; adjective; (of a person) appealing to look at; sexually alluring.

When Harry was three, his sister would pull his hair up into pony tails with her sparkly hair ties and hide bows within his chocolate tufts. As a seven year old, Gemma didn't know boys weren't supposed to have pony tails with pink bows. And Harry, being Harry, didn't think there was anything wrong with that. Just like he didn't think there was anything wrong with playing with his sister's dolls while she was away at school.

Everything was still innocent. The realities of the world hadn't reached him yet.

When Harry was five, he loved coloring. At school, at home, on the walls, on his clothes. If he wasn't blowing bubbles at the cat, he was drawing pictures of himself blowing bubbles at the cat. Harry wasn't interested in sports. He was very supportive at Gem's softball games but it was because he loved her, not because he enjoyed it.

His mom thought that these were some of the "signs," as if Harry had a disease.

When Harry was seven, his mom caught him kissing his neighbor. Gemma had previously explained to Harry that people who love each other kiss to express their love, which Harry explained to his neighbor. They decided that they loved each other very much, enough to share their Gold Fish at snack time, so why not?

His sister called him a stud when he told her he'd already had his first kiss.

She called him queer when she found out it was with a boy.

When Harry was ten, he held hands with Sarah McKinnley at school, and again at a Spider-man themed birthday party. He didn't tell Gemma this time, she was still kind of mad at him for kissing Thomas, but he wished he would've. Maybe she could tell him he always felt uncomfortable and shaky when Sarah kissed him on the cheek.

They broke up because Harry "wore too much pink."

At age thirteen, the word "fag" was all the rage. If you didn't play Land Of Death, you were a fag. If you did, you were a fag. If your mom packed your lunch, you were a fag. If she didn't, you were a fag. No one at Harry's school knew the meaning of the word, so Harry never took the word to heart when he was called a fag because he didn't know who Gavin The Gamer was.

But even as he kissed Shelby Marcs in the closet at his first middle school party, he knew he was a fag.

Now, the big turn of events happened at a party he attended when he was 17. The night Harry lost his virginity.

Kind of.

His therapist liked to tell him that he lost it if he thought he lost it. He would say, "Harry, do you think you lost it?" in that condescending way that therapists talk. But you don't get any virginity redoes. So yes, he lost it to a girl. Which means he is totally straight.

Straight if you don't add Louis to the equation.

But that's pretty much inevitable, innit?

"You. Are. Straight," Harry says, staring into the mirror in his bathroom.

His eyes are dark and rimmed red, from crying or lack of sleep, he doesn't know. His hair is an oily, tangled mess. His skin is sickly pale. Harry Styles was a mess. A really messy mess.

"Hi honey, how's the city? How are you?"

The tea doesn't help him once he's in the kitchen. It only warms his hands and burns is tongue. Niall makes some pretty good tea though, knows how to make it sweet like Harry likes it. But Niall is not talking to him so he settles for the organic tea his mother sends him every month.

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'm doing pretty good, so is Stanley. He says hello."

Work. You have work where you are completely straight, he thinks to himself as he pulls on a pair of his black converse opposed to his favored brown boots. Converse are straight guy shoes.

Louis' the only exception to that rule.

"Have you found a job yet?"

Harry panics once he's outside. How do straight guys walk? Is that a thing? Is there, like, a straight guy swing of things. How does Niall walk? Or Jaxson? Jaxson has a little limp thing going on. Harry always wondered if one of his legs was shorter than the other but maybe that's how it's supposed to look.

"Oh, that's lovely dear but you do know you need a real career, right? Stan said he can maybe squeeze you in at the law firm if you need him to."

Harry's boss asks him if he's okay once he's at work. He looks up alarmed, his shoes squeaking against the floor. The florescent lights highlight on the fact that he looks practically dead and that's quite ironic considering Zayn thought he was a zombie when they first met and on that day him and Louis were cuddling and--

"Hello? Styles, are you sure you're okay? You're not looking as pretty as you usually are. Your girlfriend break up with you?"

Yes, yes my girlfriend broke up with me except my girlfriend was a boy who wasn't my girlfriend yet and I did the breaking up with part.

"Yo, he's fine. He just took it up the ass a little bit deeper than usual last night."

