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The first time Harry saw those eyes he was 15 years old.
Harry held tightly to the strap of his mother’s purse as they pushed through the floor section of the crowded arena. The multitude of people lessened when they got close to the stairs on the left side.
“Harry dear, what are our seat numbers again?” Anne questioned as she looked up at the intimidating number of seats to be filled. Harry dug into his back pocket, pulling out and unfolding the precious tickets to his first real concert. He had been to a few local bands, and had performed in just as many shows with White Eskimo, but he had never been to a “real” concert.
“Section C, row 7, seats 22 and 23,” Harry read off the slightly crumbled ticket. They made their way through the mostly empty rows until finding their seats in the middle of the seventh.
Harry had been estatic to recieve to tickets to see The Script for his birthday present that year and had been planning on taking his best friend, Will. Unfortunately, he had to back out last minute because of the flu, forcing Harry to take his mother with him. Harry didn’t mind as much as other boys his age probably would have though, him and his mother were extremely close and he was happy to spend the night out with her.
There was still about an hour before the opening act came on stage and the floor of the Manchester Theatre was pretty much full, the open floor space making it necessary to arrive early if you wanted a good view of the stage. There weren’t too many people in the seated rows yet though, allowing Harry to let his eyes roam searching for something to catch his attention.
His mother began chatting excitedly beside him, pointing to various people who were extravagantly dressed (Really, why would you wear that to a concert? Do they think Danny O’Donoghue will randomly see them in the crowd and fall madly in love with them? Ridiculous.) or the large screens on either side of the stage advertising other acts the venue was hosting that summer (oh honey, Madonna will be here next month, I must see if Gemma is free then…).
Harry listened sparingly, nodding for his mother to continue when there was a lull in the conversation but for the most part just tried to take the whole experience in.
Haphazardly, his eyes settled on a group of three people, two boys and a girl, who looked to be around the same age as him. They were shuffling to their seats a few rows ahead and to the right of Harry and Anne, loudly proclaiming their excitement about seeing their favorite band.
One of the boys caught Harry’s attention more than the others. He was delicate looking, almost pixie like in his movements and stunningly gorgeous. Harry felt his face flush a bit at the thought. He had an inclining that he might not be 100% straight, but he was only 15, he figured he had a few years to figure it out. It’s not like he was going to become internationally famous or anything and need to answer those kinds of questions.
The boy threw his head back in laughter at something the thin blonde girl next to him said and he put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. Harry was suddenly hit with a feeling deep in his chest that shocked him. He had assumed… the boy was just soflamboyant in his actions and his voice had such a high melodious quality to it that Harry just thought…
But why did he even care if this boy was straight or not? He had literally only known he existed in the world for about sixty seconds. There was something there though…something that made him keep watching the beautiful boy.
The boy pulled his arm back from around the blonde’s shoulders to playfully punch at his male friend and the queasy feeling in Harry’s stomache lessened.
He could hear the occasional word of their conversation, something about the dinner they had before and the names Hannah, Louis and Stan.
Suddenly, the boy unexplicably turned around and met Harry’s eyes. The boy had the bluest eyes Harry had ever seen in his life. They were the color of that small section of the ocean where the sunlight can’t quite reach, where sky blue merges into deep navy. Harry was frozen by the gaze, unable to take his eyes away from the other boy. His heart quickened as the boy of his affections cocked his head slightly as if he was thinking and opened his mouth as if to mouth something to Harry.
“-arry? Harry? Is something wrong?” He wrenched his eyes away when he felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. Her brow was slightly furrowed in confusion.
“No, no, nothing.” By the time Harry looked back the boy with the cerulean eyes had been swallowed up by the crowd…
He never expected to see those eyes again. He definitely didn’t expect to see them looking at him from the mirror of the toilets at the auditions for X Factor two years later.
It seems it was fate.