That girl (Harry Styles S/A)

Harry finds himself a victim of love at first sight... but will everything work out okay?

- This was originally a McFLY fanfiction. If you want a fanfic wrote about you and your 1D guy then message me :)


1. That girl.


I've seen her a few times, she's been to a couple of our shows and she has got to have seen me staring.

I don't know her name or anything about her, for all I know she could be psychotic - but there's something about her, something that draws me in and intrigues me to the extent that I feel like I need to know her – not a want, a need.

She's brunette but I'm convinced she's naturally lighter, a red-head maybe; if the red tones are anything to go by. And she has these intoxicatingly beautiful brown eyes that I find almost annoyingly distracting. (Liam said he's going to make me wear blinkers so that I won't forget which song we're playing again when she's around) And that smile, God. That smile. There isn't a word in the English dictionary that could describe how perfect that smile is. It's contagious; I feel it tugging at the corners of my mouth and pressing the pause button on my heart beats. It's... perfection in its most concentrated form; its mind numbing it’s... fucking stunning. Through lack of a better description that'll have to do.

And she's here tonight, with her right hand clasped tightly around the neck of a half-drunk bottle of WKD and her left hand raised high in the air as we play Taken - thank God it's Liam’s verse and not mine.

Would it sound too cliché admitting she might be the most beautiful girl I've ever laid my inadequate-crappy-blue eyes on? I’m not one of those people that believe in ‘love’ at first sight, I find all of that shit corny and unrealistic, but there’s something about her.

I sing - almost shyly - into the mic, but I'm not feeling it tonight, the nerves are pretty intense, I NEVER get like this over a girl - especially one I've never even spoken to. Thankfully, the song ends and we're heading offstage before I know it after thanking the crowd of course - well, the boys thank the crowd, I do it in an off-hand kind of way, but my attention is on her. She's looking at Zayn though - stupid Zayn with his annoyingly handsome face and his washboard abs.

The lights seem to dim a bit more and we're ushered backstage back to our 'dressing room'. (It's really just a box room with 2 tatty sofa's, a small coffee table with a bowl of skittles - or maybe M&M's - a water cooler and a mirror)

Niall naturally heads for the sweets and confirms that they're skittles, Liam and Louis lounge on one of the sofa's and Zayn dries his forehead on a white towel someone gave him on-route to the 'dressing room'.

"That was a pretty epic gig." Niall mumbles over a mouthful of half-chewed Skittles and we all mumble something back in agreement.

There's normally the period of quiet reflection or cooling down before things get crazy again and so none of us found it unnerving that the room fell silent. And, despite almost being able to hear Zayn thinking about amending his solo and knowing that the rest of the guys were probably thinking about how successful the gig went - I couldn't get my mind to think of anything but that girl. That smile. Those eyes...

And yet I hadn't spoke to her, I hadn't made a conscious effort to make sure that this girl was in my life. I hadn't even tried. I'd subconsciously convinced myself that this girl, this... vision of perfection wouldn't be interested in ME. I'd set myself up to fail before I'd even tried...

"Dude, skittle?" Niall brought me from my reverie and without thinking I found myself filling my hoody pocket with free sweets for the journey home - there was something about sweets that instantly made me regress back to being a greedy 6 year old.

Twenty minutes passed and we were being ushered back down a dimly lit corridor, hence why I didn't see her coming...

It happened so fast, I didn’t look - in all honesty, I probably wasn't paying much attention - I walked straight into a girl and sent her flying onto her arse.

"Shit I'm so sorry!" I gushed as the girl groaned and twisted her legs underneath her, and then she looked up...

Those warm brown eyes I'd studied on various occasions stared up at me and I heard her voice, soft and sweet, yet concise and almost sexy; "My fault, sorry." She was American, didn't see that coming.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder and struggled to get up under the weight of a large backpack, my hand instinctively shot out in front of me and she took it with a coy smile playing on her plump rosy lips.

"I'm so sorry, I thought this way was the loos, I must have got turned around in the herds of 1D Fans." She quipped as she steadied herself on two feet.

For being a clumsy oaf (and not wanting to have her leave so soon) I invited her to use the toilet in the tour bus instead of the grotesque public ones in the gig venue (though I found myself instantly regretted it after learning Liam had a kebab the night before - she didn't mention anything though) and we got talking about anything and everything, it wasn't long before I realised that being beautiful wasn't her entire pièce de résistance - she was also hilarious and sweet and intelligent and hot and just, well, flawless. Chelsea Walters was her name but she told me to call her Chels or 'Chiz' (a nickname a college friend gave her that stuck) and she had a boyfriend - some idiot who wouldn't move to England with her when she came but they were attempting some kind of long distance relationship; it might be that I'm an old fashion romantic at heart, but I would have followed her to the ends of the earth if she asked me to, the guy clearly had mental issues if he turned down the opportunity to be with her.

