Blue

Despite three conversations with Harry and a frantic text exchange with Sophia, I was still unclear as to what I was supposed to wear to the One Direction concert. Sophia was more laid back and told me I should wear what I felt comfortable in, whereas Harry’s input was just something he could take off me easily once we got back to the hotel room.

Sophia and I planned on meeting for dinner before the concert, which was something I felt was important, namely, because I needed a drink. I was in a panic over seeing him sing onstage. There was no legit reason why, other than the fact that I still felt like was just my Harry. Regular, normal Harry. Seeing him doing…uh…whatever it is that he does, was going to be weird.

I glanced at the VIP lanyard Sean had presented me when he and Paddy rounded the guys up for the sound check. It prominently displayed their “On the Road Again” tour logo at the top, but underneath in an electric pink square was my name, Delaney Lee, and directly underneath it (in bold, black lettering) was Harry’s name. Delaney Lee. Harry Styles. It was like some weird prom invitation or Romeo and Juliet VHS case. Delaney + Harry.

For my sixteenth birthday, my dad took Ben and me to see Fall Out Boy when they played a random show in Richmond. He’d somehow managed to get us VIP tickets to backstage passes, which, amounted to a pretty cool meet and greet, unlimited beverage (and because I was sixteen, this amounted to Sprite and Root Beer), and brownies that smelled like pot.

I was fairly sure that being backstage for Harry’s concert was going to be nothing like the meet and greet Ben and I’d enjoyed.

Four and a half minutes before Sophia knocked on my door, I settled on gray skinny jeans, a coral pink tube top, and black platform shoes. I straightened my hair pulled the sides back into a bouffant/bump. Heavy black eyeliner, black mascara, and a thin film of red lip stain and I was ready.

Sophia hugged me at the door. “Aren’t you adorable? Sweetie, he’s already in love with you; you don’t have to try so hard.”

“I didn’t know what you wear to this kind of thing. A mini skirt? Heels and a smile?” I stuck my credit card, ID, and hotel key into the plastic badge holder my VIP badge/thing was in and checked my hair one last time in the mirror. “I don’t even know if what Harry left in is what he’s going to wear.”

“They have loads of clothes for them at the venues. Wait until you see.” She fell into step next to me as we headed to the elevator. “Are you excited?”

“I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘excited’ to describe how I’m feeling.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’m hoping to look back on tonight and think, well, that wasn’t a wholly bad experience.”

She nodded, pressing her fingertip to the 24th floor button. “It’s a strange position to be put in, I think, because on one hand, you want to support him. On the other hand, it’s somewhat uncomfortable to be in the middle of one hundred thousand screaming girls—girls who are screaming for your love.”

“Exactly.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. She understood. Of course she did, she’d been through this countless times. There was something so poised and elegant about Sophia. Part of me felt jealous about this; I felt like a gangly stick figure next to her. Like a blue haired Gumby next to Barbie. British Barbie.

Ugh, I’m so insanely awkward.

The bar was named Peter. Just Peter, no apostrophe s or anything. We picked it mainly because neither of us felt like eating in the lobby (come on, it’s the lobby) and neither of us wanted Cantonese in the main dining room. So, Peter it was.

We were seated next to the window, overlooking Tokyo, in weird blackish red/gold speckled, egg shaped chairs with gold padding. The table was shaped like a mushroom. I ordered a whisky a year younger than me; with both got matching glasses of champagne and crab cake sandwiches.

As soon as I’d given the waiter my order, my cellphone buzzed. Harry. He’d sent a selfie; he had a huge smile on his face and his hair was a crazy mass of adorable curls. The accompanying text read:

Thinking about how much I love you. And what you’re wearing…underneath what you’re wearing.

I tried to suppress a grin and failed miserably. I texted:

Hip studs and nothing else. Just like you like it.

His response was prompt:

Baby girl. I’m gonna think about that all night now.

