CHARLIE
"Aren't you Swedish?" I ask.
OG laughs. "Yeah, I am, why?"
"You just, er, speak really good English. That's all," I say.
"Thanks, yeah, I'm very bilingual," he says, grinning smugly. I giggle and he continues. "Er, do you speak any . . . languages?"
"I can cry in Spanish but that's about it." I shrug. When I look over at him, he's looking down and laughing. He looks at me and our eyes meet.
"Wow," he mutters under his breath.
"What?"
"You just . . . you really don't know you're gorgeous, do you?" he asks, looking incredulous. "It's weird, like, the other girls have nothing on you. And you don't seem to know it at all?"
I blink a few times, frowning. "Please don't - I mean, I-I can't take compliments and it'll get, er, awkward, and, er, how's the tour going?"
"Seriously? Alright, alright," OG lets it go and shrugs. "It's good, yeah. We've got another month of the UK and then we're going back to Sweden, doing some songwriting and stuff. Dancing. Are you a big fan? I don't remember any squealing or fangirling, you seemed pretty laid back when you came with your friends."
"Uh, not really actually," I say, trying not to offend him. "Like, I like your music. I just don't have a lot of time to, uh, listen to music. Sophia and Rachel adore you guys, though."
"Blondie and the one with the choker?"
I nod, laughing a little.
"Why don't you have a lot of time to listen to music?" he asks, his eyes searching mine. I shift uncomfortably as we walk, looking down. I don't like how it feels like he's reading my mind when his blue eyes are fixed onto mine.
I swallow. "Um . . ."
How do I really explain?
"Come on, I'll probably never see you again." OG half-smiles. "Let's see how much we can get to know each other in one trip to McDonald's and back, yeah? Yolo it."
"Did you just say yolo?"
"I did. Continue."
"Well . . ." I chew the inside of my lip. "My parents just prefer me studying rather than listen to music and stuff. Like, they don't let me dance or see friends a lot, you know?"
Without looking away from me, he nods. "Yeah, my family were like that. Kinda felt like I was betraying them by singing and dancing instead of . . . what do you call it in English? Juristyrket. Law? That's what Dad does."
I smirk. "Bilingual my ass."
"Hey, I literally forgot one word!" he protests, laughing. "Oh, is this it?"
"Yeah," I say as we approach the McDonald's. The large building has the familiar red and yellow logo printed on multiple signs around, and OG and I walk through the car park towards the door. It's a 24-hour place.
We go up to the counter. It's 02:39 now; it's mostly full of homeless people and teenagers making out and other people. This one guy sitting on one of the high-up stools is wearing this dark hoodie pulled over the top of his head, and our eyes meet. A shiver runs down my spine as we pass him and his eyes stay stuck to mine. I look away.
OG orders quickly. He knows what the boys want, and just gets a whole lot of stuff for everyone to share. I reach into my pocket for a twenty pound note to contribute but he shakes his head, sliding a credit card into the machine. I stand back awkwardly. The hairs on the back of my neck are prickling but I don't want to look behind me because of that guy.
