Anonymous asked: Can you explain why One Direction and The Wanted don’t get along?

“Oh, Brycey,” Harry purred, “I know you want me, but I’m not going to sleep with you.”

I rolled my eyes, pleased that he at least cooperated when I pulled his shirt over his head. I didn’t have any romantic feelings for Harry, and it was completely true that I had seen him at his worst, but damn it, Harry was fit. He was one of those guys that I knew was attractive but actually didn’t do much for me. He had abs that didn’t exist when we met, and a collar bone that could kill someone, and tattoos that ruined reproductive organs, and toned skin, and I was done. If someone had told me that Harry would end up hot and we would be sleeping together, I would have never believed them—especially not the first part.

When I got to Harry’s pants, he giggled like I was tickling him. “Bryce,” he fake whined in fake protest. He couldn’t fool me: I knew that he liked it.

“Oh, hush,” I said. Harry and I were no strangers to unbuttoning each other’s jeans, but no matter what it was still the kind of awkward thing that you couldn’t help but laugh at. “Step out of them,” I said. I helped balance him because he could hardly stand on his own two feet.

He was left in his Calvin Klein’s. Looking down at me, he smiled. “You know, I didn’t think that I would want to, since you’re, you know…” if possible, his smile was even cheekier, “But why not try something new?”

When he reached out for me and tried to unzip my dress, I put my hands over his and held onto his fingers tightly. “Nuh-uh,” I said, “We need to get you to bed.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he smirked and ducked in to kiss my neck.

For a second I got carried away. I smiled and let go of his hands to rub his waist, swaying with him as he tried to maneuver us to the bed one step at a time. I didn’t want to have a relationship (like, ever) but I really would miss the physical aspect; not even sex, but, like, holding and kissing and dancing, and even just the feeling of skin-on-skin contact. I would miss cutesy things like this.

But, you win some, you lose some.

I pushed Harry away gently, enough to where he would get the idea that this wasn’t the time. “Stop,” I said. There was a different tone in my voice—sweet, almost flirty. I was still smiling like crazy. “Look, as much as I want you to ‘rock me,’ you’re drunk and I’m under construction.”

“But Brycey—”

“But nothing,” I said. “Now, try and get some sleep.”

Even though it was obvious that he didn’t want to, drunk Harry would do whatever I said. I turned the bed down and held the blanket open for him. He climbed in and lay on his back while I covered him. “Will you stay with me?” he asked, watching me intently.

I was walking back to my suitcase. “I’m just going to get ready for bed,” I said, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

We were in Harry’s room and, even though my things were next door in mine, I wasn’t going to make the effort. I grabbed Céline (who carried my life anyway) and one of Harry’s shirts to change into. I used the hotel lotion and toilet paper to remove my makeup and was just starting to brush my teeth (it’s handy to have a toothbrush and/or toothbrush-like product with you at all times. Trust) when Harry stumbled in.

“Lovely,” I said sarcastically when he began emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He groaned and glanced back at me. I was still struggling to prove that I knew Harry on Tumblr, so I snapped a picture of his drunk ass just as he noticed my phone. He scolded me, but I shrugged him off and casually tossed my phone back in Céline (of course I uploaded the picture later, I couldn’t just not post that beauty). I spat out the toothpaste before deciding that it might be a good idea to make sure that he was okay.

I crouched behind him and rubbed his bare back, “You good?” He felt hot compared to the cool tile of the bathroom floor.

He coughed a few times and in a groggy voice said, “Yeah.”

But even I knew that throwing up didn’t magically make you sober—actually, it thinned your blood and only made your blood alcohol level higher. So, Harry was still pretty drunk, but no longer on the verge of a blackout. Still behind him, I reached over and turned the bathtub on, “You should get cleaned up.”

He gagged while the water ran but he was basically done. I only filled it about halfway (just in case I looked away and he drowned or something) and helped him stand up. He giggled when I removed his boxers and I rolled my eyes, but it was no trouble getting him in the water. “Come in with me,” he suggested. He kept pushing my hands away from him, “I can clean myself.”

I rolled up the sleeves of the shirt I was wearing (it was a button down he’d worn earlier) and rubbed some water onto his arms. “No,” I said absentmindedly. “All of my other clothes are next door.”

“You can wear mine,” he insisted, trying to scoot away from me in the small space.

I shook my head, “No thanks.” Getting Harry clean was clearly going to be a difficult task because he wouldn’t sit still until I got in with him, which was not going to happen. “Stay there,” I said sternly.

There was a hair tie somewhere in Céline and I wasn’t about to let this bastard ruin the curls I had spent most of my night trying to keep intact. When you have thin hair like I do, you know what I mean. I heard some sloshing and felt water at my feet. Without turning around, I said, “Harry, I swear to God, Allah, Buddha, and motherfucking Oprah Winfrey: If you splash me, I will choke you.”

He laughed, “Brycey, loosen up!”

I turned around, holding the hair tie between my teeth as I pulled my hair up, “Are you really trying to tell a girl who’s on her period what to do?”

“Yes,” he said, putting his hands on the ledge, “Now get in the bath with me.”

This bitch, I thought. Instead of answering, I walked back over to him and turned the showerhead on, letting lukewarm water soak his entire body. After his attempt to splash me, the bath was looking emptier and it needed to be refilled if he was going to get the party smell off of him before he went to bed.

He sputtered, forcing his wet hair from his eyes. “Bryce!” he exclaimed.

