Brevity

You had to live under a rock to not know who Harry Styles was. Whether you liked his music or not, him and his four best friends were everywhere; billboards, bus stops, shopping centres - you couldn’t even turn on the TV without being alerted of a new girlfriend or album.

So when my childhood friend, Nicholas, or Knickers, as I used to call him, suggested that I went out for lunch with Harry Styles himself, I did what any right-minded straight-thinking level-headed teenager would do. I said no.

"But why?" Nick whined, dragging out the words to make them sound that little bit more annoying. He even threw a pout in there, raising his eyebrows and giving his best shot at the classic ‘puppy dog face’.

"Just-" I hesitated, placing the iron down on the ironing board as I looked up at Nick, "It’s a lot of effort."

Nick rolled his eyes dramatically and I brushed it off, returning to the thrilling activity of ironing my clothes, and Nick’s. Somehow I always ended up doing Nick’s washing, which was probably the reason he was now sat at my dining room table in his boxers, hands wrapped around a mug of steaming tea as he insisted I went on a date with Harry.

"You’re never gonna get laid again if you have that attitude." Nick grimaced before slurping at his mug, "Just give it a shot - he’s a nice kid, maybe you’ll get a mid-afternoon frick-frack."

I cocked an eyebrow, leaning over the ironing board and flicking the switch at the wall, tugging out the plug of the iron and tossing Nick’s t-shirt at him, “Frick-frack? What are you, twelve?”

"Why don’t you want to go?!" He pressed, ignoring his newly-ironed t-shirt that was now balled up on the floor beside him, "It’s only lunch, I’m not asking you to marry him."

I sighed, “Because today, it’s just lunch.” Nick’s eyes followed me intently as I went about putting the ironing board away, “Tomorrow, it’ll be a drink at the club, and the day after, I’ll be all over the news tabloids, slut-shamed and regretful.”

"Come on," Nick huffed, finally reaching down for his t-shirt, "Just go on a bloody date with the boy."

"Nick," I said sternly, walking over to the table with his jeans in hand, "Just shut up, get dressed, and go to work. You’ll be late."

He narrowed his eyes at me, but soon realised my opinion wouldn’t change, “Fine.”

I rolled my eyes as he begrudgingly got out of his seat and tugged his jeans and t-shirt on, making his way out into the hall where the full length mirror hung on the wall, messing with his hair a little before turning back to me, “Are you gonna listen to me on the radio?”

"I always do," I replied, crossing my arms and leaning on the doorframe.

"Harry’s on it today."

"Nick," I warned, raising both eyebrows.

He grinned mischievously before taking a few short strides towards me and kissing my cheek, “I’ll see you later on.”

I thought about Nick's suggestion for a moment; considered the thought of being on a date with Harry Styles. Glancing out the window and seeing Nick climb into a car belonging to Harry himself, I shook my head to myself - realising how silly the whole idea really was.

”And that was Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Ray and I am your host for this evening, Nick Grimshaw!” There was a round of applause as I leaned over to my laptop, bumping the volume up a few notches before turning back to my phone, ”And with us today in the studio is none other than my good friend and my favourite world popstar, Harry Styles, everybody!”

"Hiiiiiiii!"

"So Harold, dear, what have you been up to today?" there was a smile evident in Nick’s voice as he spoke.

”Well, I urm, I woke up, and then I.. I actually went to see our good friend Lou!”

"Teasdale?"

"Yeah, Teasdale."

"Oh, we all love Louiiiiiise!"

I laughed aloud as the studio broke into chants and loud laughter, before finally settling down.

”And then urh.. I went to Tesco-“

"Life of a popstar."

"It’s brilliant mate, I love it. But yeah, then I picked you up from your friend’s house."

"Hear that, everybody? World exclusive - Harold Styles of One Direction drives Radio One DJ: Nick Grimshaw, to work!"

"I can see that on the front page tomorrow morning."

"I think it has a nice ring to it, maybe I should be a magazine editor."

"Maybe. Who’s house were you at, by the way?"

I winced as I practically sensed Nick’s shit-eating grin. Either they’d planned this, or he was really, really good at directing a conversation the way he liked. I squirmed in my seat, glancing at my laptop screen, despite the fact it simply had a photo of Nick and Harry.

”Young Harold, that was Harley Soto!”

"Oh, so that’s how you pronounce her name? Like so-toe?"

"How did you think it was pronounced?"

"I don’t know!" Harry laughed, "Niall’s been calling her Sooty for about a year."

I couldn’t help but laugh along with the pair.

”So Harry, I hear uh, you asked her to lunch.”

"Maybe?"

"And what did she say to that?"

"Don’t make me say it on national radio."

"Say it."

"She rejected me."

There was a loud ‘aw’ throughout the studio followed by Nick’s hysterical laugh before he added, ”I was actually talking to her about you this morning,”

"Yeah..?"

"She said you’re not her type."

My mouth dropped and my eyebrows furrowed as I immediately went to my messages app, ignoring the following exchange of words as I typed out a message to Nick.

I did not say he was not my type!!!!!

It was kind of odd, having a friend on the radio, because as soon as I’d texted him, there was about a three second interval until Nick announced, “She’s actually just texted me!”

”Saying what?”

"She said that she didn’t say you weren’t her type. Maybe she’s interested now."

"Oh god," Harry chuckled.

”Maybe we should make this a Twitter trend.”

"Maybe."

"Right, you guys at home, I want everyone on Twitter to tweet @BBCR1 with one reason why you would date Harry with the hashtag #harleyacceptharry."

"This is asking for disaster."

"Possibly. But we’ll find out how this ends after our next song, which I’m going to dedicate to Harley herself, here’s a bit of Yeezus! Now get your tweets in and we’ll read em out after this next track, go!"

It was about thirty seconds into Blood On The Leaves when my phone rang and a selfie of Nick and Alexa appeared on my screen, “You’re an asshole.”

"Oh, my dearly beloved best friend!" Nick chimed, "You were listening then?"

"A twitter trend?" I squeaked, getting to my feet and absently walking around the room, "I said I didn’t want attention."

"Uuum.." Nick trailed off, "I’m pretty sure you just said you didn’t want to be slut-shamed."

I huffed, rolling my eyes and placing a hand in my hip, standing so that I could watch the world outside my living room window, “I don’t know why we’re friends.”

"Because, Harley honey, I supply you with entertainment and fame on a daily basis." His smug voice was something that I should probably hate, but I never learnt to.

"I hate you."

"But baby, I love you!"

"Shutup Nick and get back on air."

"Okay, bye Harley!" He paused, "Harry say bye!"

I winced as I heard Harry’s voice call out in the distance, “Bye Harley!”

As I hung up and Nick and Harry’s mindless chatter once again started blaring out of my laptop speakers, I rolled my eyes, dropping myself down on the couch and realised that getting out of this lunch was not going to be easy.