a/n THIS IS THE SECOND CHAPTER IN THE TRIPLE UPDATE (2/3)
aww baby here we go. now it's getting serious...
47.
The opener was good, but really just built incredible tension in the audience.
Now we're all standing, awkwardly shifting our weight from foot to foot. Some of us are very drunk. A few times an intense chant of Harry's name has surged in different parts of the arena.
We've been waiting for ten minutes. I'm sure the curtain's going to drop any minute.
I decided to rest Cherry and my bag on the lip of the stage. It's right there and I was getting tired of holding them. Besides, it's going to be pretty hard for anyone to try and steal either from this side of the barricade. I'm kind of wishing I was buzzed. Waiting sober for a concert to start is so ridiculously boring.
What am I talking about, there's flasks practically circulating the pit.
I whirl around on my heel and scan the group of people behind me. A few of them stare down at their phones, some look up to the stage, others whisper-shout amongst themselves. A glint of metal captures my attention and I practically lunge for it.
"Hey," I call out to the owner. A small girl, probably in college, wearing a catsuit and black ears, turns to look at me. "May I?"
She looks me over once, taking in the silver barrier between us. And then she shrugs to herself and hands me the flask over the fence. Her eyes lazy and glazed.
"Fireball," she cautions as I bring it to my lips. I'm already drinking it before I can register her words. The taste hits my tongue and I wince. Like red hots and pee that fireball whisky. The burn tickles my throat. I swallow harshly and take another swig of the flask, before handing it back to her and wiping my chin with the back of my hand.
"Thank you," I sigh loudly. She chuckles a little and drinks from it herself.
"How'd you get backstage?" She wonders drunkenly. I shrug.
"I'm filming," I shout, pointing to Cherry.
"Filming tipsy," she grins big, and disappears back into the pit as quickly as she appeared.
I doubt two sips of fireball will get me tipsy. If anything, it will just serve as a reminder for why I stopped drinking fireball. I try searching the crowd for a different flask.
The lights go out and the arena is pitch black in an instant.
I whip around to stare at the blackness where the stage should be. The roar of the crowd grows unbearable. I lean against the structure, pressing my hands on the surface to brace myself from the sound.
A chorus of angelic voices rips through my eardrums. It's blasting from the speakers to my right. Louder and louder it grows. I feel like I'm pancaked between the wall of singing and the screams of the crowd behind me.
Slowly, the display screen and black curtains begin to rise. White fog crawls out from the few inches of space. As the curtain raises more, the screams grow to an unfathomable enormity. I blink heavily, feeling the impact. I'm so glad I put ear plugs in. Thinking I wouldn't need them feels childish now.
Beams of light shoot out from behind the rising curtain. And then I see a pair of white heeled boots, and the sparkles from the stripes on his pants glitter in the lights.
It raises to reveal his entire silhouette, he clutches the mic in one hand, his head lowered so he stares at the ground. He's dark against the lights shining out into the pit, backlit by their intensity. I feel a tugging in my chest, a memory resurfacing seeing him in this light.
I grab Cherry and flip her open, training it on his figure. And it's just like a year ago at NYFW, the light making him nothing more than an anonymous silhouette. He tilts his head, popping his foot to the side and tapping the toe of his boot against the floor behind him.
The chorus of voices reaches a crescendo and falls deathly silent. I hold my breath as he freezes in place. The crowd goes buck wild, screaming for him to begin singing.
From how close I am, and Cherry zoomed in on his figure, I can see a shy smile grow across his face in the dark. He ever so slightly leans forward, his lips brushing the head of the microphone.
"Happy Harryween, New York."
And the lights switch onto him. Sarah begins hammering away at the drums. Mitch rips his hand across his guitar. The show has truly begun.
Harry's hands fly up to grip the microphone tightly. He twists in his spot, pressing the device closer to his face, his shoulders scrunching up. His eyebrows knit together and he begins shouting out the lyrics, accompanied by every other voice in the arena.
"Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see, that I'm still the only one who's been in love with me—"
As the song continues, he yanks the mic from the stand and paces the edge of the stage, letting the audience throw flowers up at him. He smiles and dances to the music, pumping his fists in the air with Mitch's guitar.
