, her laughter fading into a quiet but amused smile. “You’re so stupid.”
“And you’re so beautiful,” Harry replied, the teasing giving way to something far more sincere.
“I know. You already told me that,” she shot back smugly.
Harry shrugged. “And I’ll keep saying it. Sue me.”
Taylor studied him for another moment, smirking as she lifted a finger to push a curl from his forehead. The touch was tender, her hand lingering in his hair before she finally pulled him down into a sweet, lingering kiss. Harry melted into it instantly, he adored the taste of her chapstick and the warmth of her soft skin. But before he could fully savor it, Taylor pushed him off with a triumphant laugh. He could’ve bickered with her in bed all day if she hadn’t been so excited about making them croissants for breakfast, jumping off the mattress with purpose before Harry could imprison her in his embrace again.
Harry was usually the one who cooked everything but on his days off work, Taylor always wanted to make him something for a change, wanting him to take a break from cooking and not feel like he was still at work. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy his job as a cook in a restaurant, he’d always wanted to do something that involved his hobby, but still, it got tiring when you had to work all day, six days a week and not earn enough to match your ambitions.
Now they were eating croissants with ham and cabbage, their Earl Grey teas steaming in the air which was filled with Taylor’s ranting about her upcoming psychology test.
“–It’s basically worth twenty percent of my grade and I already know I’m gonna totally fuck it up,” she complained, bringing the cup to her mouth with a frustrated sigh.
“You’re gonna do great, don’t worry,” Harry reassured her calmly. “All you have to do is study.”
Taylor groaned. “But I wanted to spend the weekend with you, not with books again.”
“Look, I’m working on Sunday anyway, so you’ll have plenty of time to study while I’m gone.”
“You’re working?” Taylor asked, confusion and disappointment written all over her face.
Harry blinked. “Yeah? I thought you knew.”
“Jesus Christ, I totally forgot,” she buried her face in her hands for a moment. “I was hoping we could do something this weekend but we’re clearly just stuck laying around again.”
“Hey. I like laying around with you,” Harry smiled, completely unbothered.
“But the weather is so lovely this weekend. It’d be such a shame!”
Harry sighed, pulling out his phone. “Then we can go to the movies tonight or something,” he offered, already looking for the nearest cinema.
Taylor scoffed, picking up her croissant again. “That’s basically the same as watching TV here.”
Before Harry could answer, an email notification popped up on his screen and he stilled instantly when he saw the subject line.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, eyes wide as he opened the email.
Taylor paused, croissant halfway to her mouth. “What?”
He skimmed through it quickly, a smile spreading across his face. “Oh my god.”
“What happened?” Taylor stood up now, moving around the table to peek at his phone.
Harry looked up at her as soon as she appeared beside him, beaming. “We’re going to the Glastonbury Festival.”
“What?!” her voice shot up. “What do you mean?!”
“Remember when I sent them my portfolio and applied for a photo pass?” Harry explained and Taylor nodded quickly. “They just emailed me back saying it’s approved and they even gave me an extra free ticket. I can finally do some real concert photography!”
Taylor’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my goodness Harry, that’s brilliant! I’m so proud of you!” Another realisation hit her, making her gasp. “That means we’re going to Glasto today?! Together?!”
Harry laughed, nodding. “Yeah. We’re going to Glasto together.”
Taylor practically squealed. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it! Did I just accidentally manifest this?!”
“You probably did,” he chuckled, his fingers still shaking around his phone.
Taylor was jumping up and down now. “Yes! We’re going to Glasto!” she sang and danced along to her own celebration.
Harry stood from the table, gathering their empty plates. “Alright, love, go get ready. You know how long it takes you and we’ve got a three-hour journey ahead.”
Taylor stopped dancing instantly. “Right! You’re right, I should– yeah, do something about this bird’s nest on top of my head–“ she buried her hands in her hair before sprinting toward the bathroom.
