Roses for Roselyn (Niall and Harry Fanfictions)

She was just an ordinary, grounded girl with a young, obsessive sister... little did she know that her sister's biggest idol was obsessing over her. Join Rosie and Rachel on their journey in love, friendship, obsession, fame and passion. What will happen? Who will happen? And most importantly, how will they cope with the disadvantages of 'the good life'?


106. 'At the End of the Day'


“Oh my actual god. Why are we doing this?” The sky’s gone dark and it’s also gotten much colder since the sun went down. Harry’s struggling without his coat and so am I, so why are we pushing ourselves further into the river on this cursed raft? I’ve already gotten some amazing shots of a dry Harry sitting on the moonlit river raft, but having two of us on here is just pushing for bad luck.

“It’s fun. Trust me.”

“I trust you, just not fate or my bad luck.”

“Well my luck’s just fine, so trust that.”

“Well it won’t be you falling off then, will it? It will be me.”

“Stop being silly.”

Harry runs his hands through his hair and shakes it before looking back up at me. We’re sat cross legged and Harry has nothing more than a plank of wood, to push us around with, in his hands.

“I don’t like this one bit.” I might not like it, but the water is still and beautiful as it surrounds us more evenly and we reach the centre of the open river.

I realise that the patch of wood that I’m sitting on is slightly wet and crouch up suddenly. “Oh my god. It’s going to get my shorts and tights wet. Push us back, please?” Water is lapping up between the cracks of the wood.

“Just stand up.” I try to, but nearly fall over, so Harry rises with me; taking a steady amount of control on my hands. “Up we get then.”

“Do you do this often?”

“What? Stand on rafts, in the middle rivers, at night with pretty girls? All the time.” Did he just call me pretty? Harry laughs at my scared eyes. “No, not that regularly.”

“Good. I couldn’t quite imagine there would be enough rivers, or rafts, in the UK to do it with every girl that would ‘kill to take my place here’.” I do the quotation marks with my fingers, making him laugh. I realise how sexual it sounds. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. Well… that’s awkward…”

“You are very awkward Rach. I must admit.”


“And by the way I wasn’t thinking about it that way until you apologised for it. Now you’ve made me sad.”

“Yeah right.” I start giggling and he shuffles forward slightly. It must have knocked the raft off balance, because it goes a metre across the water under our feet and we only just stay on with it.

Water splashes at both of our legs. It’s freezing. I really don’t want to fall in tonight. “Stop moving. You stay on your side okay?”

“Okay, sorry.”

The raft moves again, and this time, I know he did it on purpose. “Harry!” I’m about to have a hissy fit. “I don’t want to fall in. It’s cold.”

“Shut up Rachel.” I could have sworn he was about to lean into kiss me when this time I slip on the wet wood and Harry jumps forward to catch me. I save myself in time, meaning that he has no one to save and so instead goes flying into the water. Oh. My. God.

He’s under the water for a few seconds, before a mess of brown curls resurfaces, taking in deep breathes and shouting about how cold it is. “Shit. Its- its freeeezing. Get… me out! Fuccck thissss!” I help to pull him over the side of the raft and use a nearby tree branch to pull us back towards the land.

I’m trying extremely hard to hide my giggles, but it’s hard to disguise them, and at some point after getting him onto the dry bank he notices. I don’t know whether he finds it hilarious, or if some sort of hypothermia is already starting to kick in, but he starts to join me in crying with laughter and we both fall onto the cold grass, rolling holding our sides as we laugh.

“Please remind me, why the hell did I let you pull me onto that raft? I knew this would happen.”

“So did-did I to be honest… but –but it was funny.” He can hardly breathe the words for all the laughter and stuttering he is doing. He looks extremely cold in his wet clothes. Water drips off of the hair that covers his forehead.

“C’mon. Let’s go back to the tent, get our stuff and go. You’ll freeze if we don’t leave soon.”

“Okay.” He gets up and starts to make his way back. I can see the shivers that make ripples down his goose bumped arms.

“Should I get the raft?”

“No. We’ll just leave everything here tonight. I can’t be bothered –we’ll come back another time.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Whilst collecting our things from outside the tent, I manage to get a few pictures of him in his soaked clothes, as he huddles under his two jackets –one of which I was lucky enough to bring out from the warehouse for him. The pictures are good –in fact all of them are. I’ll be extremely surprised if this project doesn’t turn out well.

I already know what the theme will be. It will be Trust. That’s what’s summed up our day together; my trust to come here with Harry in the first place; my trust that allowed him to convince me with crazy ideas like rafts and Land Rovers; my trust that today has been possibly one of the best days that I’ve ever spent with just one other person. I trust Harry, and that’s saying something. I never trusted Miles. Ever.


"You might not want to look." I turn around to look in a different direction from the boot of the car, although I can't help that there's a reflection in the window that I'm looking at. I don't even notice that I'm looking until he takes his trousers off, stripping down to his boxers to change. His body is heavily tattooed -with little black curls and dips and sharp edges contouring the skin of his body. The butterfly is beautiful; like a moving part of his soul as the muscles in his stomach ripple. I suddenly realise that I'm staring at the reflection of him and clamp my hand over my eyes casually. It's more for his benefit than mine, though I can't help thinking that he noticed.

