That night, I was sat home alone in front of my computer, typing about a mystery man who I met. Looking for the perfect adjectives to describe him. I searched through my brain but I couldn't, no words seemed to sum up how different he was from other guys I had met. I'd normally use words such as distant and mysterious to describe someone I craved to learn more about but those words didn't reach the levels he set. He was, well, indescribable. Unlike any other guy I met, his personality contrasted against itself. My first impression, he was: condescending, isolated and just plain rude, however now, after what I've heard, I believe he's got a sensitive side.
I didn't know what I was doing, sitting at home in my onesie, hair looking like a mess, writing, in hope it would some day get published, on a friday night. I just moved into town and I haven't been out much. It wasn't long until I was disturbed by a loud bang outside my door. I stood up, closed my laptop lid and slowly opened my door, when a drunken blonde boy fell in.
"Woah careful!" he snapped.
"Oh, sorry I wasn't expecting you to be sat up against my door!"
"Since when did someone live here?" he asked looking me up and down, for a minute I forgot what state I was in.
"Since I moved in a few weeks ago, now get out my apartment!" I instructed him, pointing him towards the door and pushing him towards it.
"You know, Harry never mentioned you. I'm Niall, one of Harry's friends." he went to shake my hand and I just pushed it away.
"Then why are you here if you're wanting to see Harry?"
"He's not in. I don't know where he could be."
"Well then wait outside his door."
"But it could be hours before he's back!" I shut the door in his face then grabbed a few pillows off the sofa. I boiled the kettle and made us both a cup-of-tea, then I went outside to wait with him.
"If you're going to be waiting for hours, we better make ourselves comfortable!" I said, handing him a pillow and a mug.
"Cup-of-tea. Isn't that what you English normally drink?" I asked confused.
"It would be but, like you, I'm Irish." He placed his cushion against Harry's door and faced my apartment. I mirrored him.
"Oh, sorry. You must have lived here a while."
"About five years."
"Wow, I've barely been here five minutes!" I joked taking a sip of my tea.
"Well if you want, we could possibly show you around some time?" he hinted.
"Oh, by the way, I never caught your name."
"Diana." For some reason I was proud of my name. My mum named me after my grandma who had died before I was born.
"Pretty name, so what do you do for a living?" he wondered, sobering up slightly.
"I'm an author."
"What kind of things do you write?" he suddenly became more interested.
"Mainly stories, but I occasionally write poems. Enough about me, what do you do for a living?" I asked changing the subject before I began to ramble all night.
"I'm in a band."
"Oh really, what genre of music do you play?"
"Well it's like a bit of pop and a little rock sort of mixed."
"Sounds... unusual! So where do you play? Weddings? Proms?"
"Actually, we do gigs... worldwide."
"Really? Anything I may have heard?" I implored.
"I don't know, ever heard 'What Makes You Beautiful?" Then it clicked.
"You're in that One Direction?"
"Yes! Me and Harry." then Harry tumbled out the elevator, and he was not alone. He was followed by some blonde haired girl, who I also recognised.
"Harry? Taylor?" Niall said standing up. Neither of them were listening, he had her pushed up against the wall, kissing her all over her face. Niall looked disappointed.
"Niall?" I drew his attention to me, "If you want to sleep on my sofa tonight you can. It looks like these two have plans they're not going to change." I opened my door and invited him inside. "Harry?" He still wasn't paying attention. So I took his door keys, unlocked it and sent them both towards the door, holding Harry back for a minute.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his breath reeking of alcohol.
"Don't be a drunken idiot!" and with that I went back into my apartment.
I quickly grabbed a spare blanket and pillow for Niall on the sofa, taking my laptop into my room so he would't be reading what I've been writing, and updating the events of the drunken idiot who was hooking up with some random girl off the street... not that I was jealous, why would I be?