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Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

'Will you see me after the end of this leg of the tour?'

The pub. We were talking a few steps away from the door but once we went inside I understood it was actually the pub where Stan finally got Jeanne’s surname. I felt some sort of strange emotion, and just wanted to kiss everyone around. A girl about her same age who was standing behind the bar came to hug Jeanne as soon as she saw her. I guessed she was some sort of owner.

“Salut, Marie !” Jeanne told her kindly as they rocked together.

“Oh, cherie… Il y a une éternité que tu ne viens pas par ici,” Marie said, catching a glimpse of me. I stood frozen, unsure about what to do. The girl raised her eyebrows but was apparently not too impressed by me. “Hmm, un nouveau copain ? Salut,” she snickered, holding her hand out. She didn’t seem to know who I was.

“Hi,” I greeted her, tightly shaking her hand, but not confident enough to say it in French.

“Ah, bon–––she smirked to Jeanne. Il ne parle pas français… J’ai du l’imaginer.” They both chuckled lightly. I seriously needed to start learning French. Marie tapped my shoulder. “Les garçons jouent ce soir. Vous restez ?”

“On va prendre un vodka martini et je croie qu’on reste un petit peu, oui…” Jeanne spoke looking at me with the corner of her eye. Oh, she was a Vodka Martini girl. She was tough. Well, I already knew that.

“Super–––Marie exclaimed. Bastien est par ici… Regarde, il est l’à–––she pointed towards some hipster guy. On parle après, Jeanne. Il est mignon ton mec. À tout à l’heure.”

“I guess they haven’t recognised you yet,” Jeanne told me moving along the bar after she finished to ask for our drinks.

“That’s ‘super’–––I said with a French pronunciation. What did she say to you?”

“Some friends are playing tonight–––she explained. The guy she’s talking to is the lead singer.”

“I bet he’s not as good as me,” I asserted. Jeanne gave me a lop-sided glimpse. “Well, I’m cuter than him,” I snickered. It was rather evident but she didn’t seem to find my remark very funny. “Fine, I definitely have a bigger fandom…” I muttered and she rolled her eyes at me. It was almost as if I was listening to her thoughts. ‘These competitive males…’ “OK, wrong set of comments. So I guess this is the place where we identify you…” I finally said, changing subjects.

“I should have imagined it,” Jeanne grinned.

“And this guy…” I started to say when the presence of the hipster himself interrupted me.

“Jeanne ! Comment ça va, belle ?” He said as he hugged her, pecking Jeanne on the lips to my surprise. My guts twisted. What the hell with those overfamiliar blokes?

“Ça va tout doucement, Bastien…” She mumbled looking a bit out of place.

“Marie m’as dit q’ton copain n’est pas français,” he spoke glancing at me, and nodded his head in acknowledgement. I returned his gesture politely. “Il y est American ?” He carried on.

“Anglais…” Jeanne observed.

“Ah, bon–––he asserted glimpsing at me another time. On commence, Jeanne. J’t’vois plus tard, OK?” He looked around, placing his hand on her shoulder before leaving our side.

“Why did he peck you?–––I immediately snapped in a low tone. Is it a French thing…?” Jeanne held my gaze.

“Bonsoir, les enfants,” the guy spoke on a microphone at that very moment. “Good night,” he switched to English, glancing towards us as we stood near the end of the bar. I’m sure I glared at him. So he knew English but decided to speak French to Jeanne to deliberately exclude me from their conversation. “This is a special night because after quite a while our lovely Jeanne has decided to join us…” The public cheered up. Of course. They were all acquainted. “So we are dedicating this song from Laurent Voulzy to her. Maybe her English friend…–––he spoke directly to me and interrupted himself. I’m sorry; your name?”

“Harold,” I claimed, squeezing my glass in my hand. Somehow I got the feeling he knew who I was but was acting all scornful to pick on me. I caught Jeanne glimpsing at me.

“Maybe her English friend Harold doesn’t know although her surname is Mars, which is French for March, she’s actually a girl from April–––he continued with a hint of irony. Jeanne, here’s to you. We love you,” he said candidly. Jeanne instinctively grimaced, shaking her head ‘no.’ “Yes, we do–––he claimed, chuckling. Allons, les gars,” he spoke to his band mates. What was all that?

