The first thought when I wake up is, 'where the hell am I?'
The decor is strange. This bed is bigger than mine. Why are the walls purple?
"Don't diss my walls, I find them pretty beautiful." Harry's voice cuts through my thoughts. He's seemed to appear out of no where. He's carrying a tray of numerous breakfast foods. "I, uhm, made you some food."
"You didn't have to." Is my automatic reply. It's such an easy reply and I'm so used to saying it when people do things for me, it's kind of like a tradition.
My parents always taught me not to take things for granted. They would say to be happy with what I have and don't rely on others to help. They would always say, "You're going to grow up to be an independent and strong man. You'll take care of the family the way you're supposed to. Try to do everything for yourself and your family, and don't let everyone hand you everything."
It's the only life motto I still live by that came from my parents. Not counting the 'strong man' part, of course. I don't like when people give me free things. Sure, it might be under their own free will, but I still don't like it.
Harry smiles lightly. "I wanted to, though. C'mon, we need to get to the studio soon."
"Why?" I sit up and stretch. I don't remember having to come in at all today, but I haven't checked my calendar in a few days so I might be wrong.
"The stylists are getting our costumes ready and they need to check if they fit." Oh, I forgot about that.
"Right," I reply. He makes his way over to me, setting the stray down on the night-stand next to the bed.
"You alright?" He asks. What? Do I look sick? "You sound like you're getting sick. Your voice is really deep."
Shit.
I clear my throat the best I can. I've learned how to not talk with such a deep voice. I felt silly the first time I had done it, but now it seems natural. My voice sometimes reverts back to it's normal rasp in the mornings, though, and I sometimes have to take at least 10 minutes before I talk at all. I must have forgotten.
"I'm sorry," I apologize quickly.
"No, it's fine. I was just worried because you seemed out of it when I told you I made breakfast. I thought I kind of scared you a little and I just noticed your voice seeming quite deep." I almost sigh; I'm so stupid. I haven't woken up and had someone to talk to in nearly 5 years. "I like it, though. I like your normal voice." He quickly adds.
I think about it; should I correct him? I mean, it's not like it really matters. I'm never going to make this mistake again.
Instead of replying, I smile lightly and motion for him to sit down. He's automatic to do so, sitting just barely off my foot. I bring my legs out from under the duvet and wrap my arms around my knees. It's my normal stance when it comes to sitting in bed. My legs are ashy; I really should shave soon. Generally, I wait until the night before the show to shave, but I guess I can make an exception this one time.
Harry smiles a little and hands me a plate. It consists of eggs, bacon, sausage, miniature pancakes, and a small bowl of yogurt. He then sets a mug of tea down on the edge of the night-stand.
"You know, I would have been fine with eggo waffles." I mumble, glancing up at him. Harry shrugs and smiles sheepishly, picking up his own plate of food and starts eating. I sigh quietly; this is too much. I'm guessing Harry knows that as well, when he bites his lip. "Harry,"
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were a light eater."
A laugh bubbles up out of my throat. "I'm not. It's just, you didn't have to do all this. You didn't have to go through all the trouble to make this. I mean, it must have taken ages to make all this."
"It didn't take that long, Nic. I'm great at multi-tasking."
"How long did it take?" I push. He shakes his head, laughing quietly. "Harry?"
"Just a little over an hour or so. It's no big deal."
"It's no big deal, my ass."
"Language."
I roll my eyes. "You sound like Louis."
Harry nearly chokes on his tea. I snort, before throwing a hand over my mouth. God, I'm full of unattractive mishaps this morning.
Harry doesn't seem to think so, though, when he mutters out a quiet, "You're cute." I'm guessing I wasn't supposed to hear it because he quickly gulps down another mouthful of tea. "So,"
"So," I reply, raising an eyebrow. That reminds me, I need to get my eyebrows plucked soon.
"How long have you and Louis been... I dunno, together?"
"Define together." I finally take a bite of bacon, chewing slowly.
"I dunno... like, dating." Now it's my turn to choke.
