Dreaming Of You // Harry Styles

'Let's see if she's a proper pen pal'

Later that night I checked if she had updated her current Fan Fiction, ‘A Season In Paris,’ and rated and subscribed to it as I had an account. My logical next action should had been to check my message board to see if she had answered me. As I trailed the touchpad I noticed my hand was sort of trembling. I felt a bit disappointed when I realised she hadn’t. I didn’t know why I expected other way. I reread the words I wrote to her. Previously I was so nervous I didn’t even remember what I said.

ILoveTommoBear: Hey! Been reading your Fan Fictions for a while now and I love them. Just wanted to let you know. Greetings xo.

It was so silly I rolled my eyes at it. But I couldn’t ask her who she was straight away. It would be suspicious and rude… Why hadn’t she written me back then? She hadn’t updated either, so maybe she had not been online. I thought perhaps she wouldn’t ever answer me… I had to face the possibility. I had to face so many new possibilities… I shook my head ‘no’ as I closed my MacBook to get to bed. Oh, Tommo. Why did I allow you to take control?

The next morning we woke up very early to go to the stadium we were performing at night. Louis entered my room moving his hands anxiously.

“So, did she answer you yet?” He asked, throwing himself on the chair next to me.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes, lazily sitting on the edge of the bed. He frowned. “When I checked out last night, she didn’t…” I saw he was already fully dressed up to leave. “What time is it anyway?”

“For you, late,” he stated.

“Why don’t you check it out for me while I take a shower?” I asked and his eyes sparkled.

“I thought you would never ask!” He exclaimed, turning the chair towards the desk and opening my laptop. It was better that way. I didn’t want another disappointment. I walked to the bathroom. When I got there I rested my hands on the washbasin and glanced up at my reflection in the mirror. I was sort of nervous about what could be happening behind the door, and maybe because of that I felt pathetic. I needed a shag, for sure. I took my boxers off and turned on the shower, to finally place my face beneath the showerhead and wash my foolish worries away.

“Nothing…” Louis muttered as I exited the bathroom, a towel on my waist and another between my hands, to dry my hair.

“I knew it somehow,” I mumbled to him.

“She’d have answered faster if she’d actually known who was writing to her…” He stated walking towards the door.

“But I won’t tell her–––I stuttered. Probably she’d never believe it anyway…” I said, working on my hair.

“It’s a possibility–––he mumbled. Well, we’ll be waiting for you at the lobby. Hurry up.” He gestured goodbye with his hand and finally left. I stayed there alone with my thoughts. Getting depressed was so utterly nonsensical I brushed my grumpy mood away and quickly got dressed. I joined the lads and we got to the van, finally avoiding the mob.

The day was busy and the night even more. This third tour is absolutely exhausting. Shows are much more complex and, as the venues are larger than the previous ones, stage seems to be endless and we have to move plenty more than ever. It’s getting hard for the five of us to get on track with it. Usually at this moment of the tour we’re doing it as if we were born for it, but this time it’s too demanding. We have all our energies on it but when the show ends, we are literally crushed. Sometimes we don’t even have the strength to wait to return to the hotel to fall asleep. That’s exactly what happened to me that day. I was so knackered I fell into bed without even realising it.