C’est une fille d’Avril, pauvre de moi.
Une fille difficile, elle ne veut pas découvrir d’un fil
Tout ce qu’elle a, ni son cœur, ni son corps.
C’est comme ça.

“How many?” I mumbled not looking at Jeanne as it hit me. I wasn’t even trying to listen to the song.

“Two of four,” she stated.

“Bastien?” She nodded slightly. She had slept with the fucking bloke. What was her number? As the thought came to my mind I regretted the whole drink idea. I just wanted to be out of there. I knocked my Vodka Martini in one, anger running throughout my body.

“En Septembre un autre rêve. Le vent se lève. Elles aiment le vent les filles d’Octobre. C’est de l’air qui vient sous les robes–––Jeanne softly sang along, snickering at me. En Novembre il fait plus froid, serre-moi fort dans tes bras…–––she pulled her arms around her torso, glimpsing again. Et passons Noël enlacés…” Everybody lifted their arms to the air and waved them. Insufferable, self-centred French people. There’s a reason for them to be nothing in the music industry. But Jeanne just loved the snotty French love song. I couldn't help but smile at her.

“C'est une fille d’Avril, pauvre de toi,” the bloke sang, glancing at us. Jeanne chuckled, amused, and clapped her hands lightly. He had changed the freaking lyrics, but above and beyond her reaction I knew it wasn’t for her. By the look on his eyes and his smirk it was clear that line was for me, so I couldn’t help myself. I discreetly took my iPhone from my pocket and typed on a translator.

“‘Poor you,’” I read. I turned it off and shove it into my pocket again. I glanced at Jeanne, still clapping by my side, but in that instant she turned towards me with such a loving expression my heart seemed to freeze inside my chest. And I did the only thing I could do: I bent down towards her and kissed her passionately against the bar.

–.–.–

Less than an hour later we were lying in bed. Sex was wild. I wasn’t letting that bloke ruin my time with Jeanne, already running short.

“So, this museum…” I said holding her as she lay against my chest with the thick catalogue between her hands.

“National Archaeological Museum of Naples.”

“Well, this museum–––I grinned. Have you been there?”

“I have–––she replied. It’s where the Secret Cabinet and the frescos from Pompeii are exposed, alongside the Farnese Collection. Italy has many great museums but this is one of the finest.”

“Did you go with the Italian one?” I asked in a casual tone, but Jeanne already saw that coming.

“No, I went with my mother–––she giggled. So this is Antinous Farnese, to me the most beautiful Antinous in the world, tightly followed by Antinous Ecouen,” she pointed at a picture. I took a good look at him.

“You are a lot into Antinous as I thought–––I retorted, glimpsing at her. Why don’t you just admit it?”

“Never before talking to my therapist,” she asserted.

“Do you therapy?” I blurted, startled, bending towards her a bit. God, she was too much.

“All future therapists have to go to therapy. It is procedure,” Jeanne claimed, grimacing. It made sense, so I pouted. “Well, Antinous Farnese.”

“You were right; he’s more slender than the one at the Louvre. I look much more like him,” I joyfully stated poking the picture.

“Are you going to put it on Twitter, that you resemble a Roman sculpture?” Jeanne snickered at me. We had never spoken about Twitter before.

“Maybe,” I grinned. The fans would enjoy it greatly, but the boys would tease me to my deathbed. “Do you have Twitter?”

“I do,” she answered returning her attention to the book. She knew what was coming next.

“And do you follow me?” She laughed. “You do!”

“But you follow me back…” Jeanne muttered.

“What?–––I absolutely snapped, turning towards her. Do I follow you back? How come?” I glanced around for my jeans.

“I don’t know. You tell me–––she ironised. When I began my research logically I started to follow you and you just followed me back…”

“What’s your account?” Where the hell were my jeans?

“@Vicki_Vale,” she simply said. It blew my mind.

“I remember you!–––I exclaimed, straightening up, my heart bouncing inside my chest. Liam told me to follow you because it was something from Batman!”

“You remember following me on Twitter but you don’t remember London,” Jeanne snickered lightly. Oh, she knew how to keep her coolness.

