Sneak peek of Body Switching Fic! (Patreon)

So this is the first big sneak peek of the body switching fic! I hope you guys like it so far because I'm liking it :) 

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i. 

Harry was in an awful mood. 

One of the worst moods he thinks he's ever been in actually, next to when the blame was pinned on him for breaking a glass door with his ball around the time he was ten. It was one so positively bad that even how the wind blows begins to piss him off somehow; the way it pushes his hair out of sorts or makes the fabric of his shirt billow only serves to make him more irate. Even when his phone buzzes with a message, he feels annoyance fizzle from the center of his palms outward until his fingers curl into fists. God save anyone who'd come into contact with him today, because he's fairly certain he's been short with everyone. The few fans he'd stopped for, his smile was but a straight line with the tiniest curve at the corner, and while he would feel guilty later that they didn't get the best picture, he was just too damn grumpy to think about it at all. 

He couldn't pinpoint just what it was that had tipped him over the edge, but he can say that it was many things that had twisted and furled around him into a massive mat of growth that he could not dig his way through. His home on the market wasn't selling and the air conditioner in his current home had broken down and there wouldn't be anyone around to fix it until Monday (meaning he was pushing through three days of blistering hot weather with nothing but his fans that would only be pushing around warm air). He'd ran out of body wash but hadn't noticed until he was in the shower, while he was shaving his face he nicked himself a bit on his jawline, and he'd not been able to find the shirt he'd been planning to wear (only to find it in his laundry room, shrunken small from the dryer). Not only had he made it to the studio late but every lyric he wrote was shit, he couldn't find anything worthwhile to say, every strum of the guitar he fucked up, a nd every press of his fingers to the keys of the piano sounded just awful -- Harry knew it's because he was in his head but that didn't stop it from pissing him off. He'd gone to go get lunch, his favorite sandwich they couldn't make because they were out of kale and he couldn't even get the smoothie that would make him feel better about that, because their machine was down. He was far too close to saying something rude because they were a sandwich and smoothie shop so how the (italicize this) hell couldn't those two things happen, but he bit his tongue, since it wasn't their fault. It wasn't their fault that it broke, nor that they ran out, nor that he was already having a shit day. 

So, by the time he'd made it to this bloody perfume launch that he'd agreed to come to for a mutual friend of his and Jeff's, he had just had it. Wasn't happy, wasn't conversational, didn't want to mingle or speak to anyone, barely even wanted to drink his day away as he would've in any other situation. He just wanted to go home, take a cool shower, get into some comfortable clothes and wallow in his grumpiness until he inevitably fell asleep. Why should he prolong a shit day?

Jeff had realized his poor mood early in the night, when Harry had rolled his eyes at something someone had said before murmuring a low to him, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry had lied, because he didn't really want to get into it -- going through the lot of it would only re-anger him even further -- but it was very clear when Harry wasn't happy. 

So Jeff merely pats his back, gives his shoulder a firm squeeze and tells him, "There's a stairway to the roof; you can take a breather if you need it." 

He honestly didn't think he would need it, until someone had accidentally stepped on the toe of his shoe, and for some reason that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Harry nodded at their apology, told them it was fine, but sought out the stairs soon after with nothing but a small flute of champagne and his phone. He had to leave the initial room they were in, stepping into the corridor and merely followed the signs that lead to the stairs for the roof. The stairwell was in a well lit corridor from the penthouse, and there was the resounding opening and closing of doors from below him. There were a few recognized glances that he'd garnered on his way up that he nodded too, but otherwise he climbed just two sets of stairs to the roof, where he pushes open a heavy weighted door against the rush of wind. 

The fresh air was good on him, he'll give Jeff that as much. As it blows against his face, it's cool enough to soothe him and letting him know that once he got home, he could open the windows and that might work some to cool down his room as he slept. He took in a deep breath, spotting a gathering of tables -- Harry presumes that it's necessary to rent it out or summat because all of the seats say reserved, but Harry goes and takes a seat. It feels good just to be away from everyone and everything, letting himself relax and only then realizing that he was wrung taught as a bow. 

But just as he was actually calming down, the creak of the roof door rings out through what had been the quiet of the night and he felt himself get angry all over again. 

There was a snuggle and a sniffle, the tell tale breathing of a shaky cry that would suggest someone was having a poor a night as he was and while he was empathetic, he was happy that he wasn't them at the very least he guesses. His day had been shit but not shit enough to make him cry and he was lucky in that sense. 

He turned to face where the sound was coming from, seeing a girl who did not appear to be from the party he'd been attending. She was in a soft looking sweatshirt, the sleeves pulled over her fists as she knuckles at her eyes, and she wanders over to the table just a few from him, plopping down and lying her head down. And Harry wishes he could be a person that would ignore this. . .someone who had their own shit to be bothered with, so he'd push himself up and fuck off back to his party. 

But he does care -- of course he bloody cares! 

Harry clears his throat some, leaning forward, "'xcuse me," he begins, noticeably startling her and her head pops up, showing her puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, "Are you okay?" 

"Oh," she sounds surprised that he would care, sniffling hard, running her fist beneath her nose, "Oh, m'fine, s'just -- it's a shit day is all." She wipes against her eye, shaking her head, "M'exhausted, school is hard, I've bout a thousand bills that I can't pay and my boss is a bastard and I've been hiding a cat in my flat and I'm almost positive my landlord knows and is going to make me get rid of him." A wipe to the other eye, and Harry feels his heart sink for her, "Plus I'm drunk, I think my friends left me. And now I'm crying to a stranger for no reason and it's just -- it's a bad day." A hiccup leaps through her, heaving her chest as she looks up and she must finally register his face for the first time because something within her gaze shifts, "Oh!" She repeats, sounding even more surprised than before, "You're Harry Styles? Or am I drunker than I thought?" 

