i would name the stars for you [e.c]

chapter 7

"There's been a disturbance in the force," Meghan says, taking a long, calculated sip of his double-shot espresso.

The brown-haired boy sitting across from her just smiles lightly, as if he's used to such strange pronouncements. "Mmm, how so?" he replies, nursing his own‒ significantly sweeter‒ cup of coffee.

"I told you about last night, right Haz?" Meghan asks, and waits for him to nod of confirmation, "Remember Louis?"
Harry inclines his head and sets his coffee cup on the table between them. "Is that the one you want to sleep with or the one who wants to lick Eleanor's collarbones?"

"The second one," Meghan replies, glaring, "and I don't want to sleep with Oli."
Harry chuckles, idly twirling a cotton-candy colored strand around his index finger. "Oh, my mistake," he teases, "Oli is the one you want to propose to in Paris and adopt six kids with. How could I forget?"

"You know, sometimes I really regret being friends with you," Meghan replies, still glaring.

Harry grins and reaches across the table to pat her cheek with mock affection. "No you don't, love," he says with a saccharine smile, "I'm the nicest, hottest, bestest mate you've got."

Seeing Meghan's resultant eye-roll, he adds, "And certainly your most enjoyable shag to date."

"And modest-est too," Meghan mutters, ignoring his last comment completely.

She finishes her espresso in one long gulp, tossing the empty cardboard cup straight into the bin to her left with a bored flick of her wrist, "Anyway, as I was saying, Eleanor's been at Louis' since like six this morning and there hasn't been a single homicide reported on the Camden Police Station's twitter page. Not even any complaints for noise disturbance!"
She holds up her phone for emphasis, showing her a tweet about an arrest for cannabis possession posted three hours ago.

"Maybe they've just not found the body yet," Harry jokes, dark pink lips quirking up in amusement.

Meghan, on the other hand, looks horrified.

"I'm just taking the piss, Meghan, my goodness!" he placates, watching her facial muscles relax at his reassurance, "What's Eleanor doing there anyway?"
"Apparently, she drunkenly wandered into Camden last night and ended up knocking on Louis' door this morning," Meghan explains, "Can't get a driver out there until 'bout ten o'clock, and we certainly don't want her papped on public transit looking hungover and half out her wits, so I told Louis to keep an eye on her. Hopefully, that way, she doesn't escape again."

"Bit of an odd coincidence though, innit?" Harry comments, raising one brown eyebrow, "Eleanor ending up there?"
"Yeah, proper sci-fi material," Meghan agrees sarcastically, lips twitching into the briefest of smiles at the affronted look she receives in return, "but really I'm just glad she's safe and not, like, passed out in the toilets at McDonald's or snorting coke from some bloke's bellybutton or something."

"Can you even properly snort coke from a bellybutton?" Harry wonders aloud, completely missing the point, "I reckon you'd get a bit of powder stuck in the creases?"

"Wouldn't know," Meghan replies idly, checking her watch, "Now let's get you back in the studio. I want to work on those runs at the end of that track again."

Harry groans in protest, and slowly and unwillingly drags himself up from his seat. "Can't you make Liam do them?" he coughs exaggeratedly, "My throat is sore."
"We can't put your name on your band's record if you don't actually sing on it," Meghan chastises.

"Ugh, you're a slave driver," Harry whines, "When's Eleanor coming back? I like her more than you."

"Probably around noon," Meghan answers, "and then i like Louis more than you."

"No you don't," Harry says, "but you've never slept with him, have you? Or even seen his dick, for that matter, so how can I really be sure?"

"I knew you only liked me for my body," Meghan scoffs, unlocking the door to the recording booth and fiddling with a few controls.
"It's not bigger than mine, innit?" Harry asks, a bit invasively.
"Unfortunately, I can't confirm that," Meghan says with a sigh. "Now, can we please stop discussing the guy-that-want to-lick-Eleanor's-collarbones's penis and get some actual work done?"

"Aye aye, cap'n," Harry replies, with a half-hearted attempt at a serious tone. He swings a hand up in mock salute, and marches into the recording booth still chuckling to himself.

"Yeah, you're a proper comedian, aren't you?" Meghan says, rolling her eyes.
As Harry starts on some vocal warm-ups from within booth, Meghan plugs in a few mics, tests the sound levels, and sets up the backing track. Just as she's finishing up, the door to the outer room swings open and a tall, dark-haired man dressed in all black enters, smiling brightly.

"Morning, you two!" David, the head producer, calls out, plopping himself down in the swivel chair next to the one Meghan is currently occupying. "Got everything set up, megavolt?"
Meghan rolls his eyes at the nickname but nods affirmatively. "Yeah, Haz is ready to lay down a few runs on track six."

"Ah perfect," David replies, fiddling with a few of the controls despite Meghan's reassurances, "That'll be it then, Megav. As Calderland is still MIA and obviously won't be coming in for a second session today, you've got the rest of the day off. Enjoy yourself, yeah?"

Meghan opens her mouth to deliver the news that Eleanor's not actually missing any longer, but Harry's shrill laughter fills the room before she can speak.

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupts from the booth, still giggling, "Is Calderland a play on Calder and Thailand?"
David smiles brightly, his focus drawn away as he spins his chair to face toward him. "Oui Stylé," he replies, switching to a poor attempt at a French accent, "You are so clevér."

Thé dark brown-haired popstar inexplicably laughs even harder.

"D'you like that?" David replies, grinning, "Just came up with that one on the spot."

"I don't think that randomly employing a French accent should be considered particularly witty," Meghan says, attempting to introduce herself back into the conversation.

The entire room falls silent; Harry glaring and mouthing "rude!" and David simply waving a dismissive hand as if to say "Why are you still here?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," Meghan mutters, collecting her things.
She's just zipped up her backpack and started down the hallway when her phone pings with the arrival of a new text message. She whips it out of her pocket and sees that it's surprisingly from Oli (who had drunkenly spelled his name P-L-I in Meghan's contacts last night as he'd insisted on typing it in himself).

fancy gtting sum lunch tday?

His phone pings again before he can reply.
if ur not buzy i mean

And again.
shoot im srry that was awfl presmptius of me !

And again.
i meaan nt like a date or anythg...
i just fel like i owee u fr lst nigts cab farre??
nt tht thts the only reson i wld eat lunh w yuu!!

oh ym god pls ignore this !! !!! this is rlly embrasing!!

Meghan tries to resist the fond smile that tugs at her lips, because really, how on earth is she this attracted to such an adorable, bumbling idiot?

Never mind that it takes her the entire ride back to her flat to think of a suitably cool reply to Oli's messages.

Never mind that it takes her even longer to type it in ( her hands are not shaking, thank you very much).

sounds great actually! i'll pick u up in an hr? xx

Never mind that she deletes and retypes the x's at least thirty times before her cry of "fuck it!" echoes through her empty flat, and her thumb betrays her as it taps SEND.

Never mind all that, really.