Cats, Kisses, And Wagon Wheels. *finished*

One Direction, a band that was formed during the 2010 X Factor. Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson. Oh right, and Charlie Hunter. You didn't know about her? The Wagon-Wheel-addict with the curly hair? Well, I doubt anyone will tell you too much then. After all, what happens in the house, stays in the house. (Silver in the M Factor Competition) "This story is so hilarious, and it's already my favourite." - " amazing story, full of romance, drama, teenage life and loads more! The storyline is amazing, the characters are easy to visualize." - "An all around perfect book, even though it's a fanfiction!"

--Written for my cousin-in-law, Lottie, who wanted to have a One Direction Fanfic for her birthday. You are welcome.--


17. I Love You.


In Which There Is A Mess And A Lot Of Crying. (So Don't Get Your Hopes Up Because Of The Title.)



I tickled Harry’s toes.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!” I sing-songed.

He groaned and turned around, clutching the blanket to his chest.

“Not yet, honey.”

I giggled; he had to still be dreaming. I walked up to the headboard again and tried to gently pull the duvet away, but he was holding onto it like to a lifeline.

“Come ooon,” I whispered into his ear, caressing the short curls at the nape of his neck. “Get up, Harry.”

He only huffed and pulled me down onto the bed.

“Just a couple more minutes.”

Did I mention his hoarse sleepy voice was so well hot? Like a sex voice. But better. I gave up and relaxed in his arms while he was pressing me to him like I was a beloved teddy or like I might jump up and run away if he loosened his grip on me. It was way too easy for me to just let go and pretend this was him being in love with me, and that there was an us; that we were in fact going to wake up next to each other every day, that this was going to be every day. I closed my eyes and let my fingers trail over his shoulder; and he hummed into the side of my neck. He was probably still asleep and dreaming, but as for me, I was content just lying like this forever, wide awake and soaking up this moment because it would never come back. I could have spent a lifetime in his arms. But he was sort of pressing down on my boob.

“Harry,” I murmured “you really have to get up.”

He made a mumbling noise against my collarbone. “I love you, you know that?”

My whole body grew rigid. I literally couldn’t move. Had he … had he really just said that?

I closed my eyes and tried to pretend he had, tried to memorize this as well as I could because I knew he would never really say those words to me. At least not meaning them the way I did.

“Love you, too, Haz,” I managed to get out. “But you really, really need to get your butt out of bed.”

He only dug his face into my hair.

“Can’t…” he murmured, his voice still half-asleep.

I didn’t want to (I really wanted to keep on listening to him talk in his sleep delirium and pretend he meant me with what he said), but I did need to get Harry up. This was the next-to-last day at Judge’s House in Spain and we had to do some final practising.

“You need to get up, Harry,” I said, prying myself out of his grip. “And stop talking like you’re on drugs. That does not get the ladies going.” A lie. But then again, when didn’t I lie these days? I was getting used to it.

I got out of bed and Harry’s face—now deprived of my comfy neck—landed in the soft pillow. I heard him sigh and I almost thought I’d seen his shoulders trembling slightly as he breathed out, but then he got up on one elbow.

For a second, he looked unbelievably sad, but the look was gone so quickly I was sure I’d just imagined it.

“You go downstairs,” he stifled a yawn, “tell the boys I’ll be right there. Just give me a second, okay?”

I nodded and closed the door quietly when I went, but I couldn’t help looking back at him His face was buried in the pillow again.

Something was up.

But maybe—probably—I was imagining that as well. I would have liked something to be up. I would have really liked Harry to see me as something else but a younger Gemma version. But there wasn’t a chance he would ever do that.

I sat down on the floor next to Harry’s door.

I would always just be like a sister to Harry, I’d just realized. Gemma had been wrong—totally wrong. She had twisted everything around: it wasn’t Harry who liked me; I was the one irrevocably in love here. I was the victim. I was the one who might just destroy One Direction’s future because of my stupid feelings that I just. Couldn’t. Turn. Off. No matter how hard I tried.

Della had always said that if a guy lets you see him when he’s crying or in bed, you’re either an item or you’ve been forever dubbed as the little sister; and Harry and sure as hell weren’t an ‘item’.

I had seen both.

Ironically, I thought about the sugarscape article and had to giggle as I scrambled to get up.

They’d really gotten it all wrong.

My laughter died and I wiped away the half-dried tears on my cheeks.

This had to end, and it was ending now.


* CKWW *


Harry’s PoV

I wanted to die, honestly.

First I’d had to be a total sleepy idiot and actually tell her I loved her. Tell her! I wasn’t an idiot, you never tell a girl you love her unless you want to look like a prize idiot. In the few seconds that it had taken for her to answer, I could swear my heart had stopped beating. And then, when she had told me she loved me too, I hadn’t known if I should be relieved that she hadn’t noticed I’d meant it or cry because she would never mean it the way I did. What an irony was this—that the moment I actually sum up the courage to tell the girl of my dreams that I love her, she says it back and still destroys all my hopes.