He smiles softly, replying, "I am, yeah." 

Now she drags both her hands across her cheeks, "Shit, that's --" she hiccups again, "Tha's really cool. I'm a big fan, I um --" she brushes her mussed hair from her face, her swollen lips still trembling from the remnants of her crying, "Sorry for crying like a baby. Sure you've got plenty else to worry about." 

(italicize this) Well, kind of, is what runs through Harry's brain but he gives his head a firm shake, "No, no, it's okay. How about -- why don't I help you get  an uber home and you can sleep this off. Things will sort out soon and everything will be okay, you've just got to persevere." 

Harry wishes he could a hundred percent believe in his own words but he wasn't all too sure -- he'd never been a college student before. He knows fame problems and struggling through an industry that capitalizes off all the wrong things, but he doesn't know the struggle of bills, or school, or hiding a cat in your flat. He wishes he did -- then he wouldn't feel like such a hypocrite for the positivity.  

Though he'd thought this would make it all better, her eyes pool with more tears as she nods her head, "Thank you," she all but sobs, "You're -- you're so nice." 

So that's what they do. Harry takes her downstairs, makes sure she has her phone, her wallet and keys, orders her an uber off an account he'd had for situations such as this (though it's usually for a friend), and waits outside with her until the blue car with a female driver rolls up in front of the building. The girl, who he had learned was named Y/N, turns to face him, smiling up at him through still bleary eyes, and under the street lights he can make out just how worn she looked, "Thank you again," she tells him, "I -- I won't tell anyone where you are, or anythin'. Have a good night." 

Harry realizes that she must think he lives here and the sentiment of her words is sweet, but he doesn't have a chance to truly think on them or the kindness he finds in her words for promising him secrecy despite being a fan, because it begins to snow. (italicize this) Snow, at the beginning of May -- that doesn't make sense. Apparently Y/N thinks as much too, looking up at the sky before down at her outstretched fingers, then back at him, her face pinched up in confusion, even more so when it stops just as soon as it started, "Weird." She'd murmured, before popping open the car door and slipping into the backseat. 

She waved at him through the window as they drove off.

                                                                        .                                    .                                 .

Y/N was worn thin as she unlocked her door, the sound of the car driving off the only thing on her flat's quiet street apart from her leftover shaky breaths, remnant from her earlier tears. She normally isn't one to cry so the outburst of emotion had left her weary and impatient to was her face and finally rest. A good night's sleep is something she thinks she deserves, after the night she had. 

Her day had started off shit from the start. Not only had she been hit with the fact that finals were rapidly approaching, accompanying several end of the semester projects that she hadn't even begun thinking of starting, but she received an email from her boss at the boutique she worked at threatening to cut her hours (which was utter shit, because she'd came in late two times after she had called to let them know that her class let out late and she'd told them of this scheduling conflict weeks prior but nobody did shit about it). Then there was a mass letter slipped through the crack of her door "reminding" tenants, that anyone with an undocumented animal would be fined and unless they could pay the additional monthly cost, would have twenty-four hours to get rid of said animal. Y/N immediately panicked, wondering if the kitten she had stowed away was making a fuss when she was gone.

The kitten was but a tiny, fuzzy little thing that had been crying outside on the sidewalk when Y/N had gotten back from class one day -- she was far too skinny, her fur was caked with dirt and grime, the corner of her eyes cluttered with dried mucus and she shivered from the chilliness of the air. Y/N picked her up when the cat proved friendly and began to purr, took her inside, thanked the universe for the bag of cat food she had left over from when she'd watched over her friend Jasper's tabby and gave her a hefty handful to satiate her before giving her a bath in the sink (to which she took well), wrapped her up in her fluffiest towel and sat her in front of her portable heater. They'd bonded almost instantly, Y/N thinks, because as soon as she'd blinked open her eyes from a small nap she toddled herself over to Y/N to give her leg a gentle lick while she'd been working. The rest of the night, the kitten had slept and purred in the cradle of her lap, and ever since Y/N couldn't bare to give her away, even if it meant sneaking around her landlord to do so. 

She hadn't even had time to simmer within her stress filled worry, considering she not only had class, but she was called into work for a small two hour shift (which she would have said no to, if not for the fact she was covering for Miss. Caroline, who needed to pick her daughter up from school and take her to her grandparents who lived thirty minutes out, and Miss. Caroline was her work mom, so she couldn't say no with good conscious after all the lunches she'd packed for Y/N in the past), and straight after she was to attend a small gathering of her friends. Well, not (italicize this) her friends, as much as they were her friend Jasper's friends -- they were a moneyed, smarmy bunch that Jasper barely liked to hang out with himself and always requested she go with him so he wouldn't have to be alone. They were in school too, but more so because their parents pushed them to explore and less out of necessity to garner knowledge for a distinct path they're taking. For that reason some of the shit that comes from their mouth is just so outrageously dense and colorful, one would have to be there to believe it, which is another big reason Jasper invites her, "(italicize this) Half the things they say you wouldn't believe unless you heard it with your own ears, I reckon." 

But tonight it was less fun listening to their rose colored lens on life and more crushing as she realized her own situation wasn't ideal. So she'd thrown back far too many drinks, Jasper had slunk off with a leggy brunette in one of the back rooms, Y/N got needlessly emotional and made her way to the roof where she knew she might be able to cry in peace. 

Well, until she ran into Harry Styles.