I have no thoughts when I let out a loud wolf-howl of laughter, not even noticing that it wasn't my normal girly laughter. It was a full-blown guy's laughter. I've always hated it.
"Louis and I aren't dating!" I sputter, still laughing.
"Well, you surely act like it." He mumbles through a piece of sausage. I scrunch my nose, letting my laughter die down.
"Since when? The last time I checked, I knocked Louis off of a table because I wanted an apple." Harry rolls his eyes - which is quite strange, considering I'm the one who usually rolls my eyes at him. "Louis and I just have a special bond. We both joined the show in the same season, so we kind of had to seek out to each other to get through the season without messing up. We we're kind of forced to become friends. Louis was also one of my first friends when I arrived in Hollywood."
"How so?" Harry finishes his breakfast and places his plate back on the tray. He still holds his mug of tea in his hands.
"I had just moved in when I auditioned for the show. They hired me right when I had gotten settled, so I didn't have much time to explore the city before I was called in to start my job. I wouldn't change it for the world, though. Even though Louis can be a pain in the arse."
"Oh. Well, sorry I jumped to conclusions."
I smile. "It's fine."
He smiles back shyly, then points at my plate. "Finish eating. We have to leave soon."
"Really? What time is it?" I would check my phone but I don't know where it is. I think I left it in my jacket which I left downstairs.
"It's just past 8." He replies.
"We don't have to be at the studio until noon," I point out.
He smirks, "I never said we were going to the studio first."
I take the last bite of my breakfast and wash it down with the tea. I raise an eyebrow, but don't question it.
"I have a feeling you want to take a shower before we go?"
"I took a shower yesterday; I'm fine. But I would like to brush my teeth and hair. And I would also like something else to wear."
"Uhm, well I don't have any girl clothes but I guess we could--"
"I'm fine wearing just a hoodie and some jeans." I cut in. He sends me a strange look. "Do you even see what I wear during practice? One of my Stars two seasons ago said I looked like a homeless bag lady." At the time, it was quite irritating since I just started getting used to not wearing my frilly little dresses all the time. As I had grown more busy as the years had gone by, my obligation to always look good was thrown out the window. I never have time in the morning to go to extreme when getting ready, and since I have no one to impress unless it's on show days, you'll rarely ever see me in anything other than a sweatshirt and loose jeans.
"Are you sure?" Harry asks, sitting up. I nod, and he pulls the sweatshirt we was wearing over his head. Oh. I think when his torso is exposed. He didn't sleep in an undershirt last night, I'm guessing.
I take the hoodie when he offers it to me. He doesn't even seem to notice that he is now sat with an exposed upper body. I'm not usually one to complain, but I can't help but feel as if it's intimate. Why? Because my mind hates letting be normal for one second.
It's not like I'm not used to changing in front of people. I've changed in front of a lot of people at the studio before the show, but no one was paying attention to me when I changed. I would usually slip my shirt off and leave my pants on until the dress was completely down my legs. If i wasn't wearing a dress for that night, I would wait until everyone else finishes changing to get ready. No one has ever questioned it.
I shouldn't be bothered about it in front of Harry right now, then. But there's one thing that I'm not wearing now that I'm always wearing in front of others when I put my shirt or dress on: a bra.
I've never had a genital transplant. I've never had breasts added to my chest through surgery. I have never been able to pay for the surgery when I was younger, and when I finally got enough money to do so, I had become kind of against it. I'm not transsexual; I'm transgender. I'm still physically a boy. And no, I'm not a cross-dresser. I define as a girl, but I'm still kind of a guy. I hate to admit it, but I am.
I don't want to change in front of Harry because he will know I'm not a girl. On the show, when I'm forced to wear a tight outfit, I generally wear a bra with bra-fillers in it. Other than that, I don't need it. I'm always wearing loose clothing, so no one ever sees my flat chest.
Harry looks at me with a patient smile on his face. No one has ever wondered about my chest at work, but I have a feeling Harry will. It's just the kind of person he is.
"Well?" He pushes. I close my eyes for a few moments and sigh. Good God, this is so stressful, and so, so embarrassing.
