Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

“Harry, listen to me.” Louis just knew my mind was ranting. “They’re assuming she’s some sort of art consultant as they saw you at the Louvre and she seemed to be explaining art to you…” he tried to clarify but I was blocked. That should probably sound weird even to him. And it meant nobody had witnessed the kiss.

“What?–––I snapped for the third time in a row, dejected. Are you telling me they found out I've stayed in Paris with a girl but because we went to a museum we are not romantically involved?–––I pondered, my head spinning around to the idea. “They link me even with dudes but not with Jeanne?”

“I don’t know, mate–––he grumbled. I’m just telling you what the paper said and what the fans are commenting. They’re suspicious about you staying in Paris but pretty much buy the whole story… Maybe it’s a good thing.”

“How could this be a good thing?–––I blurted, infuriated. It’s almost insulting! I should tell them…” I ventured.

“Do you even know what she thinks about going public with you?–––Louis asked trying to get me into senses. She’s writing about you. Perhaps it would be a bad thing for her, compromising her objectivity…” I hadn’t thought about that.

“Once she told me she shouldn’t fuck the subject of her thesis…” I mumbled, throwing my head forward as I grasped my brow. He was right.

“Did she tell you that?–––he blurted, amused. God, Harry, you, mingled with those words. It’s almost as if we had entered another dimension.” I could feel the tease factor on his voice, and I wasn’t in the mood.

“You too?” I growled.

“Sorry, mate–––he chuckled lightly. I find it very sexy but don’t you realise who she is? She’s another world.”

“No, she’s not–––I stated, resolute. And she’s into me as much as I’m into her–––I carried on. We’re going to her Paris countryside’s house as soon as the tour is over…”

“Paris countryside?–––Louis snapped. You are a lucky bastard, you know that…–––he said in his cheeky voice. Oh, Harry, if this is fine for you I’m with you a hundred percent, as well as the boys. Can we follow her on Twitter?” He said, all anxious.

“She’s not by her name but by @Vicki_Vale,” I explained, noticing some sort of movement at the studio door. I leant against the glazed door to go unnoticed. “And, no; it would draw too much attention towards her,” I whispered, stepping inside.

“Right–––he mused. Well, we’re leaving to the stadium. I guess I see you in a while…”

“I'd rather stay but I have no choice,” I whinged at his words, reminding my quite imminent departure. I heard Jeanne’s voice from behind the curtain.

“I’d rather be in England to but I guess I have no choice either,” Louis retorted, annoyed.

“You are getting so tired of all this, right?”

“You don’t even imagine how much,” he mumbled. His words made me feel uneasy. “So you better come here soon because you make it a lot easier for me.” Louis breathed in, making a brief pause. “Harry, suck it up, mate. In half a month you’ll be with her again–––he said with a hint of exasperation. Oh, and, please, tell her to update ‘Bizarre Love Triangle.’ We are quite anxious here, especially Niall.”

I stood in silence with the rim of my iPhone pressed to my lips, a strange emotion going up and down throughout my body. A heat of anger had come to replace what I was feeling before, and I hated it. How could they possibly not link me with Jeanne? What the hell was going on? Had we actually stepped into another dimension? I was so tired of all the stories they constantly used to make about me, and then they caught me with a girl I truly liked and she was my art consultant? I already had an art consultant! It had to be some sort of sick joke. I went to Twitter and began to look at my mentions. At least it wasn’t trending.

I heard Jeanne saying goodbye to her last students and soon she opened the curtain. Her hair was down and messy. The robe wasn’t tightened around her torso so with her hand she was holding the lapel together, the slit of the garment deliciously framing one of her soft, toned legs as she walked towards me. God, she was a goddess. How could I explain to her everybody knew about our visit to the museum but were thinking I was too dumb for a woman like her?

“What’s going on?–––Jeanne told me as she realised I wasn’t in the same mood she had left me. Did you get bored?” She asked a bit worried, caressing my forehead.

“Not at all–––I murmured, glimpsing down. Louis just told me we were spotted at the Louvre.” I squeezed the mobile between my hands.

“The girls!” She exclaimed almost in panic. I frowned.

“They’re fine,” I said reassuringly.

“Oh, good,” she sighed, relieved.

“Don’t you want to know what they’re saying?” I asked, puzzled by her attitude. Jeanne tilted her head.

“Carry on…”

“They don’t think we are together…” I mumbled. Jeanne grinned.

“Oh,” she simply said. I couldn’t help but scrunch my face. She was inscrutable––yeah, I learnt that word just for her. So I had the childish impulse to blame it on her.

“They believe you are not my type.” She laughed hard, throwing her head back and resting her hands together as if she was praying. “What? Don’t you mind?” I insisted, amazed.

“Of course I don’t–––she claimed. I’m not your type.” Somehow she just managed to turn it against me one more time. I raged, but my behaviour was nonsensical. I was so mad for the entire Twitter thing ruining my mood.

“You are everybody’s type,” I finally gave in, but she just knew that. Jeanne ran her arms around my neck and kissed my chin repeatedly. “Forget it–––I said, grabbing her waist. Do you want me to say something about it?” She had a squint at me.

“No, why would you?”

“For them to know we are together…” I ventured.

“Oh, that–––she sighed. No, I can’t fuck the subject of my thesis,” Jeanne shook her head lightly. God, I hated the freaking sentence.

“Is that what I am to you?” I snapped, pissed off.

