***Louis Tomlinson***
Sunday, December 25th, 2011 – Christmas Day – South Yorkshire, England

I didn’t get any sleep Saturday night. As soon as I got out of my shower – which I made short, wanting to clear my head but more than that wanting to make sure Harry was alright – I heard the front door close, and before I could run after him Harry’s car sped away. I immediately grabbed my phone and called him, but he ignored the call. I wondered if he thought I was going to yell at him. He had to know me better than that.

I sent him text messages. I kept trying to call him, but his phone was turned off and his voice mail inbox was full, like always. I didn’t even let hope that he would come back that night creep into my head – I somehow knew he had gone to his parents, and I wouldn’t see him for a couple of days. I just wished he would turn his phone on sometime between now and then.

Maybe I could stop at his parent’s house on the way to my parents, like we had originally planned anyway? But did I really want to have that conversation with him with his family around to hear? No, I didn’t. And clearly, unfortunately, he didn’t want to talk to me, he was making that very well known to me, so I decided to give him his space.

My stomach sank as soon as I made that decision, and I didn’t know why. He had kissed me. My best friend – a boy – had kissed me. And I didn’t know how to react, because not only did I like it, but I felt something. I’d had no idea Harry felt that way about me. Maybe there was a part of me that had secretly hoped he did, so that in some way it would make sense of what I was so inexplicably feeling towards him, but I never thought it was actually true. Harry was a flirt. Harry loved girls. Right?

After laying awake in bed all night, staring at my phone, waiting, hoping, for Harry to call, or text – something just to let me know he was okay; that we were okay, still friends, still band mates, I left just before dusk to go to my parents. It certainly didn’t feel like Christmas. I couldn’t think of anything but Harry. What if he left the band over this? Was he worried I was going to say something to the other guys? What if he asked me to leave the band because it was too hard for him? My mind was a jumbled mess as I drove, and I finally blasted music and sang along, getting lost in the lyrics to avoid the thoughts in my head.

I spent Christmas day and half of the following day with my mind in a fog. All I could think about was Harry – if he was okay, if he was coming back to our house before we started the tour up again, if he would ever turn his phone on, if he would ever talk to me, or look at me, again. I constantly tried calling and texting him, hoping I would catch him at the right time – maybe he would turn his phone on to check and see if anyone from the tour had tried to contact him. No such luck.

And then I wondered why I was so disappointed. Why I was so worried. I was a pretty carefree person. If people needed my help or advice, I was there, but I generally didn’t worry about them unless they came to me. Even with the other guys in the band – I knew they could all take care of themselves. Why was it different with Harry? Was it because he was so young and I felt a duty as the oldest in the band to look out for him? Or was it because there really was something there, as the kiss seemingly confirmed?

I didn’t know how I felt about it. I wasn’t scared, but I wasn’t not scared, either. What if I did like guys? What would people say? Not just my family and friends, but my band mates and the fans! Oh, god, the fans, the media, the public. Would they understand? Would we lose a large part of our fan base? Would we gain a new fan base? I brushed those thoughts away, deciding I didn’t care that much what other people thought. I never had before, why start now.

My mom was worried about me, I could tell. I assured her I was just tired from the week of nonstop concerts. She seemed to buy it – it wasn’t a complete lie. I was tired. But I could handle that. I had signed up for it, yearned my whole life to be on tour, and now I was. And my best friend wouldn’t even talk to me. I left in the afternoon on the day after Christmas, wanting to get back to the house so I could be there when – if – Harry got home. Harry. The thought of his name still sent tingles throughout my body, and, in some weird way, comforted me. I knew that there was something to my feelings for Harry when I pulled up to our house and my stomach filled with giant butterflies when I saw his car sitting in the driveway.

Notes

Directioners don't worry,


They will talk next chapter!!