It took one look. One look in the wrong place, one step into a corner you thought to be empty. Instead, you found three men aiming fire weapons at eachother, oblivious to your presence.

It was only when the seemingly youngest one pressed the trigger, and a loud sound shook you to the ground. Next thing you knew, your vision was covered in nothing but black.

You woke up in a dark room. There was a large table in front of you, and the room was lit by only one cold lamp on the ceiling. You wanted to stand up, but your hands were tied with ropes behind your back, your ankles stuck against the legs of the chilly chair pressed up your skin.

Then you wanted to scream, but the tape covering your lips forbid you to make a sound.

You told yourself it was just a nightmare. You shut your eyes, hoping to wake up wrapped around the familiar blankets of your bed. But as you opened them again, you found yourself staring at the same table, the same cold lamp and the empty walls surrounding you.

And a door that suddenly opened, revealing a young man. A young man who was too well known.

The fact that Harry Styles himself walked in, watching you as if you were a maniac invading his home, only made you impossibly more confused.

"I apologize for this," he said, closing the door with his hip. He didn't sound sorry at all. "But you weren't supposed to see that. I did not have a choice."

Harry leaned against the table in front of you, his green eyes narrowing, studying your figure.

"But you know what they say. Wrong place, wrong time."