And We Danced All Night (A Marcel fanfiction)

Marcel has kept it hidden that his brother is none other than *the* Harry Styles--not because he wants to (because he admires his brother with great respect for what he does), but because he doesn't want to live in his shadow. This, of course, comes with a price: He's not nearly as outgoing as his siblings are. When Samara Deanne comes to the top-level STEM school, where he attends, where will his shaky personality take him? Will she change him for the better?


7. Chapter 7

"I...have never been here before," I said to Samara as we looked over the menu above the register.

"It's literally coffee and cakes," Samara replied. She pointed up at number three. "That's a caramel frappe with a blueberry muffin. It's pretty good,"

I sighed. This was so stressful. "I'm just going to get whatever you get,"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I trust you enough,"

"May I help you?" the cashier asked.

Samara stepped up to the register. "I want the..." I watched as she thought, head tilted to the side. Her brown hair was curled, so each curl leaned over. She looked back at me and asked what I wanted. Shit, I wasn't even listening.

"I-I'll take whatever you got," I answered.

"Are you sure? I got a lot," she replied.

"Oh, if you're paying for it, then--"

"No, its my treat," she turned back to the cashier. "He'll take what I got," The cashier gave her the receipt and told us it would be a few minutes.

We walked over to a table and sat down. My dream still haunted me, so, I had to ask her, "Samara, did you have a job back in Hawaii?"

She nodded. "I was a life guard,"

My hands started to shake. "Oh my God," I muttered, putting my head in my hands.

"Are you okay?" Samara asked.

"Uh..." I said. "I just need some food. That's it,"

The lady called our number and Samara went up to the counter to get it. "Good thing I said it was to go," she said, checking the time. "It's five minutes to eight,"

We took out food and went to the car. We sat the food between us, and I immediately grabbed my muffin. If I was going to lie, I'd better pull through. She took a sip of her frappe, leaving a ring of lip gloss around the tip of her straw. I took the lid off of mine, and tipped it back, only to be met with a face full of whipped cream and a lap full of ice coffee.

"Oh...shit, that's cold," I winced.

"Hey..." Samara reprimanded, handing me a wad of napkins. "Language,"

"Sorry," I  grabbed the napkins from her. "Thanks,"

"You're welcome,"

I laid the napkins on my lap and started dabbing at it. "Wow, I'm such an idiot. It's like I've never had a latte before--"

"It's a frappe,"

"Whatever. You're so American," She laughed. I chuckled to myself and continued. "Yeah, this is really cold," I started to press down on the crotch of my trousers, trying to get them dry. "I'm sorry if I ruin your seats..."  I looked up to find her staring at me, biting her lip. I blushed. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Her face scrunched up and she laughed, turning back to the road. "I'm sorry, Marcel,"

I laughed. "It's okay," I said, turning away from her. "You know, we've known each other for a day, and I've learned that you're such a tease,"

She laughed. "So I've been told. I've learned that you're a little nerdy,"

"A little?" I turned back to her. "My second conversation involved me rambling about genetic engineering,"

She smiled. "But it's good. I like that,"

We pulled into the parking lot. I looked at her with all the seriousness I could muster and asked, "Does it look like I wet myself?"

She held back her laugh and said, "Maybe if we turn the air on and you aim it at your crotch, it will dry. We've got half an hour 'til school starts. We can eat breakfast until then."

I smiled and pulled a sandwich out of the bag. She flipped the air on and reached over to aim the vent at me. She looked down at me and said, "Actually, we could be out in ten minutes. You're not that wet, to be honest,"

I cracked up, pushing her away. She laughed, throwing her head back against the seat. I reached over and flipped the radio on. When the song started to play, I groaned.

One Direction was playing.

Samara started to hum along. I sat back and was completely amazed that she hadn't connected two and two to get that I was related to Harry. I was glad, though. I hated lying to her, but I wanted her to like me for me, Marcel Styles, not, Marcel Styles, brother of Harry Styles.

"Do you like them?" I asked.

"Yeah," she answered. "Hey, Harry Styles lived here, right?" I nodded. She squinted her eyes. "Are you sure you don't have any brothers?"

"Y-y-yes," I answered. I needed a distracted. "H-hey, look, my crotch is dry! Let's  go," I got out of the car and closed the door. She got out as well.

"Are you alright? You seem extremely on edge," she said.

"I'm fine. I just need to go to the restroom," I lied. "Now, you stay there--or come in, I don't care--but I'll be right back,"



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