Packing and cleaning is a tiring job for someone who hates packing and cleaning. That someone is me. But with someone as tidy as Niall Horan is, it's not so bad. I mean, Niall.
He offered to do majority of tasks like piling up the boxes, taking out my garbage, etc. We shared a many laughs, had a few drinks (non-alcholic, of course), and after that, he stayed and watched some random film featuring Emma Watson on TV with me. He kept blabbering on about how he wished she hadn't done the pixie cut and I disagreed just to disagree. Although I liked her look much better with longer hair, I think the pixie cut gives her a very dominant, fierce personality.
"I really should get going," Niall Horan says to me as the movie changes to a commercial. "I have a dinner appointment with a friend tonight."
"Okay," I say as we both stand. "Thank you so much for your help. I would still be cleaning if it wasn't for you."
"No problem." He walks over to the door, and I follow behind him. Suddenly, I find myself in an awkward situation. I don't know how to say goodbye to Niall Horan, I mean Niall, since he's officially a friend of mine now. I have to get used to that.
A hug? Wave goodbye?
This is stupid. I'm making this a bigger deal than it has to be.
Just do what comes naturally, I mentally tell myself.
He turns the knob and takes a step out into the barren hallway. He stops and whirls around, his expression contemplative, as if he forgot something.
"You didn't give me your number," he points out and I feel a sense of excitement spur through me.
"Wait here."
I quickly run to TV stand, grab a piece of paper and my favorite black pen from the pocket of my purse and try to write my number out legibly with my shaking fingers.
"Here," I say, handing him the ripped paper.
He stuffs it into his backpocket and asks, "You still planning on developing those photos tonight?"
"Yes, I shouldn't have left it until now to do it. That's one thing you'll learn quickly about me. I tend to leave things off until the very end," I chuckle, and he amuses me by doing the same.
"Well, I still think you should go with someone. It's not safe to roam around at night. Especially for a pretty girl like you," he says it so smoothly and casually that I'm quite taken aback.
"Why do people assume I can't take care of myself? Because I'm a girl?"
"Exactly," he bluntly states. "I would take you but I have that dinner. I still think you should wait for Marco."
"He's not gonna be back til later. Besides, he's probably exhausted from his long day. I don't want to bother him."
"Wait," he pauses for a second as if he remembers something life changing. "I know someone who's been meaning to develop their photos."
"You do?"
"Yes. I'll have him come by and pick you up."
"Umm, I don't think that's not necessary," I try to politely refuse. If he keeps insisting, my innate nature of avarice might just ...
"It won't be any trouble."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah," he says enthusiastically. "I mean, it's only a ten minute drive from here to there. I'll call him to come pick you up. Just wait outside your dorm."
"I don't know," I say, in order to look more modest.
"Don't worry about it. He's really nice. Trust me," he turns on his heels and waves as he scurries down the blue carpeted hallway, disappearing into the wall after he waves goodbye.
...
I'm waiting outside my dorm just as Niall instructed after getting ready and throwing my camera into my bag. The sun is beginning to set and the sky is filled with a soft sheet of orange clouds. Turning my phone on, I check the time.
7:04 PM
It's been about half an hour since I've been out here and my amount of patience for this person is wearing thin. The only thing keeping me here is my love for my photos. They're like my babies. I can see my photos in my camera just like a mother can see her baby through an ultrasound but it's not the same feeling when I have the photos in my hands just like a mother holding her baby in her arms.
Make sense?
No. Let's move on.
A small, black Mercedes pulls up into the parking lot and stops right beside me. The door of the driver side opens and a young man in a suit reveals himself. He turns to face me while unbuttoning the button of his jacket and smiles.
Really? A suit? Isn't that a bit much? We're not going to prom.
"Are you Val?" He says, his voice higher than I expect.
"Val? Uh, no. I'm not."
"Oh, well. Do you think she's inside? I'm here on a blind date," he tells me and I shrug. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"No, it's cool. You look...dashing," I say, awkwardly, tugging the string of my bag closer to my shoulder.
"Thanks."
He walks past me, and I hold in the urge to laugh. I can't believe I thought he was the guy Niall suggested. To make it even more interesting, he's on a blind date. I would never agree to go on a blind date. Having someone set you up for a date is kinda sad, honestly.
Desperate much?
"Who was that, Bubble Wrap?"
The sudden voice startles me, so much causing me to yelp and jump in fear. My head turns to the emergence of his voice and a curly haired boy fills my gaze. He looks amused with my reaction, his cheeky smile displaying those inevitable dimples yet again.
"What are you doing here?" I ask him, glancing our surroundings in case of anyone taking photos of us.
