Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

When I first sat on the car to pick Pat and go to the market I was still a bit deranged. Too many things in my mind. I know I need to loosen up but it is just so difficult. I want for Jeanne to speak her heart and tell me her feelings. But why am I so reticent to ask then? These things are supposed to flow. It will come up alone… At least it’s what I keep repeating to myself since yesterday.

I never enjoyed this much just being able to watch somebody. She’s not doing anything spectacular but I can’t stop staring at her. Yesterday at the market she was walking in front of us and stopped to greet an old lady. Pat elbowed me, pointing at her. Everybody seemed as happy to see her as me. And then we returned home and I watched her cooking and eating. In the afternoon we were going to lie in the garden to sunbath a little. She came out of the house wearing a red bathing suit but she just took it off… How am I supposed to keep my hands away from her or stop looking at her? She said she can’t have marks on her body because it distracts… No, Jeanne, it is impossible to get distracted from your body. Believe me, I’ve tried. Nothing works. Not even clothes, because dressed you are as much mesmerising as nude.

I’ve been trying to use this professional camera she lent me other than taking pictures of her, but I’m unable to. We are supposed to develop them when I come back from England and she’s going to realise… Who am I trying to fool? She knows already. I practically confessed it in Paris. She has to know I’m completely mad about her. I’m sure she noticed I was crying yesterday morning after we made love… My lower belly suddenly aches. Of course she knows. I’m not a mystery to Jeanne…

Jeanne keeps on talking about French music as I finish my spaghetti ‘al pesto rosso.’ We spent a lovely afternoon walking around the forest, and even came across a deer near the sandy area I remembered from the photos in Paris. This place is so magic it is almost impossible not to relax and enjoy, so things become easier, but everything is so hard to control… I drop my fork and run my hand through my hair. I love to hear you speak, Jeanne, but who cares about French music? Just you and the other three French people… Let’s lead this conversation to a more interesting topic. Me.

“Have you been to one of our shows?” I ask in curiosity, glimpsing at Jeanne as she serves another glass of red wine. She shakes her head ‘no,’ lightly giggling and not properly looking at me. “Why not?”

“It would have been strange,” she states, leaving the bottle over the table. I pout. I don’t see why. Oh, she ignores me now… Is she getting nervous? Let’s push a bit further.

“Have you listened to our records?”

“Of course I have,” she frowns, amused. I can’t stop myself from beaming.

“And did you like them?” I know I’m getting into dangerous ground but, come on, she likes French music…

“I adore ‘Up All Night,’” Jeanne says, finally glancing at me with a smirk. I squint at her, confused. “What?–––she giggles. Do you find it strange? I’m a disco animal. I’ve danced to most of your songs unknowingly over the years. Don’t you find it sexy?” She asks flirtingly, propping her chin on the back of her hand and leaning near me. Is this the reason she had chosen songs from that record to name her Fan Fictions?

“Very sexy…” I approach her to kiss her full lips. Wine tastes better on her. “And what’s your favourite song?”

“‘Stole My Heart’…” Now I’m stunned. Jeanne chuckles. “You sound as a little girl. I just love it.” Yeah, I know that. And Liam sounds as a freaking Latin lover.

“I hate it…” I grumble, seemingly serious, but as she throws her arms to the air and moves them to the imaginary rhythm I can’t help but laugh. And her breasts under that sheer T-shirt… If she keeps doing that I’m going to get hard. “Have you seen the DVD from that tour?”

“I have.”

“Shoot,” I speak taking a sip of my glass.

“You were the cutest,” Jeanne asserts in a girly voice. I chuckle. Of course. She was mad about the ephebe. “Absolutely edible…” She takes a sip of her glass herself, giggling and turning away. Yes, she was… I love to hear her when she says those things about me.

“And have you seen ‘This Is Us’?” I insist, wanting to pressure as far as I can.

“I have.”

“At the cinema?” She nods. Somehow it surprises me. “Have you?–––I blurt. Why?”

“I wanted to experience it,” Jeanne shrugs. Why hasn’t she been at one of our shows then? That’s the real deal. “I was in Munich the opening night in Germany. I think it was mid September.”

“Munich?–––I snap. How come?” Munich?

“I was processing an application to do a lecture at Ludwig Maximilian University,” she explains casually.

“A lecture there?” I grumble, straightening up in my stool. Oh, no… “Are you planning on moving to Munich?”

“Next year, yes, after I get my PhD.” I glance down. It means nothing, Harry. For you where she lives is irrelevant. She’ll always be away from you… But the flat I was going to buy in Paris…

“So, how good was it?” I ask jokingly, trying to get rid of this bad feeling suddenly rising inside me.

“It was just great. I ended up deaf!” She exclaims, taking her hands to her ears. I smile. “The girls are amazing yellers.” Yes, they are. They’re the most incredible fans in the entire world.

“Did you go on your own?”

“No, I went with one of my German friends, Mara,” Jeanne snickers. So she dragged a friend… I feel honoured.

“And what did you think, about me?” I ask with a cheeky lop-sided grin. She laughs, glancing away. “Tell me.”

“They love you so…” She shakes her head.