Harry chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he walked to the sink, still not quite believing this was really happening.
See, this was exactly what he’d always dreamed of. Or, well, at least the first step toward it.
Cooking was something he enjoyed, sure, but photography… that was his real passion, something he’d always wanted to do professionally. He’d owned cameras since he was a kid, always shooting something or making videos and edits like there was nothing better to do. Because for him, there really wasn’t. The only other thing he was deeply enthusiastic about was music, so logically, the idea of becoming a concert photographer had grown from there.
That’s why, unlike Taylor, he decided not to go to university, knowing you didn’t really need a four-year degree to take good photos. Instead, he took multiple short courses and dove straight into the career path, doing small gigs and private events to build up his portfolio. He’d been doing that for a year now and with each day spent stuck doing the same things at the same level, his hope of making it big had slowly started to sink.
Now though, a brand-new glimpse of hope had finally appeared. This festival was big and filled with major artists he’d get to shoot, not just random local bands in sports bars. Even though this was unpaid and purely voluntary, it was still a huge step for him to get into the industry he wanted so badly to be part of. He’d get to photograph well-known artists and even just having their faces in his shots could bring the attention he needed.
And on top of that, he’d been given a free festival pass for both him and his girlfriend to enjoy together, so it was truly a win-win.
‧˚₊⊹ ──── ︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵ ──── ‧˚₊⊹
It was indeed very sunny in Somerset, the August weather still holding on to summer’s last warmth. Though it was only the first day of the festival, the fields were already packed with people as Harry and Taylor made their way through the crowd, determined to see as much as possible and make the most of their only day there.
Everywhere Harry looked, there was something demanding attention. Flags of every shape and size fluttered above the crowds, some so worn and patched together they looked like they’d survived a dozen festivals already. It made navigating easier too as people seemed to use them like landmarks, calling out things like “Meet you by the pink dragon!” or “I'm left of the giant mushroom!”
Taylor spun slowly on the spot, eyes wide. “This is insane,” she breathed, gripping Harry’s hand so she wouldn’t get swept away by the current of people.
The iconic Pyramid Stage towered over the field, its massive triangular structure visible from almost anywhere on the grounds. Even at times when no one was playing, it buzzed with anticipation and was surrounded with people sitting on blankets, drinking beers, laughing and arguing over who would get the best spot later. Nearby, street performers filled the gaps between stages; fire breathers, people painted head to toe in glitter and neon fabric, some juggling, others pretending to be living statues until someone jumped in surprise.
As they wandered deeper, the scenery shifted and the loud music got replaced by softer sounds drifting from the Green Fields. Here, the energy felt calmer, the tents around them selling handmade jewellery, crystals, vintage clothes and posters with sun-faded ink. People lounged on the grass, mostly barefoot, some playing acoustic guitars or lying with their eyes closed like the world had slowed just for them.
Once they’d walked through most of the grounds, Harry decided it was time to do what he’d actually come here to do. So when the sound of the upcoming act echoed from the Pyramid Stage, they headed in that direction again. Harry hated the idea of leaving Taylor on her own, so it felt like a godsend when they approached the crowd gathered near the stage and Taylor spotted one of her classmates, immediately falling into hugs and excited conversation.
Harry left her to it and slipped toward the side of the stage, flashing his photo pass to a security guard who waved him behind the barricade. A handful of other photographers were already there, lenses trained on a girl who’d just started performing. Harry lifted his camera without hesitation, moving from side to side to find the best angles, adjusting composition, shutter speed and aperture to create surreal visual effects in his shots.
He loved this, it was exactly where he’d always wanted to be. This was his element and what he thrived in.
When the performance ended, Harry reunited with Taylor near a rainbow tent and from there the pattern repeated itself. They grabbed Not-Dogs from a vegetarian stall before Harry headed off to shoot another set, leaving Taylor somewhere safe before finding her again afterward.