“So, a month into this, yeah?” Sophia motioned around her. “Have you met his mum yet?”

A month? Jesus. That had gone fast, but she was right: two weeks with him, two weeks without him, and now three days together. It was simultaneously the best (with him) and worst (without him) time of my life. “No, I’m trying to avoid that for as long as I can.”

“I’ve met Anne a few times, she’s quite sweet. Younger than I expected.”

“I think I’m charming to a point, but look at me.” I sighed, swirling the whisky around in the glass. “It’s been said several times: I’m not the kind of girl people picture Harry hooking up with.”

Sophia shrugged. “Maybe. But you’re the girl he fell in love with.”

“It’s weird meeting the mother, no matter who you’re dating. My last boyfriend’s mother smoked like a chimney. She blew smoke in my face when she introduced herself, Marta Martin, but it sounded and smelled more like ‘Maaaaarta Maaaaaartin.’ Then, my boyfriend before that? His mom only wore white. Exclusively white. The furniture and carpets were white and she made us take our shoes off and leave them outside before we were allowed to step foot in the house. I dyed my hair in their all white bathroom once. She just about had a stroke.”

“I assure you, Harry’s mum is nothing like that.” She laughed and then cocked her head to the side. “Did it hurt to have your cheeks pierced?”

I nodded. “It was bad, but not nearly as bad as my hips. It’d get anything pierced or tattooed again before I’d put another dermal there.”

“Does Harry like them?”

My lower abdomen tingled at the thought of Harry’s mouth pressed to my hips, his tongue working the stud around in a circular motion.

Damn right he liked them.

****

By the time we got to the Saitama Super Arena, I felt like we’d magically become old friends, comparing likes (Harry and Liam), dislikes (corduroy), and everything in between (my adoration of her cheekbones and her jealousness over my boobs). She told me how angry she’d been when Louis dumped his girlfriend, Eleanor, and I confided that never felt like I was truly accepted by my adoptive family. I liked Sophia. She was genuine, honest, and lovely—both inside and out.

Sean had picked us up at the hotel and driven us there, escorting us through what looked like the back loading docks of the grocery store I’d worked at for a week and a half as a teenager (Farm Fresh, baby), and into what was possibly the backstage area. I could hear loud music blasting from somewhere and the faint, almost undetectable, smell of peaches. Which was weird.

I knew they’d had a few interviews with local media earlier and, since it was now less than an hour and a half until show time, that left barely enough time for them to get ready and then head to their meet and greet: photo ops, autographs, the like. It seemed like a One Direction concert was similar to heading to the airport, a lot of rushing, panic, and then sitting around waiting.

Sean opened a random door which, as it turned out, was where the loud music was coming from. There were dudes everywhere. Our dudes, but then a bunch of other dudes I didn’t know. Okay. I’ll roll with it.

Harry was leaning back in a chair, shirtless, and wearing tight black skinny jeans and brown boots. A statuesque blonde in equally skinny jeans (she was wearing a shirt, obvs) was doing his hair and, to his left, sat a guy about our age, with blazing, red and black hair and tattoos.

When Harry saw me, his eyes lit up and he opened his arms to me. “Baby!”

I walked to him, motioning at my VIP lanyard. “Despite your earlier warnings that I take this everywhere, not one person has asked me to see it. They just let me saunter in anywhere, no questions asked. That no admittance sign out there? Ha. Laughable.”

“It’s because I told them you’re my princess and you get what you want.” He tugged on the lanyard until I leaned over, then he pressed his lips to mine. “You look gorgeous.”

“Please tell me you plan on doing the whole concert half naked.”

“I’ll get all naked for you later, baby girl.” He kissed me again and then pointed upwards and behind him at the woman. “This is Louise, she’s in charge of my hair. This is Mike. He’s in 5SOS and he’s inappropriately charming. You stay away from her, Mikey, because she’s mine.”