I turn off Cherry. I don't think I can watch and film. I'm getting too distracted.
As he gets to the bridge of the song, the music mellows out for a moment and he falls to his knees, breathing heavy and tipping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Adam drums out a bass solo, which Mitch quickly layers over with an electric guitar.
Harry's head falls back down to squint out at the crowd, and he smiles. His eyes trace over the sea of faces, and eventually his head turns completely to the side, and he sees me.
His eyes stay on me for a while, his smile transforming into a smirk. He raises the microphone up to his lips and begins to lazily sing.
"Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight,"
I grin, leaning down to lay my arms flat against the stage, pressing my chin against them and letting my head flop to the side like I'm laying on a pillow. I blink heavily up at his smiling face.
"Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight,"
We feel so far away from each other, yet so intimately close. So close, I can see his eyes flick down to my lips and back up to my irises. I can see his eyes are green. I can see the sweat on his forehead. I can see the dimples digging into his cheeks as his pleasant expression grows into a cheeky one.
"Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight,"
He jumps up onto his feet and my head follows him, lurching up from its place against my arms. He dances over to where I'm standing.
And right when his feet brush against my forearms, he leans down. His hand reaches under my chin and pushes it higher to look up at him.
His eyes are wild, a fire is burning behind them. His hair falls down into his face. His finger lovingly bops the tip of my nose.
And then he dances away.
His voice strained as he belts out the intense lyrics of the end of the song.
The final chords from the angelic chorus ring out into the arena, and the song has ended. I find myself finally able to take a breath. The crowd explodes in cheers and screams.
"Oh my god!" I hear a shout behind me. "Oh my god, he touched you!"
I try hard to fight a smile, and turn to look at the source of the voice. The girl in the catsuit.
"I know!" I shout back. Her eyes are as big as dinner plates. Her mouth is hanging open.
The rest of the show makes me wonder how I wasn't a fan of his earlier.
Everytime I see him perform, I don't know how he'll top it. But he always does. This is so much more powerful than the wedding. The wedding was a penny. This is a million dollars. I don't know how I'll survive the night, I keep forgetting to breathe.
He's not human up there, I swear. He's a deity, commanding a room of twenty thousand people with impossible ease. He appears comfortable. He sings like it's the last time he'll ever get the opportunity to. His voice is like a star, it's like the sun. It radiates out into the entire room. It hypnotizes the crowd.
That's my boyfriend.
What the fuck.
He sings so many songs, I begin to lose track. Most of them are his, but halfway through the set they perform Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which leaves the crowd absolutely giddy. He even does a bit of the dance.
And then he's saying goodbye and thanks, waving at the crowd, and ducking away into the hidden backstage alcove. But the crowd's chants are relentless. And after a few seconds he comes running back out, grinning. I have a feeling he was going to do an encore no matter what.
"Alright, alright, don't you all have trick or treating to be doing? Can't get enough of me, can you," he tutts disapprovingly into the mic. And then leans back, before snapping into it again, the beginning of Kiwi echoing into the arena.
When the show is finally actually over, I stand in place, lost as to how to leave. Harry disappears from view. The lights come up in the arena, and people begin shuffling out.
I press my lips together, gather my stuff and courage, and hop up onto the stage, striding across it to the backstage area I think he disappeared to.
People don't seem to pay attention to me. The backstage pass I'm wearing excuses my behavior. I push the curtain back, and am immediately met with the humidity of their sweaty bodies. There's the entire band, laughing and drinking water. Their eyes whip to take me in when I step forward. Harry grins.
"Anna!" He calls and holds out his hands, gesturing for me to come in more. I make my way over to him.
"Anna?" Mitch mumbles under his breath as I walk by. "Her name is Quinn right?"
I ignore him, moving to stand next to Harry awkwardly. "I was just telling them about the Halloween party we're heading to now."
"Oh, yeah," I nod, looking at the group. "You're all invited, obviously."
"Obviously," Mitch snorts and sets down his water, twisting to crack his back.
"We'll be there," Sarah reassures.
"Cool," I purse my lips, fiddling with the clasp to the clutch in my hand.