So far, not many of the artists he’d photographed had been big enough for his liking, judging by the fact that he didn’t recognise most of them and he considered himself a pretty big music fan. Then again, he hadn’t had much time for music lately, spending most of his days stuck at work where the radio never played anything but French songs.
Later, they lounged under a big tent nursing ginger ales while a DJ set played at a smaller stage nearby. Taylor scrolled through her phone, checking the lineup for the rest of the day like her life depended on it. She’d just taken a sip through her straw when her eyes suddenly widened and she nearly choked.
“Oh my god!” she gasped, thumping her chest as she coughed.
“Whoa, easy,” Harry held his hand up with a small chuckle. “What is it?”
“You know who’s performing in half an hour?!” Taylor beamed. “The fucking Exit!”
Harry raised a brow. “I’m sorry, who?”
“The Exit?!” she repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You seriously haven’t heard of them?!”
“Is it a band or something?” Harry asked, still lost.
“Yes! A huge one,” she slammed her palm onto the table for emphasis. “They only debuted this year and their album was a massive hit. They’re still kind of new but they’re blowing up insanely fast.”
Harry nodded, unimpressed. “Yeah, that’s probably why I haven’t heard of them.”
“Just because you haven’t doesn’t mean everyone else is also living under a rock,” she rolled her eyes.
Harry frowned. “Oh, excuse me, I’m–”
“What I’m saying, babe,” Taylor cut in, suddenly serious, “is that this is your main gig today. You have to take the opportunity to shoot them before they get too big for you to even try.”
“Okay, yeah, I got it, I got it,” Harry shifted in his seat, her tone convincing enough. “When did you say they start?”
“Soon! We need to get going, I want a good view too,” she announced, jumping up without waiting for an argument. “God, they’re fucking amazing. You’ll see.”
Harry downed the rest of his drink and hurried to catch up as she headed straight for the Pyramid Stage. “You’ve been listening to them?” he asked once he fell into step beside her.
Taylor shot him an amused glance. “Yeah? It’s kind of impossible not to when their album is literally everywhere. Honestly, I'm shocked you haven’t heard a single thing,” she said before abruptly stopping and pointing at a nearby poster. “See?! Right there! That’s them!”
Harry turned to look and was met with a photo that told him absolutely-fucking-nothing about the band aside from the fact that there were three male members. The picture was taken from the stage, capturing the backs of three guys standing side by side, facing a massive crowd packed into a venue. Their arms were slung around each other’s shoulders and waists, probably caught in a moment either just before or after bowing to the audience.
Harry snorted. “Wow. Yeah. Nice hair, I guess.”
Taylor laughed and smacked his bicep. “Oh, shut up.” Then she grabbed his hand, dragging him toward the stage with impatient strides while shouting for him to hurry up as the crowd thickened ahead.
There were far more people gathered now compared to the earlier acts and Harry didn’t like it at all, hating the idea of leaving Taylor alone in this crushing wave of bodies where someone could easily knock her over without even noticing. Especially with all the frantic fans around them who were already jumping, screaming and buzzing with anticipation. Harry knew there would be die-hard fans here and that alone made it feel more dangerous for her.
She was dragging him through the crowd when he made a sudden stop, forcing her to spin around and face him with a confused frown.
“C’mon,” she urged. “We’re still way too far back.”
“Tay, it’s completely packed at the front and I don’t want them to suffocate you,” he said, genuine worry thick in his voice. “Are you sure you want me to leave you here alone?”
“Are you insane?” Taylor laughed. “You have to go up front and shoot them. Don’t even think about ditching this because of me.”
“But– but you’re–” Harry stumbled over his words, glancing around anxiously, clearly torn.
“I’ll be fine, Harry. Look,” she said quickly, spinning around to scan the crowd until her eyes landed on a nearby girl about her age. “Hi! Nice to meet you, I’m Taylor.”