No one in sight.
"I'm here to pick you up," he says it in an obvious tone.
"You? Niall asked you to pick me up?" Great.
"Yeah, now hurry up and get in." He waves me over to his BMW as he pads over to the driver's seat. When he realizes that I didn't move an inch, he sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. "Come on. We need to get a move on."
Is this real? It's unimaginable. The sight of this British boy, not only is he a British boy. He's a famous British boy.
Without a word, I allow my feet to make it over to the passenger side of his car. As soon as I step in, the expensive smell of his luxurious car fills my senses and the radio is playing some kind of Indie music I've never really heard before.
"You have photos to develop also?" I ask him as he pulls out into the streets.
"Just a few," he answers quickly.
"Of what?"
He stays silent for a while, unsure of whether to answer.
"Nothing, really. Just some old photos for someone's birthday."
"Oh. You're giving someone photos as a gift? Kinda cheap, don't you think?"
He stops at a red light and turns his head to face me. His expression is still friendly, a fake kind of friendly, but not like before.
Did I offend him?
I mean, he is famous and wealthy. He can give away so much more than photos for a gift.
"It's the thought that counts," he says after a fleeting moment.
The corner of his lips pull slightly more as he returns his attention to the road, brushing off my words. I decide to keep my mouth shut the rest of the way there. I don't want to offend him anymore with my impulsive thoughts than I already have.
...
Once we step inside, an elderly man with glasses from behind the counter shoots up from his seat and greets Harry Styles with a huge grin, exposing his white dentures.
"Mr. Harry!" He shouts warmly as he makes his way around the glass counter of antique cameras.
"Uncle Pete, how you doing, sir?"
The man so called Uncle Pete wraps his arms around him. He looks so short compared to the giant that is Harry Styles. He's not really a giant but next to the old man, he looks like one.
"I haven't seen you in ages. When was the last time you came here? I think with your mum and you were yey high," he measures his hand up to his shoulder and Harry Styles laughs a deep laugh. He's grown a few inches sinces then.
I clear my throat and both of their eyes travel to me. I wave awkwardly, introducing myself to owner of this rather rundown place. I'm not even sure how he's still in business. It's as if no one ever comes here.
"Very nice to meet you, Elaine," the old man in khaki slacks and striped button up says. "I'm so glad to finally see Mr. Harry bring his special lady here. He always tells us he's bringing someone good home. I kept asking him when I'd get to meet her but he keeps --"
Harry Styles moves swiftly in between me and the man, interrupting his speech as the long curly haired boy gives me a guileful grin. He turns his back to me to converse with Uncle Pete.
"Uncle! Need I remind you to stop embarrassing me like this," Harry Styles scolds in a gentle tone. "And she's not my special lady."
"She's not?" The elderly man asks in disappointment.
"No. You will be the first to know when I do find her," Harry Styles reassures. "I haven't forgotten about our promise."
How are they related, I wonder. Is he really his uncle? They seem rather close.
As they continue their conversation, I don't bother in eavesdropping about Harry Styles' love life. I keep my interest indulged through the many photos posted around the walls. None of the wall space went to waste. Each unique picture capturing such beauty. I believe my photos hold some competition against these ones but the feeling each individual picture evokes is completely different.
"You have your film?" Harry Styles' deep voice surfaces from beside me and I flinch again.
Why does he keep appearing from out of nowhere?
He doesn't seem to acknowledge my meager jump as he extends out his arm. I search through my purse and hand him the paper bag which holds my film. He takes the bag and gives it to Uncle Pete, telling him which belongs to who.
The man nods and reassures is that he won't mix them up, telling us not to spare a worry. He's been in the business for thirty long years and he's never made a mistake before. He disappears into the back room, leaving me and Harry Styles alone.
"How long does it take for the photos to finish here?" I ask, and he pouts his bottom lip, pondering my question.
"An hour or two."
I nod in comprehension and he moves behind the counter, sitting on a stool. He pulls out his phone and leans his elbows on the counter, turning on his cell which lights up his face.
"So, special lady, huh?" I say, taunting him.
He sighs with a subtle smile as he keeps his eyes on the screen.
"Long story," he says.
"I think we have the time."
"Let's save it for another time," he suggests and I chuckle lightly.
"There's going to be another time?" I ask myself, not realizing I said it aloud.
"Doubtful."
I find his statement slightly cutting. Was he always this obnoxious? I leave him to himself and his phone, turning about the room again, trying hard not to think too much of his response.
Isn't he the clever one. Just because we might never see each other again doesn't mean he has to be so rude about it.