5SOS—opening act. Got it, I could act like I knew what was going on. “What’s up? I’m Laney.”

Louise nodded her head at me. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Laney. This lad talks about you nonstop. Your hair is beautiful, by the way. Did you do it yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m cheap. Cut it, dye it, style it.” I paused. “And then, I rock it. As a side note, do you just pay her to sit there and move your hair around like that?”

They both laughed.

“Louise styles me. It was her idea to do the big, swoopy thing I did in 2013, when we recorded Midnight Memories.”

“I put up with a lot too, Harry. You should pay me for that.” Louise picked through a lineup of aerosol cans and then, selecting one, sprayed his hair. “He’s probably on his best behavior around you, love, because when he’s with us, he’s sticking straws in his mouth and pretending to be a walrus or shoving crisps in his nose.”

Harry wrinkled up his nose. “I like her more than you.”

I glanced at Mike. He was staring at me. Ignoring this, I said, “You remind me of Sid Vicious. That’s fun.”

“I’m more of a lover and less of an anarchist.” He chuckled and then playfully punched at Harry’s arm. “I hate you, man.”

This was obviously the tail end of a prior conversation, but whatever. I was warm from the whisky, my jeans felt tight from all the drinking and all the food I ate, and I kind of just wanted to slither down the wall and lay on the floor with Harry. Being suave was going to take some work tonight.

Harry jumped up from the chair and draped his arm over my shoulders, leading me away from Louise and Mike. He sank down onto an oversized couch and pulled me down on to his lap, pressing his lips to the top of my shoulder. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

“I’ve heard good things about this One Direction. I figured I’d see what all the hype is about.”

“You can either stay back here or sit off to the side of the stage with Sophia.” He tilted my chin down, staring into my eyes. I’d just seen him a few hours ago, but the way he looked at me sent thrills down my spine and arms. “Personally, I’d rather see you beside the stage.”

“I’ll be there, Hazza.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I’m nervous tonight. I want to make you proud of me.”

“I’m always proud of you.” I leaned forward and kissed him. “Except when you almost fell off the edge of the bed last night. That was a different kind of pride.”

He ran his fingertips across the top edge of my tube top, running his hand down the cut of the fabric to where it hit my jeans. “Admit it, you were impressed at my recovery.”

“You have lightening fast reaction time.”

“Don’t judge me too harshly if I fall offstage because I’m too busy staring at you tonight.” He nuzzled his face against mine, chuckling shyly. “I haven’t been this nervous before a show in a long time.”

I twirled one of his curls around my finger. “Don’t be. It’s just me.”

“But it’s you I want to impress most.”

My cheeks reddened and I snuggled down against him; he automatically tucked his head down to mine and kissed my temple. This boy. He was impossibly sweet and I was impossibly in love.

****

The concert was unlike anything I could have imagined.

Actually, the more I took time to think about it, the concert was exactly like having sex with Harry. It was intense, passionate; it felt like it rocked me right to the core. He was like a rock/sex god onstage, his lean frame flowing with the music or his muscular arms punching the air in time with the light effects. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. His voice was so low and raspy; the way he sucked his breath in through his teeth before he started singing—it made my pulse race. And when he looked at me (usually during pointed song lyrics or through nearly the whole duration of a dirty song, No Control, which I was fairly sure went over the heads of 45% of the girls in the audience)…I could feel it all the way through to the tips of my toes. Lust, love, electricity—all the biggies.

He made me want to squeal like a fangirl.

I knew that my hearing as going to be sorely affected by this entire experience. The girls around us were freaking out: screaming, crying; literally writhing like some kind of pulsating sea of humanity. I nearly giggled. It was a pulsating sea of humanity. It was like nothing I’d ever witnessed. There were two girls in the very front row who, every time Harry slowed near them, they screamed and cried harder. He was their fantasy. It was no wonder these girls hated me. They worshipped his every move, every flip of his hair and each time he leaned back and sprayed water out his mouth and up into the air (I had to admit, it was oddly sexually appealing), they screamed and thrashed like they were orgasming. Who knew, maybe they were. They wanted him, they wanted to feel his body respond underneath their fingertips. They wanted to press their lips to his sweaty neck as he cradled them against his body. They wanted to see him at his most vulnerable, the way he squeezed his eyes closed and sucked his breath through his teeth—they wanted to be his everything.