“I don’t know why that day is blocked from my mind–––I mumbled, moving towards the end of the bed and searching my jeans beneath the duvet. Maybe I should get hypnotised.”

“I don’t think it is necessary. It’s not that important anyway,” she flicked her hand, resting her back on the headboard.

“It is important,” I claimed as I found my jeans underneath the bed. I came back to her side with my iPhone. “I never follow anybody but I followed you–––I explained holding her chin between my fingers. I’m amazed.” Jeanne frowned. I knew what she was thinking. Why was I making such a big deal out of it? Because I’m a drama queen. Get used to it. “And why ‘Vicki Vale’?”

“Because ‘I like Batman’–––she chanted. That is from a Prince’s song.” God, she was just too much for me to manage. I made a gesture to look at my mobile. “No, you are not allowed to check on me now–––she cut me off. Wait until I’ve fallen asleep.”

“Fine, I can manage it,” I said, lying monumentally. I was dead curious. “So, to our main subject, the Venus.” Jeanne placed the catalogue over my lap.

“This is the Callipygean I was talking you about,” she stated, poking the picture in front of me. I approached the book to watch her closely.

“God, she’s beautiful,” I mumbled as my eyes thoroughly traced the contour of the most graceful lower body man has ever sculpted.

“In presence she’s breathtaking.”

“But they won’t let me touch her…” I complained, glancing at Jeanne.

“Would you like to touch her?” She chuckled.

“How should I not? Look at her…” I was practically lost for words. “Please, do it for me…” I pleaded, resting sideways towards her.

“I’ve told you–––she grinned. Maybe one day…” Her last sentence renewed my hopes about everything.

“And this one?” I pointed at another picture.

“Crouching Venus, the one I’ll be doing tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait for tomorrow,” I snickered and kissed her on the cheek, but then I saw some other picture. “Let me see this one here…”

“Just another Crouching Venus.”

“Oh, this is us–––I ventured. Look at the little child desperately trying to catch her attention, just like me.” Jeanne chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“It’s Cupid, her son,” she asserted, amused.

“Oh–––I just said. And your therapist’s mind is working non-stop right now…”

“Yes.”

“But it’s cute though–––I carried on enthusiastically. I’m Cupid.”

“It suits you well,” she told me, and turned sideways to face me, slipping her body near me until we rested together inch by inch. “Growing up he fell in love with Psyche. Do you remember the statue?”

“Oh, yes. With the wings.”

“They represent the perfect, ultimate union between mind and heart–––Jeanne explained. Venus sent Cupid to seek revenge in her name because Psyche didn’t idolise her, but everything went wrong and he fell for her. Her father forced her to marry him but she didn’t know who he was because he visited her chamber by night. So one day when he fell asleep she was about to kill him but she saw him and wounded by one of his arrows she fell in love herself. After plenty of trials she died but he revived her with a kiss and they were finally happy together,” she smiled. I looked her in the eyes in silence. “Their myth is the foundation of so many Western’s fixations…” I shut her mouth with a kiss.

It was past midnight when Jeanne got up from bed. She told me she had a song for me. A moment later a jazzy tune came out of the hi-fi, and she returned to the end of the bed. To see her walking around nude in the half-light… She must surely know the mesmerising creature she was. Jeanne held her hand out for me, and I reluctantly moved towards her.

“Are you going to dismiss me?” I asked. Jeanne laughed. My heart knew she wasn’t, but I just needed a confirmation. I ran my hands around her waist and rested my forehead on the top of her head, our naked bodies brushing together to the rhythm. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the lyrics.

My funny valentine,
Sweet, comic valentine.
You make me smile with my heart.
Your looks are laughable,
Unphotographable.
Yet you’re my favourite work of art.

Is your figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak,
Are you smart?

But don’t change your hair for me,
Not if you care for me.
Stay, little Valentine, stay…
Each day is Valentine’s Day.

Those last lines made me remember the first time she asked me to stay with her. I took her so much for granted back then. Now I was practically dying to hear it again but words weren’t coming easily.

