Limerence • h.s.

37

I scribble the pen across the paper, the ink attempting to give out on me. Not today. The green ink bleeds through after a few seconds and I resume writing. I've been journaling a lot more recently, my tattered book is filled with every feeling I've had over the last few weeks.

It only seems fair that I reminisce on last night in it, solidifying every feeling I have on paper. The hum of the bus vibrates beneath me as I pull my knees closer to me. My journal rests on my thighs as I continue to write, huddled into the corner of my bunk. Harry is sitting on the opposite side, getting some work done of his own. Our methods are polar opposites, with his computer casting a light across his face.

His feet rub against mine softly as we both stay focused. The act is something I'm not used to, but it makes me smile as I continue to write away.

We've been on the bus for hours now, with plenty still to go. Los Angeles is far, and I'm thankful Harry opted to ride on our bus. After last night, neither one of us really wanted to part ways. Not that he would have anyway, the man is determined to stick by my side as much as possible with Jackson being brave enough to show up at any time. He literally only left to talk to Niall, and he was right across the hall.

I hadn't expected to be back in Los Angeles so soon, but whoever plans this shit and runs everything switched our Montana show out for another night in California. I was a little sad at first, wanting to see Montana, but I quickly decided I would go one day. 

I continue to write about anything and everything, just trying to make sense of my brain. Telling him made everything easier for me. I'm no longer so jumbled about all of it. I peek at him, staring at his face as he concentrates on whatever he's doing. He pulls on his lower lip, his brows pinched together in thought.

There are a thousand words dancing around in my head to describe the sight, but I can't seem to narrow it down. Even with a thesaurus in front of me, I would fail. He's perfect. Maybe a little crazy sometimes, but perfect for me. I wonder how long this bubble will last before something inevitably goes wrong. It's my luck, really. Every time I have something good, something else blows it all to hell.

I shut down the thought, looking back down at my paper. There aren't many left now, I'll have to get a new one soon. Especially if I keep documenting every feeling I have at every minute.

"What are you writing in that thing?" He nudges me once again, smiling at me.

I instinctively pull it close to my chest. "Nothing, don't worry about it, Styles."

He shakes his head, closing his laptop. I close my journal as he sets it to the side, crawling to me in the tiny bunk and settling in between my legs. His back is on my chest, and I wrap my arms around him. "What time is it?"

He would know since he's spent who knows how long staring at a computer.

"About 6:30, probably about 6 or so hours left," he says, looking up at me. I groan, sick of being on this god-forsaken bus. We've been on the road since about noon, our entire day gone with the drive. Sometimes I desperately wish we could fly to some places. The stops for gas only add to the already agonizing drives. 10 hours will likely turn into 12.

We've spent most of the day either asleep, eating, or sitting together in silence. I need to move, stretch my legs, and pass the time faster.

"Well, should we socialize? Move our bodies for once today?"

He laughs, wrapping my arms around himself tighter. "If you insist, but don't blame me when our bubble bursts with Niall's obnoxious antics."

I shove him, laughing as he climbs out of the bunk, throwing open the curtain. I follow closely, my legs trying to give out from the lack of use. We head for the back, everyone's voices coming from there.