Anonymous asked: How did you and Harry meet?

There was a No Sex rule (which was not being followed) and even though Harry and I weren’t a couple (ew) we still spent more of our time together in one room than separately in two. It seemed like a waste of money, especially because there were literally days that one of us wouldn’t even use our given room key because we would stay with the other, but having two rooms made it easier for our relationship to go undetected. The last thing we needed was the judgment of everyone—not even my followers knew, as I had only hinted at it.

However, Harry and I were first and formally best friends, so fucking wasn’t all we did. Since he didn’t have any private social networking profiles (he wasn’t allowed), he used mine to keep up with all of his friends and family from his pre-famous life. As I was attempting to make a toasted cheese sandwich in my room’s pathetic excuse for a kitchen, he was on my computer using my Facebook account to cyber stalk.

“Why don’t you just buy a sandwich?” he wondered, looking up at me. He was sitting cross-legged on the edge of my bed, my MacBook in his lap.

“Because, unlike you, I’m poor,” I said, glaring over my shoulder at him. I was trying to spread the shredded cheese evenly across the bread, I didn’t need his comments. “Do you want one?”

“No thanks,” he said. We both turned our attention back to what was important, but Harry spoke up again just as I began buttering the outsides of each slice of bread, trying unsuccessfully to keep the cheese where it belonged. “Hey, who’s watching your apartment while you’re here? Agnes?”

“Yeah,” I said before a string of expletives shot from my mouth. When I turned the sandwich over to butter the other side, like 80% of the cheese slipped out.

“How’s she doing?” he asked.

I think it’s been established that I wasn’t actually English. As a matter of fact, I was born in Wales to a Welsh mother and a French father. My parents were never married, so my dad tried his hardest to support the two of us when my mom left him. We moved to Cheshire (or, more specifically, to Holmes Chapel) when I was fifteen. My dad had some friends who lived in the area that owned a pub, and they offered him a job because they knew we were struggling. Picking up and moving to a different country was hard, and I didn’t particularly like Holmes Chapel (we went from a population of about 30,000 to about 8,000), but I was outgoing enough to make fast friends. However, after I moved away, I realized the place wasn’t so bad after all.

Agnes Gray was my best friend, aside from Harry. I had met her about a week or two before I met the latter, and the only reason she introduced us was because she was madly in love with him and so insecure about it that she needed my approval.

One day before school started, I had noticed that Agnes kept compulsively straightening her uniform and running her hands through her hair. She was much shyer than I—she had more of a passive-aggressive nature while I was confrontational. She had mentioned before that she thought this guy was super smokin’ and that she wanted me to meet him to see what I thought. I agreed, because I would take any chance to make new friends for the three remaining years in Cheshire that I had. I expected something along the lines of a British Logan Lerman when she told me she liked this guy; so when this chubby cheeked, dimply, curly-haired thing walked over to us, Agnes was sporting a lady boner and I just didn’t get it. She said, “Hey, Harry,” all giggly.

And he smiled at her then looked at me in this really over-sexed way, which pissed me off. Here this fetus (that my friend liked for some odd reason) was, undressing me with his eyes, and I didn’t even know him. I’d had enough of that since I arrived—because, believe it or not, I was once prettier than Harry—and I didn’t want to lose Agnes because she thought that I was trying to steal him. I played the bored card while he was introducing himself. “You must be the new girl,” he said, “I’m Harry.”

I needed to turn him off, so I figured the best way to do that was simple: tell him my name. “I’m Bryce.”

Aside from Bryce Dallas Howard (Victoria in Eclipse and Ms. Hilly Holbrook in The Help), I had never heard of a woman being named Bryce. What my parents were thinking at the time of my birth I had no clue, but sometimes it came in handy to have a name that made it seem like I was in transition from one gender to another.

“Bryce?” he repeated, laughing haughtily, “Isn’t that a boys’ name?”

“Yeah,” I snapped before decking him. Right off the bat I was getting bad vibes from Harry; Agnes was a sweet girl and way too good for this cheeky bastard.

“Bryce!” Agnes said shrilly.

“Ow! What the fuck?!” Harry shouted, his hands flying up to his face. “Is this some foreign thing?”

Lucky for me, the Head Mistress had been walking by right as Harry and I were greeting each other. “Miss Baron,” she barked, “That is not a way a young lady should behave.”

Harry was holding his nose, making sure that it wasn’t bleeding. “Yeah, Miss Baron,” he sneered.

“And you, Mr. Styles—you’ll have plenty of time to ostracize each other in detention,” the Head Mistress said.

We spent every day after school for the rest of the week in detention. During this time, we got to know each other and it turned out that we had a lot in common. We both had dreams of fantastic proportions (he in music and me in fashion; I think we all know who’s winning) and similar personalities. Our bonding was a bonus for Agnes because Harry and I liked hanging out when we weren’t in detention, and I would of course put in a good word for her (I was even a great wingman before it mattered).

Unfortunately, though, Harry and I eventually got closer than anyone had anticipated—while it was intended for me to third wheel, it ended up mostly being Agnes. Toward the end of sixth form we were best frenemies (of Blair and Serena proportions) because he liked me more than he liked her (as a friend!). It wasn’t my fault—I was more outgoing and Harry and I got on really well—but from time to time I felt bad. She still had a thing for him (she was his first fan, really—almost more supportive in his Xtra Factor days than I was) but as she and I have grown apart and he and I have grown together, I just figured that she should have put more effort into him if he really meant that much to her. And, I hate to admit it, but Harry sure meant a hell of a lot to me.