“No, but my thesis is my life…” She explained in a cold tone. I knew it was sort of logical but somehow her words felt like a slap on the face. Why everything needed to be that complicated? “And I don’t want to get into trouble with Guillaume.”

“Who the hell is Guillaume?” I raised my voice. God, she was as a Pandora’s box. New things kept coming out all the time.

“He’s my thesis director or, as I prefer to call him, my owner…” Jeanne smirked. It was an irony but I wasn’t in the spirit to take jokes well.

“Do you sleep with him?” I blurted, annoyed. Jeanne crossed her arms instinctively and glared at me.

“No, you don’t sleep with you thesis director unless you are desperate,” she asserted as if it was an obvious matter. I frowned, shaking my head ‘no.’

“Are you desperate?” I asked, perplex.

“Do I look desperate?” Jeanne retorted throwing a hand to her hair, looking all seductive. I laughed and pulled her closer as she moved her hands to my biceps. God, she had me all wrapped around her finger and I barely knew anything about her.

“Never,” I whispered to her lips.

–.–.–

Part of me didn’t want to leave the Academy without finishing what we had started an hour earlier, but the other part needed some time to get rid of the bad feeling I had from the whole Twitter affair. I felt tempted… I felt so tempted to start all over again when Jeanne suddenly took off her robe and began to get dressed in front of me, the light, fair blouse first, slowly; the skirt, delicately tucking the top inside; then the knickers, slightly lifting the skirt up and stretching her muscles as she pulled from the lacy fabric; finally her Oxford shoes, bending to the floor to tie them up. She must surely know what she was giving me… If only those students hadn’t come back to grab their stuff.

My angst soon cleared up. It was so easy with Jeanne by my side laughing at my jokes. Yeah, half world was in social media saying a girl interested in high art could not be interested in me, but for me knowing they were wrong was just enough. She could be cleverer than me, and sort of eerie, but we weren’t on a competition. And we were going to spend our holidays together. Even if I didn’t like it too much I understood her circumstances and the reason why we needed to be discreet. Discretion was far better for me too, with the fans, with management. It would make my life back on tour much less complicated.

But I didn’t want to leave Paris. I wanted to stay right there with Jeanne. I had been smitten before. Many times. Too many times I had rushed things up, so why not this time? I had never jumped into such intimacy with anybody. To fall asleep with her, to wake up with her between my arms, to watch her reading a book with her glasses on the tip of her nose… Everything made me feel extremely comfortable around her even if we were so different. Somehow she quietened me down, taking away my usual compulsiveness for doing any sort of things. She made me focus. She made me want to write and play music, and even try again with photography.

I didn’t want to leave, and hour by hour I became more gutted. I didn’t want to get up from bed to have lunch after we had sex. She had ridden me in a way that made my most inner self tremble. And how she screamed as she came… Every time it returned to my memory it made my stomach lurch and crave for her, twenty minutes later, an hour later sitting at the tiny bistro with her, and I was hoping to be able to relive that exact sensation on our time apart. Jeanne quivering between my arms, her soft skin brushing on me, her body tensing and then surrendering to the pleasure I was giving her.

I didn’t want to give up either on all the amazing things I just had discovered in my time in Paris. Mandrake’s liquor, French cheese, éclairs, steak tartare… Actually, Jeanne was going to make lunch herself but I wanted steak tartare again and we were out of beef. She couldn’t stop laughing at me. And even if it was very good at the bistro, hers was better.

As we ate I took the opportunity to tell her how impressed I was by what she did at the Academy. Jeanne laughed. She was self assured but very fond of being complimented on her work. How could I not compliment her? She had crouched motionless in the most excruciating pose for half an hour and didn’t even blink. How was that possible? I can’t stay still for two consecutive seconds. She explained she trained in yoga and meditation for about ten years, and that after some friend she began to practice something called ‘qigong,’ a Chinese martial art based in breathing and stillness. She knew all those rare things.

I knew it wasn’t just that so I insisted. Jeanne was always so reticent to give too much detail about her. She finally told me she did ballet since she was five years old and to strength she practiced capoeira. I’d seen it in Brazil and found it amazing. It’s a dance but also a sort of wrestling. Capoeira fascinated her when she went to Rio de Janeiro with his father by the age of ten as they saw people practice it on the beach. So I got to understand many things about her. Her grace, the way she moved, the absolute control she had over her body, her physical and mental balance, her strength. And she grew on my mind, because it was so much work, so much time, so much learning just to crouch, just to get the right angle and keep it that way. What made her captivating had so much to do with seeing it working altogether in every thing she did.

But above all I wondered if she was sad because I was leaving Paris. I didn’t want to push her too far. We were just two weeks away from seeing each other again… It surprised me she didn’t want to give me her mobile number when I asked for it. She told me phone calls were from another century. When I asked her what I should do if something came up she told me to communicate with her by the website as we had been doing for two months without any problem whatsoever. I found it ridiculous but I couldn’t help but laugh. Our last message was from a week ago, but it seemed like ages.

–.–.–

Notes

Poor Harry! those two weeks are going to be hell. OK, the boys will be coming back next chapter, so you don't want to miss that. It's going to be absolutely heavy...

I've been finding hard to write this week and I need a little motivation. I'd love to hear your comments on this story. I'm a fanfiction writer. I breathe on feedback. Feedback is everything. I know my lovely friend @Morgan_Who will leave her comment religiously, so, come on, this story has new readers. What made you click on the tenth star? Let's convince other people to do the same!

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