Plain Jane (H.S.)

Ch.00

This fluid is foreign to her. Sure, she'd pleasured men in the past, but none have gotten so far as to finish with her. As his confetti embellishes her torso, she's frozen in pure disgust. This is no party for her. She treats it like glitter, afraid to move in fear of it dripping onto the sheets.

"I'll get you a towel." He flatly comments, unperturbed with his mess.

On the way to the bathroom, he's interrupted by a phone call. "This is Nate Casper's phone."

Stood in the middle of the bedroom, his eyes dart around as he gets situated. The chlorine stench of the slime has Jane holding her breath to conceal a gag. Wouldn't want to be rude.

She gathers that Nate is on a business phone call, discussing the next conference meeting. Jane gestures to her predicament, trying not to be pushy.

An erect finger is shot up to signal, "You and your slip n' slide stomach can wait. I can clearly only focus one one thing at a time, you hippo woman," Or something. Her imagination tends to get carried away.

---

H.

"Tell me, Harry Styles,"

He really dislikes when people use his full name.

"How did I get lucky enough to be on a date with you?"

A proper response was always lost upon him. A million thoughts race through his mind about the detriment of idolization and guilt of all the while being highly imperfect. He's disenchanted by those who pride themselves on being in his company. He's consistently advocated that he was a normal guy with an abnormal job. Why couldn't people treat him that way? Harry hates living on the pedestal people persistently superglue him to.

"Dunno."

The restaurant is lightly buzzing in conversations Harry would rather be having. He admires a suited elderly man who's patting a napkin on his date's cheek.

"Well, Harry Styles, I am glad I messaged you. Also, you look incredible, as usual."

"Thank you." He politely accepts. He'd already complimented her when his driver picked them up, though he takes this opportunity to discover something else he likes. "Your hair is absolutely stunning."

Her bashful smile incites the idea he hadn't considered until now. If he's not going to continue to date her, why not keep her for a quickie? She doesn't seem too bad and Harry prefers to not spend his nights alone. "It's very healthy." He admires the sleekness of it, curious about the feeling. "How do you keep it that way?"

"Oh, genetics." She bobbles her head proudly.

Disappointed in her answer, he genuinely wanted to learn how to revive his curls to the same sleekness. "May I feel?"

Lip curling upward, his date couldn't be more enthralled with the suggestion. She even leans forward to shorten their distance across the table.

He takes a front strand, running it between his pointer and thumb. Slippery as ice, the silky strands slides through his fingers, bouncing back into position. He pulls back with a bright smile. "Wow, that's amazing. Really, how do you get it like that?"

"All from my mama," The whiteness in her eyes is frightening him a bit.

As the waitress jots their order, she requests a picture with Harry. She introduces herself as a long-time fan. He never understood how so many lacked the politeness to interrupt someone during their meal. It reminded him of how lucky he was to have been raised by a well-mannered mother. Anne got the Lion's share of the love he had to give. Anyway, Harry would always oblige to make someone's day. He had a hard time turning anyone down, and fans were his Achilles heel.

It doesn't take much further into the Brussel Sprout appetizer for him to extinguish any ideas of sex tonight. She was asking far too personal of questions, leading him to inquire the authenticity of her infatuation. Initially Harry thought it was excitement over being with 'the harry styles'. As dissatisfied as he was by that intention, the idea that she'd only come to pry had made her far less appealing.

Harry's decade of media training prepared him for the "how to be vague" strategy. When she questioned the name of his therapist, he chuckled through the answer: 'I kind of take up a lot of her time. You know, you obviously can't risk your therapist being busy when you might need them 'cause you're crying with a tub of ice cream and is friends on in the background.'

She hadn't laughed. As if she's on the clock, she continued her invasion on his personal life: 'You didn't really take Kendall's vcard, right? I heard she fucked someone before you.' She was relentless until the end of dinner. 'But Louis wouldn't have tweeted that if you weren't in love, right?' 

He hadn't attempted to get to know her. He was never going to see her again. Plus, it was easier to let her do the talking.

She ordered 3x the amount of Sangrias as him; he paid the full bill anyway. The waitress insisted on rushing them out the back door, since a small crowd of fans had gathered in the front. God works quick, but the fans worked quicker. All it takes is one picture to circulate around twitter and girls drift in his direction with the wind's breeze.

He stands, offering a helping hand to his date. She's so proud to have him in her hold, she doesn't unclasp when up and balanced. She awkwardly grabs her purse off the back of the chair, which would have been an easier task without the leash to her pet celebrity.

Harry worries for the girls pressing their phones against the glass. They're capturing the handhold for all the internet to see. He loosens up on her, to signal the let go, but she grips harder in return. This isn't a date he wanted public.

As they exit through the doors behind the kitchen, Harry is not relieved by any means. Flashes of bright light bombard them like firecrackers. Harry beams his vision downward, leading the way through the small crowd. The boisterous men are a murder of crows, squawking at the pair. 

"Harry! Is this your new girlfriend!"

"Harry! When is One Direction getting back together!"

"Harry! What's your love life look like!"

The repetitive questions have long been white noise to him. 

"Have a good night." He says.

Once slid in the back of the SUV, he forcibly detaches from her, in order to fasten his seatbelt. As his date gushes about the thrill of the paps, he slumps down, sullen over the fans he'd neglected. Those poor girls waited hours just for him to go out another way and be far more bothered.

"Where to, Harry?" His driver, Sal questions.

Harry requests Sal to bring his date home. He'd been dreading this moment, in fear of hurting her. He was aware that she would be disappointed for selfish reasons, but even then, Harry never intended to disappoint anyone.

"626 Park Ave." Her tone was deflated, like a little girl after getting grounded from sweets. It makes Harry wish he chose to have pity sex with her instead.

She didn't peep another word throughout the 15 minute drive. Harry enjoyed the opportunity to bask in the silence, unbothered by her nosiness.

Her 6 inch heels clack one at a time against the concrete as she climbs down from the escalade.

"Have a great night, Natalia!" He wishes.

She breathes in the sorrow of her rejection. "Thanks, you too." She stops the motion of the door closing to ask one more question, "Where did it go wrong, Harry Styles?"

Taking his usual moment to reflect, he tactfully responds, "I prefer to be called Harry."

Her single celled mind is baffled. She couldn't wrap her head around how one mistake would deem her unfuckable. "That's all?"

"Yea, I'm just Harry."

She huffed. "Well, Harry. You're very nice. But it makes you very boring."