I turned the water off and handed him the hotel shower gel, “Lather up.” I sat cross-legged in front of the tub as he poured out a pea-sized portion of the gel. “You know, you were kind of being a bitch earlier,” I said idly. Really, the best way to get over a problem is confrontation—I wasn’t just going to act like nothing was wrong.

“Who, me?” he inquired innocently.

“Yeah, you,” I said. I rested my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands. If Harry had made the effort, he definitely could have seen my lady parts. Luckily, he was occupied with soaping himself up. “You know, with that guy, Nathan.”

“Oh, Nathan.” He hiccupped once and then paused to think, “Yeah, I guess I was. I really don’t like that guy.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “Care to explain?” I guess that the One Direction/The Wanted feud was old news, but I didn’t really get it. Even Louis (who gave the littlest of shits when it came to management; Harry was a close second) was against them. It was common knowledge that the two bands didn’t get along, but why? Because, frankly, it was a bit like being caught between two girls who were wearing the same outfit: you of course had to take the side of your friend, but part of you couldn’t help but notice that the other girl was wearing it better.

“They started it,” he clarified. Famous last words, really. “Actually, I’m lying.”

“You make no sense,” I said, encouraging him to explain.

He was drunk and obviously bored, and his clarification showed that. “Well, it’s more like they hate Simon Cowell. He owns part of Radio One, and every time they have a new single coming out, he and his team almost always release one of their own artists’ singles on the very same day so that The Wanted won’t reach the top spot.”

I blinked at him, “Why?” Keep going, Harry, just a little bit longer!

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Because he sees them as competition for us, and if there’s any way he can stop them from getting ahead, he does it.”

“Now that’s bitchy,” I said. “The media never ceases to amaze me.” And now that I had the inside scoop, I could fill in all of my curious followers.

“I know,” he said, sort of slurring his words, “And, get this: The Wanted’s body guard actually works for Paul, so it’s like we’ve always got the upper hand.” He laughed maniacally and gleefully splashed about. I guess I understood. You had to do what you had to do in order to stay on top, but even I was a little taken aback by the lengths people went to to get there. He continued, “So, really, it’s nothing against you. One of The Wanted dating my best friend would be like… I don’t know, weird. Hey, I like those, are they new?”

“I was saving them for a special occasion,” I said distractedly. He was talking about the knickers I was wearing—he had peeked over the ledge of the tub for whatever reason and it wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed to look there. “The Wanted is hot, though, and they have good music; why can’t boy bands just get along.”

“I don’t know,” he said quickly, clearly wanting to switch the topic, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Oh, you’ll never guess who texted me today.”

“Agnes?” I guessed. I hadn’t spoken with her since the new of her recent nuptial—it might have been an interesting conversation to figure out just exactly what was going through her head when she decided to get hitched.

“No,” he said, “Will.”

I raised my eyebrows and blinked in surprise, “Oh.” Will Sweeny was Harry’s other half in sixth form (just as Agnes had been mine) and also the first serious boyfriend I ever had. We dated for two years—Will was the type of guy that you brought home to meet your parents. If someday I ever decided to get married, he would be my go-to guy. Aside from Harry, he was the only person that I had ever really shared my life with. We broke up when I moved to London for uni, and although it was amicable, things were still kind of awkward whenever the old group got together. “How is he?”

“Fine,” he said, “And no, he didn’t mention you. I told him you were with me, but he didn’t really say anything. You broke his heart, you know. Hell, it felt like I was in that fucking relationship, I heard so much about it.”

“Well, things happen,” I said, trying to sound casual and shifting my eyes away. I stared at the tile. I didn’t know why, but I felt a little gutted—too much negative information at once. I decided to lighten the mood: “I lost my virginity to him.”

Harry lost his shit. “Oh! Oh my God, ew!” He was flailing his arms, trying to cover his eyes and unintentionally splashing water about in the process. “You’re both my best friends—I’m sleeping with you, you’ve slept with him; therefore I’ve slept with him, oh my God, Bryce!”

I smirked and chuckled a bit at his reaction, “No one ever told you that? I thought it was common knowledge.”

“No!” he exclaimed. The more disturbed he got, the higher his voice went. “How did I not know that?”

I shrugged and stood up, leaning down to unplug the drain. I helped Harry stand up and began to dry him off, all the while going on about how you ultimately have sex with everyone else your partner had sex with beforehand. It was quite the scene.

“We can discuss this more tomorrow,” I said, interrupting him as I slipped his boxers back on. I was still feeling a little weird, and I needed some time to myself. “It’s time to go to sleep.”

“Don’t leave,” he asked again.

I placed him in bed and slipped my phone into the waistband of my underwear, right at the hip so it wouldn’t go anywhere. “I won’t,” I said. I got into the bed next to him. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He was out like a light. Hopefully he didn’t have any sexual nightmares.

I pulled out my phone and turned the brightness setting down so it wouldn’t disturb the rock next to me. I didn’t know what drove me to do it, but the next thing I knew, I found myself writing a post titled ‘Why The Wanted Hate One Direction.’ Feeling a little nervous, but slightly exhilarated, I tagged it: 1D Exposed. Before I just wanted to clear up rumors, but now that all of this interesting information was falling into my lap and curious, media-hungry fans were pestering me, I posted it.

If the real One Direction was what the world wanted, the real One Direction was what the world would get.

I locked my phone and let it fall onto my chest, closing my eyes and letting Harry fill the rest of my senses as I fell into a restless sleep.