"Can you maybe, uhm... maybe not, well... could you not look at me? While I'm changing?" Great, he probably thinks I'm really insecure now. Or that I'm a lesbian.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry," He's quick to collect the plates and mugs before he leaves the room. The door closes behind him slowly, squeaking when it gets closer to the doorway.
I let out a sigh of relief. I seem to be sighing a lot today, and I've only been awake for an hour.
I slip the sweatshirt over my chest, removing my loose "Vans Warped Tour '15" shirt that I had gotten last year.
As soon as the sweatshirt is down to my thighs, Harry knocks on the door softly. I call out that he can come in, and he's holding some running pants when he does. "I didn't have any loose jeans, but this is okay, right?"
"Yeah, that's fine." I nod, reaching out for the article of clothing. He hands it over, purposely letting our fingertips brush. I hadn't noticed it at the time, but Harry was smiling widely.
I go to fold my shirt up when Harry takes it from my hands. He raises an eyebrow, "Warped Tour?"
"Yeah. You've never heard of it?"
"I've heard of it, I just never took you as a punk music type of person. I mean, Black Veil Brides? The Amity Affliction? I Killed The Prom Queen?"
"For one, it's not punk; it's metal, rock, and alternative. And they don't just have hardcore bands and singers. Katy Perry started out there, and is Katy Perry metal?"
"Well, no. But they don't have a lot of purely pop singers or bands. It's mostly those genres you said."
"Don't diss my music taste. If people actually gave these bands a chance, they'd find out that it's basically the same as what they play on the radios." I'm beginning to get a bit mad. Sure, I've had people comment on it not matching my personality, but they've never dragged it out like it's a bad thing.
"I think you forget, Nicolette, that I'm in the music industry. And I can tell you one thing, a person screaming into a microphone and the same drum riff over and over isn't anything like pop."
I roll my eyes, "And I think you forget, Styles, that I have to hear over 10 songs on every show night. I guarantee I've heard a larger variety of music than you have. Just because you're in the music industry doesn't mean you know anything about all these music genres. What kind of music do you make again?"
"Pop. Rock, sometimes."
"Yeah, and how many genres is that? Two. You only focus on two music genres, while I have to hear nearly every one of them all the time. I think it's easy to say that I'm more experienced with music than you are."
"Nicolette--"
"And I will tell you, it's not just screaming. If you even took the time to decipher what they're saying, you'd realize that they talk about the same as your music genre does. Sure, it's a bit darker than yours, but it's still the same concept."
"Alright! I get it!" He cuts me off. I didn't notice that I was clutching my shirt to my chest until I come back to reality. Did I seriously get in a fight with Harry about my music taste? I need some coffee.
I don't even know where all those words came from. I was just spewing whatever I thought of at that moment like word vomit.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you--"
"No, I'm sorry. I didn't even know what I was saying." I sigh, pulling on the ends of my hair.
"Look, Ni. I'll give your Black Veil Brides and Killing The Prom King a chance if you give my musicm like Cher Lloyd and Fun. a chance."
I scrunch my nose, both at his offer and miss pronunciation of the band, "I Killed The Prom Queen," I correct him. He rolls his eyes. "And I don't know, your type of music is pretty gag-worthy."
"Oh, and your 'screaming about death' bands aren't absolutely horrifying?"
"Look, I don't want to listen to Taylor Swift singing about a non-existent break up or Bruno Mars talk about a large monkey."
"You're so hard to convince!" He pouts. "And I kind of don't want to listen to whatever bands you listen to scream about dying and overdosing on drugs."
I scoff, "Oh, and there's not any songs about that by pop artists?"
"Not that I've heard!"
Oh, so you've never heard Chandelier by Sia?"
"That's not about drugs."
"You're just in denial. And every song by The Beatles sounds like they're on drugs."
"You know, you're really mean."
"And you're really irritating."
"So... we have a deal?"
"Absolutely."
"Great!"
"No, that's the first song I'm gonna make you listen to. Absolutely by Nine Days." He whines a bit, but I pay to mind to that and pull him out of the room.