The girl smiled, shaking her hand. “Oh, hi– I’m Luna,” she introduced herself before gesturing to the girl beside her. “And this is my friend, Amy.”
“Ugh, gorgeous outfits,” Taylor gushed dramatically. “Anyway, would you mind if I joined you guys for this set? My boyfriend needs to go work and is way too scared to leave me alone.”
Luna glanced at Harry and offered a reassuring smile. “No worries at all. We’ll keep an eye on your girl,” she promised, already intertwining her fingers with Taylor’s.
“Thank you so much,” Harry said with a relieved sigh before turning back to Taylor. “Have fun, love. And don’t wander off, yeah?”
Taylor rolled her eyes, though she was clearly smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Just go already,” she waved him away.
Harry leaned in to kiss her temple before weaving back through the crowd toward the entrance that led behind the barricade. A few photographers were already gathered by the stage, chatting and adjusting their gear, but Harry still had enough time to swap lenses and clean the glass.
Just as he was mid-tweaking his camera settings, a voice rang beside him.
“Excited for the set?” another photographer asked, his grin edged with nervous energy.
Harry returned the smile before glancing back down at his camera. “Yeah. I’ve never shot big artists before so...”
“Oh, you’re gonna love it,” the guy said, his excitement almost making him breathless. “Honestly, I’m mostly using my photo pass just to hear them live and see them up close.”
“So you’re a big fan, huh?” Harry smirked.
“Who isn’t?” the guy scoffed, then raised a brow at him. “You’re telling me you’re not?”
“I actually only found out about them today,” Harry admitted.
“Oh god, that’s wild,” the photographer laughed, shaking his head. “You’re gonna love it, mate. Trust me.”
“Well, I’ve only heard good things so far,” Harry shrugged, slipping the camera strap over his head as the lights onstage began to shift.
Second later, a different music began to play, something simple and stripped down, all beats and no real melody, but the atmosphere shifted almost instantly. The chatter died out, replaced by excited cheers as every face turned toward the stage and the noise only grew louder when smoke started spilling from both sides, curling into the lights. Harry barely noticed when the guy beside him disappeared and when he finally glanced around, he spotted him already planted at the centre of the barricade, camera raised with slightly trembling hands. Harry chuckled to himself, feeling oddly calm compared to the others as he waited for what was about to unfold.
Then, finally, there was movement onstage and when a figure stepped out from backstage, the crowd erupted. He stopped at the centre, blonde hair catching the lights, his grin so wide his teeth gleamed brighter than the spotlights themselves. He bowed with a laugh before his feet started tapping against the stage in what looked suspiciously like an Irish dance, sending the audience into another wave of laughter and cheers.
He crossed the stage toward the drum kit, twirling the drumsticks in a quick little juggling act before finally settling in and starting to play. The moment the drums kicked in, the music filled out, gaining the weight and presence it was missing just a moment ago. Harry lifted his camera without thinking, snapping shots of the blonde drummer as he played with effortless skill, clearly enjoying every second of the attention.
Not long after, another figure emerged and the contrast was striking. Where the first had been all warmth and playfulness, this one was darker in every sense; tattooed skin, hair styled into a sharp high quiff, his movements slow and deliberate. While the drummer had grinned and joked, this guy walked with an almost intimidating nonchalance, his smirk lazy and dangerous enough to make the crowd shriek like a pack of thirteen-year-old girls. He didn’t linger in the spotlight, only lifted a hand in a brief wave before crossing to the other side of the stage, where a bass guitar waited. He slung it over his shoulder and joined in, the song finally settling into its true melody.
Harry snapped a few shots immediately, the bassist insanely photogenic with his sharp jawline, strong angles and the kind of face that looked good no matter where the lens found him.
What pulled him out of his shooting was the sudden, deafening crash of an electric guitar and the wave of screams that followed immediately after, the ground beneath him quite literally starting to shake. That was when he noticed the spot at the centre of the stage where the microphone stood was still empty and it hit him then that the lead singer still hadn’t come out yet. Harry lifted his camera without thinking, knowing instinctively that this was the member he needed to focus on.