Because the article had been right, so damn right: I was foolishly, completely in love with this girl. It had happened at some point during the time we had spent at Robin’s house. It had been more of a gradual process than this bang! I’d always imagined it would be when I’d fall in love with a girl. I mean, actual, real, love. One day, I’d realised I liked being around her a lot, I liked just touching her, being there next to her, in a completely innocent way. Then I’d felt the urge to make her laugh all the time, and to make her happy, make her smile or squeal in childlike happiness and clap her hands. But I’d only realised I was in love with her that night she went upstairs early. I’d just needed to go after her… and then I had almost kissed her. That was when I’d known.

I buried my face in the pillow and let out a frustrated groan.

I couldn’t believe how far into this I’d already gotten. I’d almost cried just now when she—nicely, but with determination—had pried my arms away. I’d almost cried because she had distanced herself from me, in more than just the physical way. I way whipped and we weren’t even together, hell, we hadn’t even kissed yet! It was pathetic.

Louis, of course, found it hilarious. Of course he knew. Lou knew everything about me, and he was the one I went to to whine about how Charlie didn’t like me. He was the one who knew everything, and who I confined in. About stuff I couldn’t tell Charlie. Which had gotten quite much lately.

I just couldn’t tell her anything anymore because then I would tell her.

Did all of this even still make any sense?

There was a knock on my door. I prayed to God that it wasn’t Charlie again.

“Can I come in?” Louis asked.

I made a grumbling sound muffled by my pillow.

I heard the door opening and Louis came in and sat on the bed next to me.

“Did you and blondie fight because she’s crying on Zayn’s shoulder right now.”

I just groaned into the pillow.

“I told her not to wake you, by the way.”

I turned my head so I could answer properly but didn’t have to lift my head.

“I loved it that’s what’s so bad.”

He didn’t say anything but just put his hand on my shoulder.

“I told her I love her,” I said.

“You did what?”

“Seeing her first thing in the morning is so good it’s awful.” I sighed. “Not good for my blood pressure, or clear thinking.”

“Then that's why is there a bawling blondie in the rehersal room?” he asked.

I lifted my head from the pillow to look at him.

“No… She thought I didn’t mean it like that and said, I quote ‘Love you, too Haz, but you need to get your butt out of bed.’ No idea why she’s crying but FYI, I am.” I dropped my head into the pillow again.

“Ouch,” Louis commented.

“My life is over,” I groaned, my voice muffled.

“Zayn and her are like two fourteen-year-olds right now,” Lou told me.

“If that’s supposed to distract me, Lou, it’s not fucking working.” I said, my face still dug into the pillow.

“I’m being serious, though, when she came downstairs she looked all teared up and just went over to Zayn and whispered something in his ear and then they went out of the room. Niall went after them to see what’s going on, she was wailing.”

I felt like there was a black hole in my stomach. I didn’t like it.

I lifted my head again. “Shouldn’t I be angry at her and not feel like I want to race down there and find out why?”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t s’pose that's how puppy love works, though.”


“Mate, you need to get over it.”

I nodded and let my head fall again.

“I should,” I answered into the pillow, my hand raised.


* CKWW *


“Nice to see the PMS-ing girl front made it as well, can we start now?”

Liam was really angry. Liam wasn’t angry often.

“TBF, I might actually be PMS-ing, you never know,” I said. He glared at me. “Just putting … that … out there.” It sounded like a question.


I squeaked. “Okay.”

“Leave her alone, Liam,” Harry looked very, very tired, and very, very sad. I wanted to kiss him very, very much. “It was my fault, I didn’t get up until now.”

Louis elbowed him.

“I couldn’t help it,” Harry hissed quietly.

“Help it,” Louis hissed back. Great, now Louis hated me as well.


“You guys do realise we can hear you,” Zayn said.

Niall laughed, but quickly shut up when Liam gave him a look.

“Guy, I don’t mean to be dry and all, but…”

“You’re going on thirty, mate,” Niall interrupted him.

I put my hand over his mouth before Liam could scold him and smiled sweetly.

“Do continue.”

“I really want us to get through this. Together, as a band. As One Direction. I want us to be the ones who made it far, who nobody remembers just as ‘those kids who failed in the X Factor’. I want us to be big, and I know you want that, too. So can we please just put whatever thing there is between Charlie and Hazza behind us and just practise because then we can solve this mess between the two of you later.”

“Because then we’ll still be here later,” Zayn added quietly.

I nodded solemnly.

“There is no mess between Harry and me. We’re cool.”

Niall frowned. “You were cry—”

“She said it, we’re cool,” Harry interrupted him.

Niall opened his mouth to say something else; and I dared him with my eyes to do so, but then he closed it again.

“Okay,” he said instead, “Who’s got the playback CD?”

When Harry and I sang Torn this time, I was pretty sure we both meant it.

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