“Yeah, but what did you think?” I insist again. Sometimes she’s impossible and I almost have to force her to speak. “There’s a lot of me there. Was I as you expected me to be?” Jeanne smiles, looking down.

“I thought you were hot,” she finally admits, giggling. I think I’m able to relax in my stool now. It wasn’t that hard, Jeanne. I take another sip of wine.

“Hot–––I repeat as meditating. Nice… And what did you do afterwards?” She laughs, but looking at me quizzically.

“Why do you want to know?” She frowns, seeing me coming. I’m pretty basic.

“Did you think of me later that day?” I ask in a raspy tone, bending closer.

“It was Sunday, and Mara and I went to have a drink…”

“But were you thinking about me?” I give it another try. I know she wants to surrender.

“Is that so important to you?” She defies me, bringing her lips next to mine, her glass on the side.

“Yes,” I state, glimpsing at her tempting mouth. I definitely think this conversation is going to end with me doing bad things to her on the kitchen floor.

“Yes–––she repeats with her eyes fixed in mine. I was thinking about you.” And this must be the greatest sensation in the world… I move my hand to grab her elbow. “The strangest thing happened though.” I freeze.

“What?” I ask. Jeanne raises her eyebrows. I instinctively glare at her. “Now tell me,” I demand huskily.

“Some Bayern Munich’s players were at the lounge bar.” Oh, no. “Philipp Lahm, Toni Kroos, Mario Götze, Manuel Neuer…” Oh, fucking no. “We are big fans so Mara wanted to get drunk just to pluck up the courage to talk to them,” Jeanne laughs, reminiscing. No, it can’t be… “But there was no need. I was wearing a black beret and they suspected I was French and came to talk to us.” A black beret? She must have looked gorgeous… Did she go to see me with a black beret? And then those bastards hit on her because of my black beret? This has to be some sort of a cruel joke… “We were chatting with them for quite a while. They’re very formal people… And Germans are so humble they actually feel very thankful when a foreigner speak their language.” Yeah, not as English speakers as me, always taking it for granted. “And then Manu…” Manu? What the hell? No! “I thought he had a girlfriend but he was on a break at the moment.” I realise I’ve been transfixed during her whole speech. I squirm on my seat as I register the meaning of her last words. The sting…

“Are you telling me you went out with the German goalkeeper?” I snap, my mind spinning around. El was just right…

“Do you know him?” Jeanne asks candidly. God, she’s just too much.

“Of course I know him–––I blurt out, dejected. Germany won the World Cup like four days ago! And Bayern Munich kicked Manchester United out from Champions League last year!”

“Oh, that’s right…” She giggles. Is she serious? I bet she hates Manchester United!

“Is he the third German guy?–––I inquire, anger running through my body. The one you met ‘elsewhere’?” Calm down, Harry. You don’t want to scare her. But this is just too much… I can’t keep my hands quiet.

“Well, no, this was a fling.” A fling?

“A fling?” My mind is about to collapse. I can’t help but to grab my forehead. Jeanne looks at me suspiciously. I deeply breathe in. “Now let me get this straight–––I mutter. That night you had the hots for me but then you just ended up in bed with a German guy…”

“Manu is not any German guy,” she scrunches her face at me. Of course. He’s the crown jewel of Germany. “He’s a national hero and such a baby face.” I glance at her in disbelief. Doesn’t she realise?

“But that guy is more famous than me!” I exclaim. In the middle of the sentence I noticed Jeanne was already glaring. I remember that look from the Parisian cafe…

“He’s taller too, and an Adonis,” she ventures. An Adonis? What the hell is that? Jeanne crosses her arms over her chest. We look at each other in silence because I don’t know what to say. But I can tell she’s mad… Tension could be cut with a spoon. “Why do you care whom I shagged a year ago?–––she finally tells off. And every girl you have been with is more famous than me and I’m not making such a great deal out of it.”

“It’s not the same!” I retort. Fuck. Wrong, again.

“You are so full of yourself, Harry–––she mumbles, standing up. Not everything is about you.” I follow her with my gaze as she storms out of the kitchen, stomping on the stairs. I throw my head forward. I’m such a fool. How did I manage to upset Jeanne? I have to do something.

–.–.–

Notes

Round of applause! Was it a mystery that Jeanne had shagged freaking Manuel Neuer? Cheers! Take a good look at him because outside directioners' world he's quite bigger than Harry, and not only in height xD Sorry, I'm just excited at my own mind. So I dedicate this chapter to my lovely @EleanorRigby, you know why, babe ;) Love you. And also to my dearest @softballchick79, who had included Manu's beauty on her amazing Tumblr. Enjoy, baby. Gotta love Germany!

Now, I want to hear your opinion about this. Think of Harry as what he is, an English guy who had looked up to footballers all his life. But is there a reason for him to be so worried? Or curiosity just killed the cat? And mainly, will he be able to fix this mess? All the answers in the next chapter. Don't miss it.

Hey, be sure to read this story: I'm Still The Harry You Knew.

You made it till here, you are curious because you know this is not your usual story and some voice inside you is just asking for more. Listen to your inner self and leave a comment, click the tenth star, hit subscribe and make me happy! We just need at least one more vote before the next update! Come on, don't be shy! Different is fun!

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