"Yeah, shall we?" Harry tips his head to the tunnel of black curtains leading to the parking lot. I nod and head that direction. He follows close behind. "See you there," he calls to his band.
I open the heavy black door at the end of the hall, and I'm met instantly with the freezing cold air of the October night. I take a refreshing breath and then shiver, reaching down into my bag to grab my keys. I glance over at Harry. His hands are clasped tightly behind his back, and his head is tilted to the side. His eyes locked on my figure.
"Do you want to ride with me?" I offer. I seem to wake him up from a thought. He blinks and nods.
"Yeah, I rode with Mitch and Sarah here."
"You did?" I chuckle. He shrugs.
"Yeah, what?"
"You carpooled to your own concert?"
"Yeah," he furrows his eyebrows. "Is that weird?"
"It's cute," I laugh lightly and reach down to grab his hand, tugging him into the parking lot and towards Emma's car.
The ride home is actually a little awkward. We don't say anything to each other the first half of the way there. Harry rests his hand on my knee, and leans back against his headrest, staring at me.
"Why are you so quiet?" He murmurs.
"I'm processing," I decide to say. He knits his eyebrows together.
"Did you like the concert?"
"Oh, yes," I pull to a stop at a red light, my eyes flicking to meet his. "I liked it a lot. A lot. It was really impressive. I wish I had words to tell you how impressive you are."
"Then what are you processing?" He chuckles uncomfortably.
"How the man up on that stage, that just entertained twenty thousand people for two hours, ended up in the passenger seat of my car." I laugh dryly, turning to look back at the road as the light changes. The traffic is absolutely insane. I barely get out of the intersection, only to stop again as the block ahead of me has a red light.
He hums and when I glance over at him, he's smirking and looking out the window.
And I'm also processing how that man can possibly be my boyfriend.
The mere thought makes me slam on the brakes a little too harshly. We jolt in our seats and I gasp.
"Sorry." I breathe sharply.
"It's okay," he laughs. "We're going to be here for a while I think."
"Did you like the concert?" I run my hand back through my hair. "Your performance, I mean."
"I had fun." He grins, adjusting how he's sitting to angle himself more towards me. "I forgot how fun it is. I missed that feeling."
"You're very good at it."
"Thank you," he murmurs, bringing his fist up to his mouth and coughing. "I'm really glad you came tonight, Quinn," he gently squeezes my knee, bunching the fabric of my dress.
I press my temple against my headrest. He has a sincere expression. He rubs my dress back and forth between his fingers. "I'm glad I came too," I offer.
It's dark out, meaning I can only partly see his features. The light from stop lights and street lamps floods the car in beams, sometimes illuminating him completely, only to leave us both in darkness again. But where the car is stopped now, the red light before us cuts through the windshield. It reveals his expression in a soft cherry red haze.
The make up on his face keeps his appearance somewhat foreign. I feel like I know his face pretty well, and so the slight difference is off putting. He's still in the beetlejuice suit. I promised Emma we would come in costumes.
"You know what I'm thinking about?" He smirks. There's a mischievous glimmer in his eye. I brace myself for whatever cheeky remark he's about to make.
"What?"
"That man? That was up on stage keeping twenty thousand people entertained? You've got his full attention."
"Do I?" I raise an eyebrow. He nods solemnly, but there's still a teasing look behind his eyes.
He bites his lip. "I have a really cheesy pick up line," he admits shyly. I look back to the road as the light turns green.
"Okay," I nod, chuckling. He takes a mockingly deep breath.
"Are you ready for it?"
"The anticipation is killing me," I press my lips together to hold back my smile.
"Here it is," he clears his throat dramatically, and then turns his gaze again to fix on my face. I turn my chin towards him, keeping my eyes on the road. "If I can entertain twenty thousand people once, that means I can entertain you twenty thousand times."
I cough in shock. I think if I was drinking water I would have done a spit take. "Jesus Christ, Harry," my chuckle turns into a laugh, and I shake my head disapprovingly.
"Bad, right?"
I can't fight the smile anymore. My eyes flick over to his, he's soaking in my expression proudly. "That was brilliant," I blanket my words with sarcasm. He shrugs, playing along.