He watched through the viewfinder as the electric guitar grew louder, a shadowy figure slowly emerging through the thick stage smoke while the lights flashed wildly, matching the chaos of the roaring crowd. The first clear thing that came into view was a loose white tank top, followed by tattooed skin stretching across strong arms. Messy fringe covered the guy’s face as he stared down at his guitar, fingers moving quickly across the strings while he walked toward the mic, making the music suddenly feeling alive, sharp and electric, the guitar pulling everything into a rock-heavy edge.
Harry barely paid attention to the guy himself at first and instead was too focused on framing, on composition, mesmerised by the way the smoke caught the lights and how unreal it all looked through his lens.
Then the guitarist flipped his head up, brushed his hair out of his eyes, leaned into the microphone and started to sing. His voice was soft, almost gentle, a stunning contrast to the rough melody beneath it and something about it cut straight through Harry. But it wasn’t just the talent.
It was recognition.
Harry froze, still staring through the grainy viewfinder as the guy sang, his body tensing more with each word coming out of his mouth. Slowly, he lowered the camera, the world sharpening into painful clarity as the real image replaced the one on his screen.
Time seemed to stop and Harry might’ve literally forgot how to breathe.
Sculpted cheekbones. Perfect collarbones. Messy caramel hair. An angelic voice and, fuck… those blue fucking eyes.
There was no way.
There was no fucking way.
That was Louis fucking Tomlinson.
Right there. Real. Standing on the stage at Glastonbury, fronting a rapidly rising band and singing like he belonged there.
But worse, more impossible, he was right in front of Harry.
The same boy Harry had tried desperately to forget for the past five years. The one he’d finally convinced himself was just a memory, someone he was sure he would never see again.
The surreal weight of it crushed into his chest all at once.
Harry couldn’t move, wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore but he was pretty fucking certain his mouth was hanging open.
Louis Tomlinson looked different and yet, somehow, still the same.
Harry could still see the sixteen-year-old boy he once knew, but he was also all grown up now. Arms covered in tattoos, sharper features, facial hair framing his mouth, his familiar brown hair looking messier, skin tanned, collarbones inked over and his arms were stronger, muscles more defined.
The boy Harry remembered, the sweet, adorable one was gone and in his place stood a hot rockstar.
He was standing right in front of him.
A sudden voice snapped Harry out of his spiral. “Hey mate, don’t forget about the three-song rule!”
He turned to see the same photographer he’d spoken to earlier standing beside him, watching him with an amused glint.
“What?” Harry asked, still not fully present.
“You’ve gotta shoot for at least three songs before you can wrap it up and actually enjoy the show,” he explained easily.
“Oh– yeah, I know, I wasn’t–” Harry stuttered, scrambling for words but his thoughts refused to line up. “I just kind of zoned out and–”
The photographer’s laugh cut him off. “It’s alright. I get it, they’re good, no judgment here. Just figured I’d remind you so your boss wouldn’t kill you.”
“I’m just volunteering,” Harry replied absently, his gaze flicking back to the stage.
“Oh! Right– I’m sorry,” the guy laughed again, shaking his head at himself. “Pretend I didn’t say anything then. Enjoy the show!”
He gave Harry a friendly pat on the shoulder before walking away, leaving him alone with his internal crisis once more.
Harry looked back at Louis, the other boy still completely oblivious to Harry standing just a few metres away, head bobbing as he played his guitar in front of the screaming crowd. That was when Harry really noticed how fucking nervous he was, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst through his chest.
Why did he still have this effect on him?
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. It had been five fucking years for god’s sake and Harry had already moved on, hadn’t he? So why was he panicking now? Why was he still feeling so much?
