About (Harry Styles)

25.

"You're kidding, right?" I say, staring at the singer who shakes his head in response. "You're joking with me...Right?"

"Unfortunately, I'm not," Harry Styles says, no trace of teasing in his voice.

"Does that even make sense?" I ask, starting to pace about the room. "I mean, one, you're Harry Styles. And two, this is a huge ass ship yet there's not even one open room for one of us?"

Maybe I can share a room with my mother and her --- Oh, hell no. You do think of some crazy things, Elaine. 

A body blocks my path, my steps coming to an abrupt halt before I bump into the tall figure. I look up to see Harry Styles' face looking down at me, his expression filling with contrite.

"I know it sounds bad," he speaks with a quiet, calm voice.

"Bad is not the right word."

"Fine." He takes a moment to find the appropriate word, looking up in the air as if to find it. "Fallacious .." He waits for my okay and I raise one of my eyebrows, telling him he doesn't need my approval for his word choices. "But no one is going to find out."

"Oh yeah? How so? Because clearly you're not someone followed by the paparazzi all the time."

"I'm planning to stay in the room the whole weekend anyway. The captain won't tell anyone. You can enjoy your vacation like normal. I'll just be in the room when you sleep and when you wake up."

"Oh, yeah. That's totally normal. Waking up and sleeping in the same room as Harry Styles is totally normal."

The corners of his lips tug into an amused smile as he laughs under his breath at my sarcasm. For a moment, I almost want to join him but hold it in successfully.

"I'm just a human," he says. "You're saying it as if I'm some alien or something and kind of hurts my feelings."

"I'm sorry," I say, and he chuckles again. 

"Why aren't you leaving the room?" I ask. That wondrous smile of his fades for a brief moment, but quickly returns as he walks away from me to the window. It's almost dark outside now.

"I'm here to work," he answers.

"Work?"

"Yeah, you know, I do have a job. And as an entertainer, we have jobs to-," he gestures his hand in a circular motion, coming up with another appropriate description. "Entertain."

Entertain?

"I don't get you."

"You don't have to," he retorts with a smile, his lips pressed into an innocent line as he shrugs his shoulders.

He hides his hands behind his back as he pads over to one of the two sofas. Those long legs of his actually don't look too thin when he's wearing a pair of reasonably baggy grey sweatpants. Only now am I noticing the Green Bay Packers logo printed on one of the legs.

It slipped my mind that he's a Packer fan.

I guess that's one thing we have in common.

"I get the bed," I firmly state as I walk faster than usual to the king sized mattress. Once I pass him, the confused singer watches me in beguilement as I zoom to claim the bed, not having finished the task of sitting down yet.

"If that's what you want," he remarks. Such an odd remark too. I expected a little more competition for the bed. His gentleman-like conduct can really be questionable at times.

Crawling to the head of the bed, I take and throw him one of the many pillows and the thin white sheet underneath the blanket. After catching them both, I detect from the corner of my eyes him rolling his, a smug grin on his lips, finding hilarity in my immaturity. I don't know why I'm not irritated by it. Usually I would be. That he's laughing at me, I find it odd that it doesn't bother me.