Well, he wasn't being rude. Just honest. He's being honest.
"Tell me, Bubble Wrap," the sound of his voice returns my attention to him. "Are you really good friends with - what's his name?"
"Marco," I squint my eyes in suspicion. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious."
"If you must know, Marco and I have been best friends .. since forever."
"Since forever, huh," he places his phone back into his pocket and his green eyes lock on mine. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Be friends with a guy."
"What?" I ask in confusion.
"I mean, isn't it hard if feelings are involved?"
"What? What feelings? There are no feelings like that. Marco and I are just friends."
The small corner of his lips pull into a slight smile as he straightens his back on the chair.
"Sucks, I feel bad for Marco."
"Feel bad? You're not making any sense," I say, hoping he would make his intentions more oblivious.
"The poor guy's friendzoned."
"Friendzoned? Marco is not friendzoned," I challenge as he chuckles away my words.
"Yes, he is."
"No, he's not!"
"You're joking, right? I mean, come on. The other night at the party when you blacked out, he rushed to your side like your knight in shining armor," he explains, and I internally refuse to listen to him.
"What? Friends can't worry about each other?"
"No, they can," he replies with nodding, shaking his messy curls. "It's just, his face then," he pauses, his eyes studying he annoyance in my expression. "Never mind. You can choose to ignore it but next time, when you two talk, check where his feet is pointing when you talk to him." He lets out a quiet chuckle as he breaks his gaze to the floor and I'm huffing into the room.
"Okay, now you're just delusional."
"I might be. But I'm serious. If they're pointing in your direction, it means he has feelings for you."
"Did you get this from like a book or something?"
"A movie," he replies with that smile still intact.
"Because movies are always accurate."
I decide to be the first one to halt the conversation because he is clearly wrong. And I don't want to further argue with him when there's no point in convincing him otherwise.
Marco doesn't have such feelings for me. He's my best friend. I wouldn't expect a boy like Harry Styles to understand.
Besides he probably has many lady friends who he's attracted to. The paparazzi never lets any detail out of that subject.
It has gotten old with me though.
I could care less about the love life a 21 year old Brit with the name of Harry Cardboard Box Styles who wears a nice smile and has enchanting, emerald eyes.
I could care less.
...
The next hour and a half passes by torturously slow. Ever since the mention of the word, 'friendzoned', I've been irritated with him. I am always irritated with him whenever he's around, and even when he's not, I'm beginning to realize. I didn't even want to look at him but I couldn't help but steal a few glances. The most humiliating thing about the situation is that he would catch me in the act then laugh to himself.
I decide to text Marco, if he's finished meeting with them yet and if he's available to pick me up. I don't want to spend another minute with this guy more than I have to.
"Here you are, your photos should be in those envelopes," Uncle Pete says and I rush to snatch the top one that says my name on it.
I quickly pay the amount due which isn't much, I'm glad. I got a discount since I came in with him. I guess having him around has its perks. I thank the man for his business and zoom out of the place but stop right at the door. I send a short glance towards Harry Styles. He doesn't seem to notice my leave of absence since his nose is still glued to his iPhone.
I don't remember the way back to the dorm and my sense of direction is the lowest of the low. Sometimes I wish I were a honeybee. At least I would know my way back home.
"Where you going?" Harry Styles asks as he stands from the behind the counter just as I'm about to push the door open.
"I'm waiting for Marco to pick me up," I say, taking out my phone to see if he's replied. He hasn't.
"Why? I can just drop you off," he says and I scoff.
"No. You've done enough for me," I put on a fake smile and walk to stand in front of the window that read 'Uncle Peter's Photos' backwards. I send another text to Marco who should be back at his dorm by now to come pick me up at this place and stuff my phone and my envelope back into my bag.
"Okay, very well. I don't think there's any point in trying to convince you to come with me. I hope you have safe trip back home," he says as he struts to the door and as I did before, at the last second, he turns to me, his expression unreadable. "Oh, and I'm sorry about the other night. I was, umm, out of line giving you that drink."
And with that, he exits the shop without a reply and I can't help but watch him leave. Should I be annoyed or satisfied that he apologized to me?
It doesn't matter. I will never see him again anways. He confirmed it himself.
Author's Note:
Disclaimer: I don't know how to develop photos since I just do it at my local wal-mart. Lol. I made this up, hence, fan fiction. They meet once again! Their relationship isn't friendly yet, I suppose. But I can't wait for the next couple of chapters! I always listen to some songs while writing, let me know which songs you like to listen to when you read.
Vote and Comment pleaseeeeee (; I need to give out dedications (and I love doing them!)