About (Harry Styles)

3.

A nauseating sensation washes over me as I'm looking into a pair of shaded green eyes. I can't tell whether it's a hit from motion sickness, claustrophobia, or the small fact that Harry Styles is standing in front of me.

His grin never budges from his lips, and I can't help but wonder what could possibly be the source of his mischievous grin. Is it normal for him to smile so largely in front of strangers? I lift my index finger and at the speed of a snail's morning pace, I draw it closer to his cheek, gently poking it into his right dimple.

So he is real.

"What're you doing?" The warmth from his smile disappears as he furrows his brows. He raises one arm to grab my hand, but I quickly flinch away before his hand can make any contact.

"I - I wasn't acting," I stumble to say.

"I don't know. You don't look that sick to me," he says, cocking a brow upward, and I can't help but notice how groomed he looks, despite his horrid choice of clothes.

Why expose the chest area? It's such a turnoff for me.  It'd be worse if he had chest hair.

"A sick person doesn't wear their sickness on their sleeve," I remark. "Just because I don't look like it, doesn't mean I'm not."

His lips move into a subtle frown but flips into a smile the next second before he extends an arm out to me for a handshake.

"I'm Harry, by the way."

"You're kidding, right?" I narrow my eyes at him, and he looks confused. "I know who you are. The majority of the planet knows who you are. I don't think introductions are really necessary in your case."

A deep, quiet chuckle escapes his throat and he crosses his arms as he looks ... entertained. I'm not exactly sure why I'm being so rude to him right now. Maybe it was because he was acting so arrogant.

"I don't think you know how introductions work. I'll teach the mechanics of it for you. First, I tell you my name, which I already obliged, then you return the favor, and tell me yours."

"Ahh, thanks for clearing that up for me," I sarcastically reply, and he nods. "Bubble Wrap."

"Bubble Wrap?"

"Yes. First name Bubble, last name Wrap."

He looks away for a brief moment, that deviously handsome smirk never leaving his lips.

"How uncanny! You see, my middle name is Cardboard Box. Harry Cardboard Box Styles," he says, his voice clear of sarcasm through his joke.

"That's one extraordinary name," I tell him sarcastically, and he sighs, walking around in a half circle to reposition himself on the other side of me. Suddenly I'm feeling so self conscious of how I look. Maybe I should have reapplied some powder on my oily face when I was back at the restaurant.

"Not as extraordinary as Bubble Wrap, I must say. I wonder what was going through our parent's minds when they were naming us."

"At least it's your middle name and not your first name."

"But it's even more embarrassing then because they ask what the C.B. stands for, and I have to tell them."

"You can't just lie? Like say, Charlie Brown? Or Chris Brown?"

"I'm not much of a liar."

"That makes two of us."

We both keep a stern, sympathetic expression as we steal short glances at each other until I lose the battle and break into a laugh. No second sooner and Harry Styles' laughter joins with me.