98.6% Chance of Love at First Sight (l.s.)

v - harry is secretly a teenage girl

Harry really hadn't meant to follow Louis. He'd been trying his hardest to wait, just looking as innocently as possible at all of Louis' feed. The problem was, he was so utterly beautiful. He had all these cute little selfies from various days in his life with adorable captions and oh god he was so whipped. Harry had tried to make sure his Instagram was prepared for Louis to see, uploading a couple of photos with black and white filters. He wrote some hipster song lyrics in his bio. Harry tried, he really did.

He just meant to tap something on Louis' profile, and all of the sudden, the follow button turned green. Harry panicked. He couldn't unfollow, not now! What if Louis already saw? Embarrassingly, his first reaction was to chuck his iPhone across the hotel room and onto Liam and Zayn's bed. It landed a few inches from Zayn's lap, who then turned and raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"I followed him," Harry blurted after a long pause. He smacked his hand over his mouth immediately, a blush rising between his fingers and all throughout his cheeks. Zayn let out a chortle, leaning on his boyfriend for support. Liam, who had been staring at his phone up until this point, looked up in surprise, glanced at Harry's and Zayn's expressions, and shrugged.

"I didn't mean to! Stop laughing at me!" Harry fired, embarrassed at the flaming sensation rising in his face.

"I'm not laughing at you; I'm laughing at your situation." Zayn stated, rolling his eyes at Harry. "It's like you're a teenage girl or something. You're so fussy. He's a guy. Don't overthink so much. If anything, think with your dick." Liam slapped Zayn's arm after shooting him a disproving glance. Zayn just shrugged his shoulders, placing a kiss on Liam's cheek.

"Don't listen to him, Harry. He's a nitwit; put a little romance into it. Try and charm him a little." Liam said, pinching Zayn's side. Zayn made some sort of offended noise before settling himself on his boyfriend's shoulder.

"That's easy for you to say!" Harry said, exasperated, "You haven't had to charm someone in six years. I'm pretty sure you guys don't even flirt anymore; you probably just snog each other's faces off and call it a romantic evening. Do you even flinch when Zayn farts anymore?" Liam made a face that didn't exactly seem to be one of protest, which really wasn't helpful to Harry.

"What am I to do?" He asked, wringing his hands. He longed to start pacing around the room, but the last time that happened Zayn got so annoyed with him he chucked a shoe at Harry's head. He figured it was in everyone's best interest to just sit on the bed and panic. Maybe it was rather childish and (no offence to females) girly for him to be so concerned over a follow, but what if Harry came off desperate? What if Louis totally thought he was the most overly clingy person ever? What would happened if Harry didn't make it conspicuous enough that he totally made an Instagram just to talk to Louis in the first place?

"Maybe I should've waited longer to follow him or something. Oh god, oh god, I'm gonna throw up. It's official. I'm three seconds from blowing chunks all over the nicest hotel bed I've ever been in." Harry muttered, eyes wide and staring at the duvet he was sitting on top of.

"Give me a break, you dolt. You know what's good for stuff like this? Songwriting. Text Ed or something." Zayn said, leaning up from his position on Liam, who whined and pulled Zayn back to his side. Pathetically adorable losers, Harry thought.

"Good idea," he said, shuffling around for his phone, "I'll just ask him if we can hang out in the studio or- shit, yeah, can I have my phone back?" He blushed furiously as Zayn grabbed his phone, which had somehow ended up under Liam's thigh, and tossed it back to Harry. He unlocked it, ignoring his Instagram app like it had the Black Plague. Quickly, he shot a simple text to Ed, who at this point needed almost no information or politeness when it comes to hanging out with Harry. Groaning, he stood up and walked to the bathroom just to have something to do. He stared in the mirror. It was later in the day, and Harry was wondering if he should reconsider his (or Liam's) outfit choices because the temperature in L.A. was upwards of 30° Celsius. He was an Englishman, from the land of absolutely no sunshine and pathetic summers. He'd probably become the first human to melt on Hollywood Boulevard or something.