That comment breaks Harry out of his self pity party and his head snaps up in the direction of Jaxson. Eyes narrowed and teeth barred, Harry replies, "Shut the fuck up, man," to his ignorant coworker and then turns back to his boss, "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just had a long night."

He shoots Jaxson another glare in case he was thinking to add another snide remark before stalking off toward the back room to clock in, leaving his boss with raised eyebrows.

"Alright, Honey. So, I talked to your friend Niall and he tells me you're seeing someone?"

Niall ignores him when he gets to work, ignores him throughout the day, and ignores him at the end of his shift. Before Harry can reach him on his way out the door, Niall has his phone pressed against his ear saying, "Hold on one second Liam, I'm leaving work now."

Harry has come to two conclusions by the time his nose is red and raw from standing outside, watching Niall walk away. 1) Liam probably told NIall what happened with Louis and 2) Harry was royally fucked. The latter he's known for awhile.

"Harry, how could you do this to our family? I thought you were over this. What happened with your therapist? This is such a major set back."

The walk home is quiet. He doesn't try to walk straight, or gay, or like anything. He just drags his feet until he makes it to the bridge across from his apartment building. The bridge looks down over a small stream beside the park he once took Louis too.

"I don't know what has happened to you, I don't know what is going on, but Harry Edward I swear to everything you love the most in this world if you don't break things off with that... With that queer, I will tell Stanley and he will fix it like he did last time, do you understand me?"

A man and a woman come walking down the path, fingers intertwined, bodies touching shoulder to hip. The man leans over, brushing the black strands of her hair from her ear as he whispers something. It's enough to make her erupt in giggles and lay her head on his shoulder.

Harry looks away and directs his attention to the dark water as the giggles fade. Once he's sure he doesn't hear anymore footsteps, quiet giggles, or silent whispers, he cries.

"I'm serious, Harry. I've told you before and I will tell you again, I am not going to raise a faggot. Imagine if Theresa found out, or Jillian. Do you know what they would do to me? I would be ruined. Ruined! Do you hear me? Think about what would happen to Stan? He'd lose his job!

"How could you be so selfish, Harry?"

Harry finds himself at a bar, three shots and an hour later. The bar stool he's sitting on is pretty comfy and the music they're playing is enough to influence Harry to stay a little longer after each sip of whatever fruity drink he has in his hand.

If he were sober, he'd probably think it made him look a little gay, but drunk Harry is lucky he can't see straight because if he could, he'd find himself inside the closest gar bar as soon as he could get up off this seat.

But the seat is comfy and he can't see straight, so he'll stay.

There's a heavy waft of peach and vanilla before there's a body seated beside him. In his intoxicated state, he makes out blonde, a lot of blonde. And red. Red dress, red lips, red nails.

"Hi there sexy," A red nail trails it's way up his arm and the red lips curl into a smile and the red dress is harboring a pair of breasts.

Female.

Harry half waves with the arm the isn't occupied with her hand as it curls its way around him, "Hi."

Her eyes are blue, really really blue and they remind him of someone. Someone close to him and now her hair is short and light brown and her nose is turning pink and she is no longer a she and--

"Now, what is a sexy thing like you doing alone in a place like this?"

"Trying to forget," he takes a sip of his drink, mumbling into the glass.

She resembles a snake now, tongue curling around syllables and vowels and Harry should get out of here but he's drunk and there is a snake trying to pursue him and a snake is a reptile which is related to the lizard and you know who has a lizard?

"How about we create some memories you'll want to remember?" Her other hand is taking Harry's drink out of his hand. She nods at the bartender and tells him to add it to her tab before she's helping Harry out of his bar stool.

He makes sure to grab his coat and then he's being dragged out into the cold. Her hand is warm against his arm but it's not a comforting warmth. Just like the warmth from her head on his shoulder is not comforting, just warm.

"What's your name?" Harry slurs as the blonde snake hails a cab. She's trying to make him eat the apple and though he's trying his best to resist, the apple looks delicious from afar.

She helps him into the cab and takes it upon herself to slide his jacket onto her pale arms, "What's yours?"

"My name's Harry. Now your turn," He grins at her, green eyes disappearing behind his lids as things become so much warmer.

"Nice to meet you Harry. My name's Taylor."