We'll Always Have Paris - A Harry Styles Fanfiction

Gabrielle Moreau is a 19-year old French girl living in Paris, the “capital of love”. To most people she looks ordinary, but behind her high-built façade hides a girl that suffers. She tries to shut the inferior sides of her life out by doing the things she loves and letting her thoughts circle around something elsewhere—and she succeeds in focusing on the good things in life flawlessly.
When Gabrielle an early morning gets a call from One Direction’s manager, who offers her the opportunity of working with them on their summer tour in Paris, she immediately replies him with a yes. She doesn’t know it just yet, but within the next few months she will get to grow a close bond to each of the boys in the band—and particularly one of them. Before she knows it, Gabrielle has been thrown into something she this time won’t be able to pull herself out of … Will she finally start opening herself up to someone and let them in without any conditions? **Check out the trailer in the right sidebar**

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19. Team 1D vs. Team Mureau

 

>>Harry<<

 

Liam kicks a pebble with the tip of his foot, making it roll in a twisted line along the gravelled pathway. When it rolls in between the gap between two bushes he lets out a victorious roar. “Goal!”

Zayn bumps into his shoulder when he joins him by his side. “It’s not a goal before it’s scored with a real football,” he points out. “Just wait till we get to the field. Then you can bring on the action.” He throws the football he’s been keeping pressed securely in between his arms at him. Thanks to his fast reflexes, Liam catches it without a problem.

“You make sure not to drop that ball in the dirt!” Olly shouts from somewhere close behind me. “It was my grandfather’s!”

“Yeah, right,” Liam chuckles and pretends to almost loose grip of the ball. The gasp that escapes Olly’s mouth a moment later is unmistakable frightened. “Relax, lad,” Liam smiles as he turns around towards Olly. “Just joking.”

My grip around Gabrielle’s hand automatically tightens as I let out a quiet laugh. Glancing down at her beautiful face beside me, I can smile and feel happy to say that she’s mine. She’s with me because she actually likes me—not because I’m Harry Styles or because she seeks some kind of attention. That's how all the others has been like. But Gabrielle isn’t alike them on any recognizable point.

While talking and enjoying the warm and sunny weather of the early afternoon, we keep walking through the green fields of Jardin du Luxembourg. It’s at least a few hours before we all have to meet in the Bercy arena for sound check, so the boys, Olly, Gabrielle and I decided to go to the park and play a game of football. I have never really been good at the game elsewhere than FIFA and I haven’t played in a while, so I’m pretty excited to see how it will go. I’ll probably just fall and hurt myself or do something else that’s stupid, but in the end I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s just the boys, Olly and Gabrielle I’m going to play alongside with—and I even think Zayn and Gabrielle is worse footballers than me. I actually do stand a chance at not sucking.

When we finally get to an empty quad in the outer half of the park, we settle down to make the mandatory teams.

“What if we say it’s us boys against Olly?” Louis suggests with a vicious smirk playing on his lips and rubs his hands together.

I can see the logic in the propose: Before his career kicked off on the X Factor, Olly played football on his town's team—almost on a professional level, I guess you can say. Of every single person I know, he might be the best footballer. Knowing as many people as I do, it’s not hard to declare that he’s got some of a talent. Therefore, it can only be fair if both the boys and I are against him.

That’s when I realize about Gabrielle. I haven’t given her a single thought since we began making teams…so now the question is, which one is she going to play on?

I feel Gabrielle abruptly letting go of my hand when she turns around to walk towards Olly. It seems that she knew which team she's going to play on way before my mind had thought of it. There is no doubt in her movements.

“Teams—check!” Niall say and with a smile picks up the football from the ground. “Let’s get started!”

We place ourselves on each part of the field, ready to start.

Then I hear Olly and Gabrielle’s voices blend together in a loud battle-roar. “Team sexy-world-champions!”

Being as competitive as he is, Louis immediately gathers us together to make up a better battle-cry. I don’t know why, but it’s like he always have to outdo others. Especially when it comes to games of football. It doesn’t take him long to come up with—what he thinks is—a better roar. On his count, we all reach our hands into the middle of our small circle and throw our hands back into the air as we scream out the words, “Team bitches-love-us!”