"Hey, I saw that!" I can tell that he's smirking.

"Saw what?"

My drama skills must be pretty ace, because I sound so innocent that he starts to doubt himself. "Nothing." There's a soft laugh before I hear zips, the shuffling of material and a stomping as he puts a new pair of shoes on. "Okay you can turn around now. Luckily I had my gym bag in the boot from this morning."

He's wearing a white pair of sports trainers, a baggy pair of navy track suit bottoms and a tight, black, v-neck shirt that shows of the beaks of the two swallows. It has capped sleeves that cut off just above his muscular arms. After my day of taking photos of him, I've come to realise just how beautiful he really is -like a dark muscular angel.

We get into the car at almost the exact, same, silent moment. "Harry what do your tattoos mean?"

"Which ones, I've got plenty?"

"Okay, so the birds first then."

I look at him for a while, until he starts the engine and clears his throat; a signal that he's about to tell me. "The slightly bigger one symbolises my mum and the other one is for Gemma." He chews on the gum in his mouth in thought. "They don't really know that yet. I got them done because it’s hard when you’re so far from home -you forget little things about them. I wanted the birds to be a constant reminder of them; to remind me to remember them and that they're only a flight from home if I ever really need them." It's really thoughtful.

"I hate the idea of name tattoos -they could end up going so wrong -especially in relationships, but for family it's different. No matter what happens to my family I will never regret these two tattoos, ever... Maybe one day I will add to them; a little family of my own would be nice to symbolise, but I can't do that until I'm sure of my future."

"I agree with you." He looks up in interest. "Names belong to a person. Objects -and swallows in your case- relate to memories and things that can’t ever be taken away from you." My response makes him smile in agreement.

"Do you ever want a tattoo?"

 "Maybe in the future. Not now."


"Harry, are there any that you regret?"

"This one." He flicks at his wrist dismissively, where there are a few bracelets. I can't see the tattoo now, but we both know it’s there.

I need a reminder. "What does it say?"

"I can't change." There has to be a reason behind it.

"So why do you regret it?" I hope he doesn't think I'm being too nosy.

"Because it's a lie."

His face goes hard but I'm still interested. What does he mean? Does Harry think that's he's changed?

"Why...?" My voice is only a whisper.

"Because I got it with the idea that no matter who I decide to be in the future, no matter who I want to be in the future, it will never change my past. It will never change who I was before, because I've already been that person." He's right. I don't get how his opinions could have changed. "When I got the tattoo I hadn't realised that no matter who you've been, no matter who you will be, no one wants to remember who you were 10, 15, 20 years ago. Things change. Perceptions change. And most of all, who you are influences who you was. With fame taking such a huge part in my life I can't help feeling that I preferred the person I used to be; the one that no one remembers." There's a pained expression on his face. Wow... I've never seen that side of him before. It's so... deep and meaningful.

I want to say something. I want to tell him that he can’t have changed for the worse –he’s so lovely and kind and he would never hurt everyone. I can’t tell him he hasn’t changed because I don’t know who he was before. It only pisses him off when people act like they know him. “Everyone grows up Harry. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.” It’s the best that I can give him for now.

Harry’s hand clenches the steering wheel -the knuckles turning white- so I reach over to place my hand on the top of his. His hand is still cold, and it relaxes lightly under my touch. I remember something I put into my handbag before we left this morning and sit forward to retrieve my bag and get it out. It's his ring.

"Hey, I was keeping this safe for you remember?"

"Thank you." He turns to me with a visibly fragile smile and reaches a hand over so that I can slide it on. Once it's on his usual finger, he closes his fist and leaves it there on his lap.

"Do you want to go out for dinner tomorrow? Louis, El and Sophia will be there."

"Yeah that'll be fun."

"That's what I thought you'd say. I'll be there at 7."

"Have you got anything else to do tomorrow?"

"No not really."

"Come over earlier then. You can help choose the photos and print them out."

"How much of this project is going to be your own work?"

"Enough." Harry laughs with me and starts to sing a cheesy little song.

"Want to know something I always sing after a photo shoot or a video shoot?"

"Go on then."

"At the end of the day." It's only six words that he sings with a hilarious accent –like a farmer or something.

"That's not a song."

"Anything can be a song if you want it to be."

He makes one up about the dark roads that we're travelling down -our headlight being the only source of light- and then he starts to add lyrics that describe the events of what happened today; starting with breakfast and ending with a repetition of the words 'at the end of the day.'

"Can you sing along or something?" I refuse to sing, just to save my own dignity, and end up forcing a sigh from his lips. 

"Ah, you're no fun. If Liam was here he'd beat-box and Niall would try to rap." I know he's right. I've heard them do it before so we both start a laughing fit at the thought.

"You guys are all idiots."

"Thanks love."


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