GOLDEN (harry styles)

a le goût de fraises

(19/09/17)

The early morning sun rays of San Francisco beam peacefully through my window, finding their way around the half pulled up blind. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand, and sigh in contentment.

It's concert day.

I grin up at the ceiling, my teeth biting my lip in a mix of work anxiety and excitement. I launch myself out of the surprisingly cozy bunk, and throw on my blue slippers before stumbling down the hall to the bathroom.

The glare of the ceiling lights hits me like a freight train. I wobble in my path, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the sudden change.

The lights in here are too bright for this time of day. Actually, what time is it?

I pull my phone off the charger, (yes, it's in the bathroom) and tap on the screen. In bold, white numbers at the top it reads 12:57pm.

Shit.

My eyes shoot open, definitely feeling more awake with the panic rush, and I start rushing, around getting changed and brushing my hair. Thank God I had already picked my outfit for today, because if I hadn't that would have added an extra half an hour onto my schedule.

But I can't say schedule, because I have zero time management skills. Because I'm a wee bit stupid.

I practically rip off my pajamas, and yank on the casual white tank top and red patterned skirt. I stop to admire the design. It looks a bit like Jupiter, except it's a deeper shade of red and pink. I snap back to reality, and continue to hurry around.

I tie up my shoelaces, grimace at the state of my hair in the mirror, and pretend not to see the sunburn lines that are peeking cheekily out of my cardigan sleeve.

My feet seem to carry me through the remainder of the bus corridor, not stopping until I land in the couch area, and have to remember which door you exit out of. I was given clear instructions that one is to enter through, and the other to exit through.

But of course, I can't recall which is which.

Just as I'm about to open the door on the right, whispering silent prayers in my head, someone clears their throat behind me.

I swivel quickly, only to see the smug, morning face of Harry. He has his hands embraced together in an evil-doctor-planning-world-domination gesture, and his hair is unbrushed, just like mine. However, his doesn't look completely like he just got tipped out of a garbage bin.

"Well, well, well. Miss... Actually I don't know your last name. Miss Nixie! Good morning!" He says cheerfully.

I give him a sarcastic smile, to which his weirdly frustrating grin just grows. Why is he so happy in the morning?

Then again, it's basically past lunch time now.

"Good morning to you too, Harry." I exhale, my foot tapping an anxious melody on the carpet.

"You seem stressed." He smiles.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because I had to be at the venue, taking photographs of you an hour and a half ago, therefore I am very stressed. Speaking of, why aren't you at said venue?" I realise.

Harry beams more, the happy smile stretching across his face to create crinkles near his eyes, and deep dimples in his cheeks. He slings an arm around my shoulder, and leads me over to the door on the left, still not answering my question.

"This is the door you should've opened." His voice lulls on the 'o' sound.

What a helpful answer. Not.