London’s never quiet. Not entirely. Even on a gloomy afternoon like this, when I’m just trying to grab a coffee and maybe make it home before the rain starts. Hat pulled low, sunglasses on, trench coat buttoned to the top. Classic attempt at blending in. It usually works. Usually.

But then there’s this tiny voice, high pitched and excited, that cuts through the usual noise of people talking and cars passing.

“Harry! Harry Styles!”

I freeze in the middle of my step. That’s…new. The voice is small. Way too small.

Before I can even look around, this little blur of motion comes barreling toward me with tiny shoes smacking against the pavement, curls bouncing, the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on a face that can’t be more than four years old.

“Oh my- Woah, slow down!” I laugh lightly, crouching a bit as she nearly collides with my legs. “You alright, darling?”

The little girl is just staring up at me, absolutely beaming. “You’re Harry!”

I blink, glancing around for...well, anyone who looks like they’ve lost a child. “Uh, yeah. yeah, that’s me,” I nod. “And you are?”

No answer. Just a stream of excited babbling about a favorite song, a pink One Direction lunchbox, and something about a cat named Kiwi. I’m still kneeling on the sidewalk, quite flabbergasted, when I hear someone shouting. The kind of panicked voice that could, in this situation, only belong to a parent.

That's when I look up to see you, sprinting down the pavement with wide worried eyes. The moment you spot the little girl, safe and standing next to me, I can see you visibly let out a breath that makes your shoulders drop in relief.

I don't think you don’t even see me at first, half crying and your voice shaking as you pull the (still babbling) child into your arms.

“Hey, hey,” I say, attempting to sound a little soothing, stepping back to give you both some space. “She's alright. Came running up to me talking about your guys' cat. Even gave me a bit of a shock, if I’m honest.”

Finally, your eyes flick up to my face. I can see your expression falter, like your brain is finally calming down a little and realizing the situation your child put us in.

“It’s okay,” I say quietly, trying a small smile. “Happens to me all the time. Though usually the fans are a bit taller.”

The little girl is clinging onto you now, however her face is still lit up while staring at me like I'm the Santa Claus. Or better.

“Got quite the fan here,” I nod towards her. “Good taste, though. Very smart kid, until she's running away from her guardian, hm?"