_-_-_
"This is garbage," I complain.
"No, it's not."
"Is that Spongebob or is that the person's actual voice?"
He laughs a little, "They took the Spongebob voice out of the show and put it in the song."
"That's plagiarism. What is this song called again?"
"I'm Ready by AJR."
"Go figure. Because it's not like they say 'I'm ready' twenty million times." We both roll our eyes.
"Just listen to the song."
"This is torture," I whine, taking a sip of my iced tea from McDonald's.
Harry and I are currently in the car on the way to the studio. He's been taking me all over Hollywood this morning. We've been forcing each other to listen to the songs we have on our phones through headphones when we were out of the car, and we would blast it when we were in. It's currently Harry's turn to make me listen to something, and my ear are about ready to explode. How can people listen to this crap every day?
The song eventually comes to an end though, and I'm quick to plug my phone into the system. Two can play at this game. He makes me listen to something like that? Oh, he's in for it now.
I've been sure to keep the songs not too hardcore - which proves to be hard since I mostly listen to that. So far, I've made him listen to Pierce The Veil, All Time Low, Asking Alexandria, Skillet, Marianas Trench, and Evanescence. He's seemed to like all the songs, but I'm sure he'll hate me now.
I consider giving him a choice, but I decide against it when he smirks. I quickly tap on the song Parasitic Autopsy by Thy Art Is Murder. He's going to hate me.
Harry jumps slightly when it first starts. I can tell he's surprised by my choice and he starts begging me to turn it off.
"No! You have to listen to the whole song!" I yell over the loud volume. He sends me a glare. I can tell he's wishing to not have to drive because he probably wants to cover his ears.
Luckily for him, the song ends pretty quickly in my opinion. He doesn't think so, though, when he smacks my arm, "I hate you."
"The feelings are mutual." I laugh, and he continues glaring at me.
He then plugs his phone in. I don't understand why, considering we've just pulled up outside the studio. Harry smirks at me again and I hear the lock of the doors click.
Oh shit.
"Harry, no." I beg. He just plugs the phone in and starts the song. I immediately recognize it. My parents used to listen to this song all the time when I was young. "Please, Harry."
"Here comes the sun!" He sings along. I try plugging my ears and reaching for the lock to pull it open, but Harry quickly grabs my hands. "Nope. You made me listen to whatever that crap was; now it's time for some classic Beatles."
"I'm dying," I complain, tugging on my hands. He doesn't let loose, though; in fact, I think he held tighter. "i'm committing suicide after this."
"Hey, don't joke about suicide." He cuts off his mouthing to the lyrics to tell me. I frown, understanding exactly what he means.
The frown is turned into a grimace when he starts singing along again. People would view this as intimate in any other situation, but considering I think my ears are going to fall off, I would view it very far from. It's anything but intimate.
The song seems to last for six years, but really I'm sure it was only a few minutes. I don't care; I need to get out of here. As soon as Harry lets go of my hands, I unlock the car door and practically fall out. He laughs, but I have no eyes or ears for him. My only thought is getting that retched song out of my mind.
"Awe, c'mon. That song is a classic." He says after I've calmed down a bit.
"Why do they always sound like they're on drugs?"
He laughs loudly, catching the attention of a few dancers and staff that are wandering aimlessly. I glare. I know people say they are iconic and cannot ever be duplicated, but, in all honesty, they were no all all they're cut out to be. I'm sure some of their songs weren't as gag-worthy, but I haven't heard any of them.
"Well, for one, they don't. What's wrong with The Beatles?"
I shrug, "They're just not as good as everyone makes them out to be. I think they're crap."
"Have you no soul?" He gasps dramatically.
"No, my soul was lost when I watched The Walking Dead."
"How?"
"All my favourite characters die! Like, why?"
He rolls his eyes. "That show matches your music taste perfectly. What was that song you forced me to listen to?"
"Parasitic Autopsy by Thy Art Is Murder. And excuse me, my music taste is lovely."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever you'd like to believe."
"You are a dick."
He shrugs, "I've been called worse."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"A person who likes metal music."