Not long after we hear the suspected backfire. “Team Justin-Bieber-is-so-much-better-than-One-Direction!”

Everyone except Niall pulls a face and steps back, feeling defeated and quickly deciding that it’s not worth picking up the stupid fight-challenge. Obviously, we already know who would win it.

Before returning to his position, Niall shrugs his shoulders and with an honest attitude speaks the words, “It’s actually true.”

   The game is what you can call pretty fair. Surprisingly, we score just as much as Olly and Gabrielle—but I guess you can say that we are a lot more competitive, too. With Louis and Niall on the team, the two best football players of One Direction, there’s no other option. Whenever one of us dribbles or shoots the ball wrong, they will yell things at us from across the field like, “Liam, can you suck more?” and “Wimpy-head!” or “Oh Lord, help me! My team mates can’t even hit the ball if they concentrate.” I actually don’t care about their nasty comments. It’s kind of funny to hear them like this—the chants are way worse than the ones being shouted whilst we play FIFA.

Being the goalkeeper, I’m pacing restlessly around the goal area with a dull mind. It’s always boring having to protect the ball from getting kicked into the goal because nothing much happens. All the action is going on out in the field most of the time, and sometimes, this might just make the game feel like it’s not worth playing. Maybe that’s why I by now have let so many balls get into the goal.

I’m sure Louis and Niall is beginning to despise me.

A warning shout from Liam snaps me out of my thoughts. “Harry, look out!”

Too late.

The football has already whooshed past me, leaving me dumbfounded behind. All I can do is watch as it flies the last few meters through the air before at last hitting right into the open goal behind me.

Damn. Not again.

I quickly perceive the two responses I get from the field. The disappointed and angry one; Niall throwing himself down on his knees and crying out the words “Nooo!” and Zayn looking so sad that I for a moment aren’t doubting that he’s crying crocodile tears. And then there’s the happy one; Gabrielle, who scored the goal, running victoriously around the field and Olly joining in with her while screaming, “…And taking the lead with three stupendous goals!”

Is it just me, or are his cockiness a bit over the top today?

One thing is clear: The goal combined with the unfair reactions from the opposite team puts the boys completely out of pace.

“I can’t believe this…” Louis silently growls when he places his hands on his sides, trying to catch his breath from all the running up and down the field.

“What?” Gabrielle speaks, a little superior. A charming grin shows on her face. “You can’t blame team badass for being team badass!” A glare is sent in her direction, but she doesn’t seem to care.

It’s not hard to see that Louis tries to ignore the comment, but as always, he’s not very good at hiding what he feels. “We’re loosing to a girl,” he curses beneath his breath. “A bloody French girl.”

“Don’t piss me off, Tommo. You know there’s nothing worse than an angry Frenchman,” it sounds from Gabrielle, a muted giggle in her voice. A predominantly and thoughtful look shortly takes place on her face  before she adds a, “And I’ve actually played football since I was six, so it might be harder matching me than you possibly thought.”

“Good one, Gabby,” a laughing Olly says and high-fives her as he walks up to her. Putting his arm around her small-built shoulders, he turns his head to grin at us. “Better get your game on if you don’t want to be the one paying the beers!”

“Wait,” Liam abruptly blurts out with a questioning wrinkled forehead. “Are the losers giving free beers to the winners?”

Olly smiles widely at him in response.

Apparently they are.

A loud, cheerful laughter is heard from Gabrielle when Olly slides his arms around her waist from behind, tickling her sides by barely letting his fingertips touch the sore spots on her ribs. It looks like he has done it more than once; he knows all the right places to tickle if he wants to make her break down in laughter—and if he don’t stop playing around with Gabrielle like that now, I’m pretty sure that she actually will fall to the ground, snickering inaudibly.

“Gosh, stop it, you!” she manages to get out as she finally frees herself from the imprisonment of Olly’s strong arms. Her words might say that she isn’t happy, but the delighted smile playing on her lips tells me something otherwise. As everyone else, she likes being tickled—she’s just too afraid to admit it. 

Calling everyone back to life, Zayn slaps his hand together in a loud clap. “Let’s get back to the game, people!”

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