She'd been living out of her backpack for the past 3 weeks, staying in various hostels, bedsits and cheap hotels trying to get a secure job working on a magazine; but the way things were looking she was looking at moving back to America when her funds began to run out. She’d been looking for a feature anywhere she could - at celebrity hot-spot restaurants and hotels, to gigs and press conferences... And though it was a refreshing change to meet someone like Chelsea, I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that she wasn’t actually a fan of 1D - in fact, she only heard of us when she moved to England. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, I’d rather someone fall for ME rather than my celebrity status but I’d always considered my music to be my biggest achievement. Although, she assured me my voice was - to quote - ‘The shit!’

I’m not sure how exactly, but I managed to coax her into having a drink (or twelve) in the hotel bar and we stayed there till way after 3 in the morning – putting the world to rights over endless pitchers of Pimm’s and Lemonade, Apple Sourz shots and the occasional fancy cocktail.

I consider myself a decent human being with decent morals but, I made my move. Regardless of her having a boyfriend back in the states and regardless of the fact that she was probably going to fashion a feature from our antics; I saw an opportunity and I took it. And to my delight (and absolute, mind-numbing shock) she kissed me back.

We fell into my hotel room door, hands fumbling and kisses trailing – I knew that it was wrong and yet I wanted it so bad, I wanted her so bad. There was a sense of urgency to find my door key and within minutes we were in the room, our hands on each other’s bodies once more.


I awoke the next morning alone in bed with a banging head ache and with several sticky Skittles attached to my face. The pillow next to me still smelt of her hair, a musky floral scent that brought back last night’s events back to me in crisp HD – the talking, the drinking, the sex... She definitely got her feature...

But during the days the followed I didn’t see a single newspaper with any kind of feature about me, I’d convinced myself that the worst had happened and the reason that I hadn’t seen the feature was because she was haggling with different magazines for the best possible price. But then the nagging thought at the back of my head told me that she wasn’t like that, I know to an extent I romanticised her – my initial attraction to her had made me see her in an unrealistic light, but she didn’t seem the type.

“You’re an idiot.” Came Liam’s words of wisdom, “When this feature surfaces or some big, beefy American dude comes and kicks you in it’ll be some kind of, I dunno, divine retribution for knowingly sleeping with a girl who was already in a relationship – I mean seriously dude, uncool.”

He was right, of course he was right. And I did feel guilty. Not guilty enough to regret spending the night with her, but still...

But for weeks I didn’t hear anything, there was no kiss and tell feature and there was no ‘divine retribution’ as Liam called it. There was nothing. Until exactly one month after we slept together.

We’d just finished a killer, intimate gig for just over 100 people and were heading back into yet another dark, dingy dressing room and I heard that sweet, melodic voice; I knew instantly that it was Chelsea.

“Hey stranger.” She breathed quietly.

The guys walked on and left me in the corridor with her, I tried to find something witty or clever to say, but I could barely form a coherent sentence let alone a funny one. “Hey.” Came my reply.

She smiled that heart-breakingly beautiful smile and my stomach knotted, “That was a great gig.” She stated.

“Thanks.” Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not exactly the brightest crayon in the box; but I wished more than anything that I could form sentences of more than one friggin’ word at a time.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay the morning after, you know...” She began, she pulled her eyebrows together and she looked kind of... torn? I could have been imagining things. “It’s just, I was a little overwhelmed.”

I nodded once and smiled slightly, “I have that effect on most people.” I quipped sarcastically.

She chuckled, “I can imagine.” She was silent for a few seconds and when she finally spoke, it was almost as though she was whispering, “Tim asked me to marry him.”

Tim was fiancé guy, the fool that wouldn’t come to England with her. My stomach knotted again and I forced a smile, “Oh err, wow. That’s err, great. You’re not here to invite me to the wedding are you? Only that could be a little awkward.”

Her head shot up and her dark eyes searched my own, “I said no.”

“Thank god.” It was a knee-jerk reaction, the kind of statement that slips out in the heat of the moment. “I mean... aw, why?” I couldn’t sound less genuine.

“He asked me through fear of losing me, not because he loved me.” She explained gesticulating with her delicate hands, “Plus I think he expected me to say yes and we’d live happily ever after in America.”

“What’s wrong with that?” My voice wavered instinctively.

“My heart belongs to England.” She rolled her eyes, “As pathetic as it sounds.”

“Not really, we have Galaxy chocolate – you don’t.” I quipped.

She chuckled and nodded, “That...” She looked down at her worn converse and sighed heavily, “And America doesn’t have you.”

I turned that over in my mind, “Wow.”

She looked back up at me and shrugged, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same but...”

“I do!” I was all too quick to answer and we both chuckled, “Of course I do.” I stepped forward and closed the distance between us, it was strange being sober and in such close proximity, but it was good strange. “I just didn’t expect this.”

“I have an admin job at a local magazine – it’s not exactly ‘the dream’ but I’m working on it. And I was wondering, y’know... if you’re not doing anything tonight we could-“

“Get pissed paralytic in the hotel bar?” I suggested, the corners of my lips twitching upward slightly as she smiled. “Or if you prefer we could just skip the hotel bar all together and I take you for something to eat?”

“Or...” She began; she ran her hand down my forearm and brushed her fingers against mine, “We could get room service?”

Needless to say, I didn’t decline that offer and regardless of how cliché and cringy as it sounds – we lived happily ever after.

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