So hearing Harry ask about Agnes when she and I hardly spoke and they spoke even less, I wondered if maybe some residual feelings were surfacing. “She’s doing fine, I think,” I said. “Why?”

He pointed at the screen, “It says here that she got married yesterday. There are pictures and everything.”

“No way,” I said. Agnes wanted Harry’s balls before Harry even had balls. I figured that I would be the first to know when she stopped lusting after him, “To whom? I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone.”

He squinted at the screen, “Elijah Something-With-A-Bunch-Of-Letters.”

“Oh my God, send him a friend request!” I said, freaking out. When people your age start getting married, shit gets real. I was so animated that I didn’t even stop and think Hey, Bryce. There’s a hot stove right in front of you, with a hot pan on it. Don’t touch that or you’ll hurt yourself because the next thing I knew I was clutching my hand in pain, “Ow, ow, shit, my hand!”

I rushed over to the sink, turning the cold water on and shoving my reddening hand underneath the faucet. Harry, my oh-so-supportive best friend, looked up casually, “Do you want to see the pictures from her wedding?”

Seething, I asked, “Aren’t you at all worried about my safety?”

He fake considered it for a second, “No. You should’ve just bought a sandwich like I said.

“Fuck you,” I said, “Come here and get me some ice.”

He begrudgingly got up and dug through the miniature refrigerator, “There’s no ice.”

“Well call room service and have them bring up some fucking ice before my fucking hand falls off!” I snapped. Damn it, burns hurt. My palm was already starting to blister, and scars were so not chic.

“Okay, okay,” he said dramatically. When he finally called, he fetched my laptop and brought it over to the counter, “Do you want to see the pictures now?”

I had nothing better to do, so I agreed. “Oh, he’s hot,” was the first thing I said. Touching him would certainly make my hands burn, but in the fun way.

“Yeah,” Harry said absentmindedly, “I wonder why she didn’t tell you.”

I shrugged, “Probably just to spite me. I didn’t tell her I was coming on tour.”

He looked at me incredulously, “Then how the hell did you get her to watch your apartment? Just invite her over and then not come home?”

Rolling my eyes, I turned the skink off and gently blotted away the water with a napkin, “No. My neighbor was supposed to get my mail and stuff, and Agnes was visiting London and needed a place to crash, so I said she could stay at my place.”

“And then she got married,” he said.

“And then she got married,” I agreed.

I noticed him lingering through the photo album, staring at our old friend and her new husband. She looked nice, but it looked like a fast and cheap wedding, if you know what I mean. “So much has changed,” he said quietly, still staring at the screen, but blankly, “I mean, I used to hang out with Agnes all the time, and now she’s married.”

“Jealous?” I teased, but it was only because I wasn’t in the mood for a serious conversation when I was nursing second-degree burns.

He shook his head, “No, it’s not that. It’s just… I want to be normal again, Brycey. I want to find a girl and date her and get married like Agnes. You know?”

I didn’t know, because I didn’t want any of that, but I tried to understand. “You’re still young, Harry. You’ll find a girl someday.” (I was three days older than Harry, and that made me three days wiser).

He nudged me as a form of endearment, “You’re right—I could find my soul mate tomorrow for all I know. Or maybe I’ve already met her—or maybe it’s you.” He was only joking, but the thought of getting married someday honestly made me sick.

“Ew, stop,” I said flatly.

He smiled and pushed himself away from the counter to open the door. He returned with a bucket of ice and a basic first aid kit. He smirked and said seductively, “Tell me, Ms. Baron: where does it hurt?”

“Are we playing doctor?” I wondered aloud.

He answered my question with a question of his own, “Do you really think that I, your best friend, would be thinking about sex in your time of need?”

I didn’t even hesitate, “Yes.”

He looked offended, even going as far as putting his hand on his chest, “I’m hurt.”

“Well, so am I, that’s why we’ve got the ice and the first aid kit,” I said. I walked over to him, taking the bucket from his hand and shoving my hand deep inside. I could have sworn my hand sizzled.

He placed the kit on the counter and turned back to my laptop, because clearly I wasn’t in the mood to play doctor and clearly he was going to have to blue ball it. “What’s the password to your Tumblr?” he asked, looking at the screen.

I froze. Shit shit shit shit shit. I only had my One Direction Tumblr—I had forgotten to make a fashion blog like he had suggested as a decoy. He knew that that was where I spent all of my time, and now he wanted to see what was on it! Fuck!

I played it off coolly, “Not going to happen.”

He rolled his eyes, “Come on, you know I like searching through my tag to see what sick things people say.”

I was half offended because I was one of those sick people, but I knew I brought it on myself. Still. “No. Tumblr is for anonymity—having your real-life friends follow you or find your blog is like social suicide.”

He scoffed, “You blog about fashion. I hardly think pictures of pretty girls in pretty dresses are embarrassing—you talk about your blog all the time anyway.”

Fuck shit fuck he’s right. “Oh well. You can search through Tumblr without logging in anyway,” I said. Thank the Lord. There was no way in hell I was giving Harry my password until I had a side blog set up.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Notes

Wow, thanks so much for all of the support! I'm actually getting comments on this, which is crazy! I'm so glad that you guys like it! Feel free to rate and review! :)

xx Kat