–.–.–

Jeanne fell fast asleep, so I took a minute to check on her Twitter, incapable of finding any sleep. Too many things roaming in my head, but once I finally saw her account it was as the last straw: Her picture profile was the same than in the site. She had been right in front of my eyes all the fucking time… There wasn’t much information about her except her given name, occupation and current city, but it would have been enough. I just couldn’t believe it, and squirmed in bed, distressed.

I glanced at Jeanne, resting on her side, facing away, her body smoothly rising and falling. I didn’t know what to feel. Everything was far too surreal. I couldn’t just manage anything anymore.

“Jeanne, are you sleeping?” I spoke softly to her ear, leaning over her as my hand lightly caressed her hip.

“Yes,” she muttered confusedly.

“Will you see me after the end of this leg of the tour?”

–.–.–

Notes

Overwhelmed-by-the-whole-situation Harry couldn't hold it anymore! Now, what will she answer? Stay tune to find out! You know anything could happen...

Well, there was another chapter I loved to write. Angry-frustrated Harry is one of my favourites too. Next chapter is going to be THE chapter. It's not proofreaded; otherwise I'd be posting it today! It gives me goosebumps every time. The Tommo himself will be joining us in a guest appearance... You don't want to miss it!

Thank you so much, everybody, for reading this story and sharing your precious time with me. Love you all, as always.

Any story deserves hate

Comments

miss you a lot friend,
message me sometime if you have the chance ❤️

cococranberry cococranberry
3/13/19

You promised you would never make us wait for an update that long again... *cries*

JasperRenee JasperRenee
7/3/18

Hello,

I hope your life is everything that you want it to be. It seems like the past couple of months have really changed my perspective of the world, and how much you need to appreciate the little things in life. You never know when life will snatch them away from you.

I have really appreciated all that you have done for me. I miss your constantly developing plot, and your infinitesimal points of detail. In other words, I miss this story so much.

I feel like so much has happened since the last time you updated. I hope you know that I am always eagerly awaiting your next chapter. Even if it's 5 years from now, and I am a fully licensed Speech Language Pathologist, I will try my best to keep up my support. Maybe next year while I am studying abroad in Italy you will find the motivation to continue. Who knows what's going to happen. Maybe I should take the quote from the t-shirt I am currently wearing. "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know you're gonna get."

Thanks,
Morgan

Oh no, and then the moment came there's no next chapter anymore! What do I have to do with my spare time now?!
On a serious note: I loved loved looooooved your story so far. I loved the way the sequel wasn't the same as 'Dreaming of you'. Another timeset, other places, other people getting involved, and the tension being build up from the beginning till now. Their 'relationship' didn't went back to the way things were in France 4 years ago, it needed time to get together again and in a different way (happy about their love right now, but after 111 chapters I know things can change...). I really loved the way you wrote about Mark Owen as being Jeanne's 'Boyband crush'. I've been such a big fan of Take That and Mark was my first true love when I was 11 or so. His picture was hanging above my bed, wich I kissed goodnight every night. (I guess I've just spilled my age, haven't I? ;-) )
When I read the last comments, I think your last update was from 2 months ago. I really hope you can find the time, the energy and the inspiration to finish this story, because I'm hooked! Give me a warning when you'll write a book, I will be in front of the bookstore, waiting!

Love, Leah



Dear You,

I've started reading this story two days ago. From the very first chapter I'm hooked and I can't stop reading. I don't want to go out, I don't want to sleep, I just want to read. Not to know how it will end actually, because I don't want it to end! So I try to find a balance between reading fast en making it last a little bit longer. I'm a fan of Harry from the day Sign of the times has released, so I have a lot of catching up to do. When you mention a song or a situation with One Direction, I look for it on Google or YouTube. So you're helping me to get to know the world of Harry and 1D, thank you for that! I've been to Paris a couple of times, It's such a beautiful city. I have good, romantic, memories of the times I've been there. You're writing about the city is so accurate and lively, it feels I'm there again by reading. My heart nearly broke for Harry and Jeanne when I read the last chapter of Dreaming of you. Happy to know there's a sequel, I going to start reading that now. I just wanted to write you this, because in the notes below the chapters you seem like a very nice, caring person. Thank you for writing such a beautiful story! (I hope my writing makes sence, English isn't my native language so I know I make a lot of mistakes. I'm sorry!)
Love, Leah