Anonymous

I woke up in the morning and yawned widely. My eyelids were heavy, and I could feel massive bags under my eyes from exhaustion, but that was what jetlag could do to a person.

The boys and I had left the night before to start our press tour for the new album, and no matter how much practice we had, I could never get over the overwhelming exhaustion that going through time zones caused me.

After going to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, and getting a cup of tea, I flopped on the couch in the living room of the hotel suite, knowing that I had a good hour before I had to start getting ready for the nighttime television show interview that we were booked to do later.

Without much thought, I logged onto my computer and went into my e-mail.

The most recent one was from the writersunite.com, telling me Like_A_Sunburn commented on your profile.

When I opened it, the message underneath simply said, “Congratulations! You’re finally popular!”

I snickered a little at the irony before clicking on the link that claimed to bring me straight to my profile.

I figured that the girl would have just said that I was nice, and that’d be the end of it, finally.

But no. This girl was so fucking friendly that she started asking more questions. I figured that making a fake account would be easy, that I could just tell her that she was awesome, and then I’d be able to slip under the radar. But apparently, I’d flattered the wrong person.

Not that I really had a problem with talking to people. I’d always been a social guy. But the fact that, for once in my life, I didn’t want to be noticed, and yet this girl was still trying to become my friend…it was annoying.

I took a deep breath and blinked slowly before taking another sip of my tea. No need to be bitchy. I was just tired.

Burying my moodiness from exhaustion deep down in my stomach, I went to reply, figuring that if this girl could keep track of five million characters and a thousand stories, then I could make up a whole back-story and life for the girl I was pretending to be.

Hopefully, anyway.

Lol. i love you too. :) and i cant wait to read the chapter! i bet itll be awesome.

yeah im 20. and nah college wasnt for me. lol. i work at a coffee shop in the middle of london during the day and then i work as a waitress a couple nights a week for a tavern on the edge of the city. and lol no. you dont sound like a creep at all. what about you? what do you do?

There. I hoped that appeased her. Also, it felt massively awkward to tell a complete stranger that I loved her. But I knew she didn’t mean it in the traditional sense, so whatever.

After I posted the comment, I closed my laptop again and leaned back in the couch, finishing off my tea. More than anything, I wanted to go back to sleep, but I knew that would be a dumb idea. It’d just make me more tired.

A few minutes later, I heard the door of the bedroom I shared with Zayn open. He stumbled out, his hair a mess, his clothes all crumpled from sleep. He hadn’t even had the energy the night before to dress down to his boxers.

“What time is it?” he mumbled so incoherently that it took me a couple minutes to decipher the language.

“Three in the afternoon,” I answered simply, taking a sip of my tea.

Zayn let out a loud groan, running his hands through his thick hair before disappearing into the bathroom, shutting the door a little too loudly behind him.

After a little while of staring off into space, I got to my feet and headed to the bedroom to get ready for the interview. I was feeling a resurgence of the braces. It had been too long since I’d rocked a pair, and I’d actually remembered to pack some.

And maybe a striped shirt. Just for old time’s sake.



“What are you wearing?” Harry sighed as he glanced over my outfit, his eyes critical, one eyebrow raised. His expression actually looked a lot like one I’d make, creepily enough.

“I’m calling back to the first album,” I responded easily, hooking my thumbs behind my suspenders and posing like a male model. “You like?”

“Not especially,” Liam snickered. “I mean, it was cool then, but we have new looks for the new album. Like Zayn’s highlight.”

“And your shaved head,” I added.

“That was for cancer, smart-arse,” he replied with a snicker.

“But my hair,” I continued, petting the top of my head, “my hair is the new version. I just figure that my striped shirts and suspenders shouldn’t go to waste. That’s all.”

Zayn took up for me, butting in, “I think it’s fine. It’s not like what we used to wear is completely out of the question. Liam still wears plaid. Niall occasionally puts on polos and cardigans.”

“Why are we even arguing about what I want to wear?” I chuckled. “Alright, we can go to the taping now.”

“Speaking of taping,” Niall piped up, his voice still thick with sleep, “when’s the next time we go on Alan Carr?”

“How did those two things relate at all?” Harry pondered aloud.

“Because we have to tape Alan Carr before it airs…?” Niall trailed off slowly. “You know what? Just go with it. I’m tired.”

“I’m not sure when we get to,” I answered Niall’s pressing question. “It’s relatively soon, though.”

“I love that man,” Niall sighed. “He’s so funny.”

“Agreed,” Zayn seconded. “It was about time someone called Harry out for…how did he put it?”

“Taking a trip down Madison’s Avenue?” Liam finished helpfully.

Harry smiled his embarrassed smile and stared at the ground. “I have no idea how people found out about that. It was one time.”

“Mate, you know she was bragging about it,” Zayn pointed out.

“Oh, yes,” I started in a voice that was as high-pitched as I could go without cracking, “Harry Styles had me the other night. He’s just so good. And you should have seen his penis. It was so big.”

Harry shook his head, but his face was bright red. “Shut up.”

“I don’t understand how you can get embarrassed talking about sex when you’ve had so much of it,” I laughed.

“Because I don’t kiss and tell,” Harry snuffed, flipping his hair.

“But not too long ago, you bragged about how you picked up a twenty-three-year-old at the pub,” I reminded him.

“Louis, you’re not helping my case.”

“It’s not in my job description,” I fired back.

“Now, now, boys,” Liam stepped in between us, breaking up the ‘argument’. “Let’s play nice, yeah? We don’t need to go on the show and say that you two couldn’t make it because you beat each other to bloody pulps.”

“Okay, Liam,” I agreed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as best I could, given our significant height difference. “Whatever you say, I shall follow.”

He patted me on the head softly, careful not to mess up my hair. “Good boy.”