"What can I say."
He finishes his sentence there. After a moment of silence, I laugh again. "Nothing, apparently."
"But seriously," he moves his hand back to my knee, grounding us in reality once more. "If you'd let me, I'd like to give you my full attention."
"Sure, Harry," I grip the wheel harder to try and calm the butterflies that just erupted in my stomach. I feel a heat rising up in my cheeks. He leans in closer, tilting his head to fit in the crook of my neck. His lips flutter across my ear.
"If you know what I mean," he whispers. I can feel a smile growing across his face. I roll my eyes and grin.
"I know what you mean."
He leans back and takes his hand away, leaving a radiating spot of red heat on my knee. "Good," he decides to himself, bringing his fingers up to his bottom lip. He presses his head back against the cold window pane, crossing his other arm over his chest. He watches me drive the whole way home.
There's not a lot of parking left on our street. I have to go a block away for a spot. The car door slam echoes through the neighborhood, and my heels tap against the damp, autumn ground all the way to the sidewalk.
Harry waits for me, and takes my arm in his when I reach him. He runs his free hand up to my shoulder and back, subconsciously trying to warm up my freezing arms.
As we approach the townhome, faint music grows louder. I dig around in my clutch for my keys, and we climb the cement stairs. The light from the window glows and seems to throb from the movement behind it. When we reach the front door, Harry pushes it open without any problem. I huff at the lack of security, but follow him inside and put my keys away.
The house is louder, brighter, overall more alive than I've ever seen it before. There's bodies spread throughout the entire first floor. People dancing, wandering around, sprawling across the couch.
And then the intense smell of liquor and weed hits my nose. I crinkle it and step further into my house, scanning the crowd for a single familiar face.
"Quinn!" A sluggish voice calls out to my right. My head turns to meet the sound. There's Emma, hanging off Kate's arm. Before I can say anything back, she untangles herself from Kate and rams into me for a disheveled hug.
"Hey there baby," I awkwardly pat her head. She pulls back and grips my shoulders tightly, holding me at arms length and looking me over.
"How was the concert? You look hot, hey," she pulls me back in. Jesus, Emma's strong. I lunge forward. Her breath smells like vodka. She presses her mouth to my ear and loudly whispers, "I'm sorry—I know it got crazy. I'm going to clean everything up."
She pulls back, her eyes big and doe-like. I pat her head again. "It's okay, Emma. Go have fun, we're going to find drinks."
She nods and turns back to Kate. I stride further into the party, Harry close on my heels. As we wade in deeper, my eyes catch something and I gasp.
Our television is on the floor, the screen shattered.
I stare blankly at it, and then turn towards the kitchen.
"A lot of drinks," I mutter under my breath.
I forget how funny Harry is when he's drunk.
Neither of us get plastered like we did at Miley's party. But as the night progresses, and the few shots and ginger ale in my cup dwindles, I finally feel that buzz I was craving at the concert.
But Harry. The concert was incredible, don't get me wrong. But drunk party Harry, in my opinion, is far more entertaining.
Probably because I'm also drunk.
He dances like a little ballerina. Spinning and leaping across the room, twirling on his tiptoes. He laughs the loudest when he's drunk. People gravitate to him like he's the sun. I lean back against the wall, my cup in hand, watching endearingly as he spins a girl wearing devil horns around and around the living room.
The rest of the band gets here at some point too. I see Mitch and Sarah wandering around. Charlotte and Nyoh sit on our couch, laughing.
Every five minutes Harry stumbles back over to me, tugging at my arm. "Come on, Anna. Let's dance," he demands. I laugh and shake my head, letting him cling to my hand. "Why not," he whines childishly.
"I like watching you dance more."
He pouts his lip but pretends to flip hair over his shoulder. "What can I say, I'm awesome."
"Yeah, you are, hey," I tug his hand, urging him closer. He happily obliges, his eyes lighting up as he takes two steps forward to stand directly in front of me. "You wanna go upstairs?"
The phrase has barely left my mouth, before he's already pulling me towards my bedroom.
a/n
Song: "Do I Wanna Know?" -Arctic Monkeys