Jesus, I’d hate me too.

By the time the concert was over and Sean led me and Sophia backstage, I kind of understood this Direction Infection thing. They put on an amazing show. They were sweet and charming and funny: much as they were in real life, except with less swearing, dirty jokes, and nudity. A lot less swearing, actually. And Niall ate less (though, he did eat more onstage than I’d ever witnessed during a concert).

Harry was just pulling on a clean shirt as I walked into the dressing room area. He took a swig from a nearly empty bottle of water and then sauntered over to me, flashing his broad smile. “What’d you think, baby girl?”

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his lips. He was sweaty—there was something extra hot about that. Uh, sex wise. Not temperature wise. “I see why those girls scream for you guys. That was hot.”

“I’ll take part in the compliment too, if you don’t mind.” Louis winked at me, stopping next to Harry. “You two up for some drinks tonight? It’s still early.”

“We still have to pack.” Harry slid his hand around my waist and pulled me backwards against him. “And we still have to have sex tonight.”

“Great, thanks for that pointed itinerary.” Louis rolled his eyes. “You two can come up for air sometimes, it’s okay. She’s going to get tired of seeing your cock.”

“Yeah, probably not.” I guided Harry’s hands down to my hips. “Sorry Lou, I’m still not interested in hooking up with you. Hazza keeps me a happy, happy girl.”

“Damn right.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against my neck. “Let’s just go back to the hotel and see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

I liked the sound of that.

****

Everyone went back to the hotel but Louis and, without any real plan what we all wanted to do, we agreed to meet back down in the lobby in twenty minutes, ostensibly to beg our way to being allowed to have the pool to ourselves (it closed an hour earlier, so what did it really matter?) and as much food and alcohol as we could handle. Private party, bitches. That meant someone was getting naked.

Probably Harry.

He unlocked the door to our room and guided me inside. “You really like the show, Laney baby? You looked beautiful under the lights, fuck, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“It was amazing, Hazza. Your voice…Jesus, I see why those girls melt. You should sing to me more often.” I pulled my platforms off and then unfastened my jeans, shimmying out of them and tossing them directly into my suitcase. “I think I’ve lost some of my hearing but, you know. It’s all good.”

He came up behind me, sliding his hands down my hips. “Are you my pop princess now, baby girl? Are you gonna start wearing pink and flashing me your tits during our show?”

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, grinding against him. “I do, on occasion, wear pink. I draw the line at listening to pop music—unless you sing it to me.”

“What else can I do to you?” He slid his hands underneath my shirt, his fingers pressing lightly into my flesh as he dragged them upwards to my breasts. His touch was just light enough to tease me—he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Anything you want.” I sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed his lips to where my neck curved into my shoulder. “You know that.”

He worked my shirt up over my breasts and eased it over my head, turning me around and pressing his mouth to mine. His hands were everywhere, touching and caressing me; he then slid one hand down into my panties. With an adjustment of his wrist, he slid two fingers inside me. My breath caught in my throat, his fingers were so long and he knew exactly where to touch me.

I couldn’t say anything to him; it felt too good. With his free hand, his cradled my face in his hand and leveled his gaze to mine; he was watching every widening of my eyes with each crook of his finger. And then he kissed me, murmuring how much he loved me against my lips.

We never even made it to the bed. We slithered down to the floor, a tangle of hot skin, blue hair, and soft curls; and so much passion it look my breath away.

Notes

Guys, my birthday is coming up! Comments??