Stubbornly, he lifted his camera, forcing himself to act like this was just another singer, someone random he had no history with. He focused on framing, on angles, on the mechanical comfort of pressing the shutter without thinking about who he was shooting.
It worked for maybe a minute, only until the first song ended.
Louis let the guitar rest against his chest as he lifted both hands to soak in the applause, his smirk smug as his eyes roamed over the crowd, making Harry’s pulse spike violently once again.
What if he sees me?
Harry almost dropped into a crouch, lifting the camera fully in front of his face like a shield, hiding behind it as much as he could.
And then Louis started to speak.
“Good evening, Glastonbury!” he shouted into the mic, grinning as the crowd roared back at him. “What a fucking pleasure it is to see all these beautiful faces. You lot are fucking incredible tonight, give yourselves a shout!”
The audience exploded again but Harry barely registered it, his eyes fully locked on the boy in front of him. Louis’ charm came effortlessly, like he didn’t even have to try, like he just knew how much everyone loved him. He started talking something about how much he loved performing at home but all Harry could focus on was that fucking smirk. Arrogant, dangerous and perfectly calculated to hold attention. The way he laughed when the crowd screamed back, the pure sound of it, the crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Blue eyes.
It was all too much. It was all too familiar.
Harry couldn’t take it any longer.
With a spin so abrupt it made a few photographers glance his way, Harry turned and headed for the barricade exit, his steps hurried and tight with tension. He went straight for the spot where he’d last seen Taylor, relief flooding him when he found her almost immediately. He pushed through the crowd, doing his best to ignore the voice spilling from the stage behind him.
He was only a few steps away when Taylor noticed him, surprise flashing across her face. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you taking photos?” she asked, clearly bewildered.
“I want to go home,” Harry said flatly, his jaw slack.
“What?” Taylor frowned. “No– we can’t. What about the pictures?”
Harry’s legs trembled beneath him, impatience crawling under his skin. “I have enough, we can go now. Please. It’s getting late.”
She sighed, hesitating. “Can we at least stay until they’re done? I really wanted to hear them.”
“No,” Harry blurted, too fast and too sharp. “No way– I– I don’t feel good,” he scrambled for an excuse. “I don’t know if it was the food or maybe heatstroke, but something’s wrong and I–“
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Taylor interrupted gently, concern filling her eyes as she took his hands in hers. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”
Harry hadn’t even noticed until now but she was right, his hands were trembling.
What the fuck.
“No. No, I’m not,” Harry admitted and fuck, even his breathing was uneven. “I just feel like I need to lie down somewhere quiet and we still have a three-hour drive ahead and if we don’t leave now–“
“Okay,” she said quickly, squeezing his hands. “It’s okay, babe. We’re going home, alright?” Then she turned to her new friends. “Hey girls! I’m so sorry but we need to leave.”
“Oh shit– but what about The Exit?” Luna inquired, frowning.
“My boyfriend doesn’t feel well,” Taylor explained, clearly disappointed herself. “I have to go. Maybe I’ll see them another time.”
“Oh! They’re playing in London in a few months, we should go together!” Amy suggested brightly.
“Oh my god, yes! We definitely should,” Taylor rejoiced, but Harry was already tugging her hand with urgency, so she offered one last wave and a quick, “Text me!” before letting herself be dragged away.
As Harry dragged Taylor behind him, he stole one last, accidental glance toward the stage, finding Louis filling the massive screen, biting his lower lip in concentration as he started another song, fingers moving over his guitar strings. Harry’s head snapped forward immediately, his pace quickening as he pushed toward the exit, Taylor struggling to keep up behind him.
She kept casting worried looks his way, asking if he was okay, if he needed water or if he wanted to stop but Harry didn’t answer. He just stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, shoulders tight, the music slowly fading as distance grew between them and the stage.
He needed to get out. Away from the crowd, away from the noise and away from the electric guitar, the soft voice, the memories clawing their way back to the surface.
He needed to get away from Louis Tomlinson.