Wanderlust

Since the movie had ended Harry and I hadn't moved from out spots on the sofa, though we had sunken further into it as the late night turned into the early morning.

With the television a soft buzz in the background, playing a late air music channel, Harry now laid with his back in the crevice of the couch, his left arm acting as a pillow for my head to rest on. We had sunken down admittedly close, but it was extremely comfortable, both physically and in the atmosphere. Facing the curly haired boy, his face was barely lit by the screen behind me but I could see every detail of it.

Astonishingly perfect.

I had come to discover that Harry had the type of face that grew more and more beautiful the better you got to know him. I felt almost envious of his beauty, given I was a teenage girl and he was a teenage boy, it seemed hardly fair, but I subdued this ridiculous feeling by divulging in the pleasure of admiring him instead.
"What are you staring at?"

Crap. There goes that.

Harry had whispered his words despite us being the only people in his apartment, sending my nerves jolting.
I couldn't stop the heat rising to my cheeks, thanking the heavens he wouldn't see it in the sheet of darkness we lay under.
"Nothing. You. You're quite beautiful - for a boy."
Harry's lips stretched into a smile, like he was half flattered and half amused.
"Well," he muttered, the bicep beneath my head tensing as his free arm rose up to graze a long finger against my still heated cheek. "You're quite handsome - for a girl."

I laughed, probably too loudly considering our vicinity, and nudged his chest uselessly. "That's hardly as flattering."

Harry's cheeky smile didn't fade as his fingers now twirled a lock of my hair mindlessly.

All of a sudden it felt as though his thoughts had gone elsewhere. His bright eyes appeared too concentrated on his hand in my hair, "how's Will?"
My brows furrowed deeply at the change of subject; one minute we're flirting, the next we're discussing my brother.
"He's fine, I suppose. He's planning a trip back home to see mum and dad; I don't think he's much gutted to be leaving me for two weeks."

Harry's smile confused me for a moment, until he chuckled and admitted, "you sound more British every time I see you." I laughed. "Two weeks away from each other might fix whatever mood he's been in though."
I shrugged, mindlessly tracing the collarbone peeking out from his t-shirt. "Maybe," I muttered as his eyes fluttered closed. "I'm starting to think he might just hate me."
His eyes popped open almost immediately, concern swallowing his features.
"Who could hate you?"
I tried to smile at his words, but a very specific thought shot to my mind, so fast I could hardly stop the words from falling out of my mouth. "Your fans."
I wished so quickly that I hadn't said it, that I hadn't just blatantly admitted to falling victim to the temptations of social media sites and tabloids.

Though how could I not? Since arriving in London and mingling with their beloved boy band I had gained almost two million new followers on my once favourite site, more than half of them being not my biggest fans but instead One Direction's. It's funny how some people will follow you only to hate you.

"Wh-- what are yo..." Harry fumbled. "What have you read?"
I tried to appear unaffected, but I'm sure I failed. "Just the general "who do you think you are" from Mrs.Horan98." I joked, hoping to see a smile but only seeing further sadness. Was he sad that I was being told off by fifteen year olds, or was he sad that I wasn't impressed by his fans?

As an artist myself I could understand the desire to defend the people who supported you. When Will or Paloma said something insulting toward my fans I would snap at them, and rightly so because fans were the people who gave you everything. They were the young girls who lined up for your concerts or bought the tickets to your movies, they were the ones who defended you when someone gave you slack on a bad performance so why shouldn't they be the ones we defend back. I couldn't help but regret my words because had I been Harry, I wouldn't have been able to stand the thought of someone hating my fan just for loving me.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't really mean it, it doesn't bother me too much."

And suddenly, we were sitting upright.

"Doesn't bother you? Of course it does. It bothers me. Our fans... They just... They just get caught up in it, yeah? I mean, I love them - we all do. But, it's kind of bollocks I can hardly smile at a bird without her getting a death threat or ten."
I gently placed my hand atop his, a visible shake to his limb. "Harry," his eyes met mine and I could see how torn about this he really was. "I've been the media's punching bag since I was fourteen. I can handle a few pubescent girls - if it means being friends with a bunch of twats."

Finally I could see those pearly whites in a beautiful smile, though his eyes still not fully cured of their concern.
Standing from his seat beside me, Harry took long strides until he reach the far side wall, flicking a switch and filling the large room with the artificial light.
I blinked my eyes rapidly, adjusting them to the sudden brightness and chuckling in confusion. "What are you doing?"
By my side again in a mere second, Harry sat and pulled out his phone, bringing up the front camera and focussing it on our faces.
"Bit of an odd time for a selfie, Haz."
"Just smile, would you?" He laughed, putting a beautiful smile on his own face.

I followed suit and watched as he snapped the picture, capturing an image of our faces, close together and grinning as though it weren't nearly three in the morning and we hadn't just had a minor heart to heart.
"What are y--" he hushed me almost immediately, sitting back and continuing to tap away at his touch screen.
Rather quickly, he was done, and almost as rapidly as the whole ordeal had happened, my phone was buzzing in my sweater pocket.
He had tweeted something.

I looked at him suspiciously, eyeing the small smile on his lips that looked almost proud, and brought my phone to life to find the picture he had just taken now in my newsfeed with a small caption.

'Perhaps the most genuine bird I know. A real gem.'

I had to fight the smile from my face, horribly might I add, and watched as the boy in front of me scooted closer.
"I think they should know the truth about you."

I glanced back down at the tweet quickly before locking my screen and bumping my shoulder into his softly. "Bit of a sap, aren't you?"
His eyes brightened with the chuckle that left his lips. Before I could even fathom the action, those very lips met mine in a small peck, away as soon as they had came.

"Only when it's worth it."