You meet him in a public place

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You meet him in a public place

Zayn: You walk down the streets of London, trying to ignore all of the people stopping in the middle of the pavement to look into the windows of shops and tourists trying to snap pictures of every little detail of the city from hundreds of different angles. You walk a little further down the street and turn into Topshop, one of your favorite stores. The store is much more crowded than usual and there groups of people, a majority of which are girls, coming up and down the escalators. In the corner of the store by the escalators, you can hear the sound of someone crying uncontrollably and another girl trying to calm her down. You casually browse the rack of sweaters nearest you, silently wondering what the sobbing girl was being so hysterical for, but are shortly interrupted by a light tap on your shoulder. You turn around and meet the gaze of a tall, tan boy with the most amazing hazel eyes you have ever seen. The boy has on pair of chinos and a leather jacket that had been unzipped to reveal a dark shirt underneath. His black hair was quiffed perfectly. You immediatley realize that the man who had tapped your shoulder was none other than Zayn Malik from One Direction, who was admittedly one of your favroite bands. Zayn was holding up a flannel shirt that he had found upstairs at Topman in one of his hands and pointing to it with the other. He must be the reason behind the overly crowded store and the girl crying not ten feet from you. ”Uhm, do you have this in a smaller size?” Zayn asks, the smell of smoke and mint radiating off of every sllyable, making it even harder for you to focus on what the hell was actaully going on. “O-oh, I don’t work here,” you somehow sputter out. Zayn’s face looks confused as he looks you up and down. “I’m so sorry,” he says apologetically, “you just look like you work here. The way you’re dressed made me think—” You look at him, raising an eyebrow, not sure if it was a compliment or if he hated how the Topshop emplpoyees dressed. He can sense your disarray and immediatly becomes more contrite. “No no, it’s a good thing! A really good thing actually, you have quite a lovely style,” he says. His compliment is acomponied by a slight half smile and a wink that made you just want to rip his clothes of right then and there and just stare at the rest of his wonderous body. How on Earth am I being so cool about this, you think to yourself. Usually in a situation like this where you are standing so close to your favorite member of a band you love, you would be unable to stay relaxed and would probably blurt out something obscene and embarassing, but maybe you were wrong…

Liam: You stand in line behind a tall blonde girl chatting loudly into her phone at one of the many Starbucks’ in London. Her voice echos around the whole store and is giving you a bit of a headache. You consider leaving to go get coffee somewhere else but a second later you, the blonde says goodbye to whoever the hell she was talking to and hangs up the phone, putting it into a pocket in her oversized purse that she had slung over her shoulder. The door opens behind you, letting in a gust of cold air from outside. You fold your arms and sigh quietly to yourself as you become more impatient. Finally, it is your turn to order. You take the spot of the tall blonde who was now standing to the side waiting for her drink. “What can I get ya?” the casheer asks. You order a hot chocolate with hazlenut flavoring, something you loved but was not on the menu. The casheer smiles as you pull out your wallet, handing him the money you owed. “Name?” he asked as he pulled a large cup from the stack by the register. “(Y/N),” you say with a smile as he puts a pen to the cup, scibbling down your name. You stepped off to the side, once again taking the spot of the annoying blonde who had, to your relief, left. Starbucks seemed oddly understaffed today, so the drinks were not being made as quickly as usual, making you wish that you would have left before you ordered. You lean against the counter and wait, looking at the long line that had formed behind you and smiling at the fact that you did not have to wait as long as them. You scan the people waiting to order: college students wanting to destress after exams, business men checking their watches anxiously as they do not want to be late for something, and then, there, at the front of the line taking his change with a smile from the casheer, was the one and only Liam Payne. He stepped aside to wait for his drink, smiling at you as he looked down at his phone. He put his phone into his coat pocket and ran his perfect hand over the buzzed hair on his head. You wanted so much to say something to him but you were worried you might blurt out something stupid and make a fool of yourself in front of your favorite memeber of One Direction. You looked down at the ground, smiling and blushing. Liam’s innocent mouth parted as he let out a little sigh. A couple minutes later, the barista set down two cups on the counter where you and Liam both waited. You try hard not to throw your arms around him as he steps foreward with that smile that makes you just love him more everytime you see it. You grab the cup that was set down closest to you and he grabs the second. Liam puts the cups to his lips, taking a cautious sip. You mimick him, the warm liquid filling your mouth but not matching the taste you are used to. You examine the cup of coffee that the barista had given you by mistake and out of the corner or your eye, you see Liam doing the same. He is holding the cup, trying to read the scrawled name written on the side by the rushed casheer. “Um, I think our drinks got mixed up,” you say holding up Liam’s coffee in your hand and awkwardly letting out a small laugh. Liam smiles and holds up the white cup containing your hazelnut hot chocolate. “Yeah, I was gonna say, this doesn’t taste much like coffee,” he laughed, showing off his admirable smile. You both laugh and exchange cups, taking a sip of the new drinks in your hands. He takes the cup away from his mouth and nods, swollowing the coffee. “This is definitely mine,” he points out, “sorry about that.”   “You don’t need to apologize, it was the barista’s fault,” you reassure him, playfully nudging him with your elbow. You smiled as he laughed and nudged you gently back. “Well, whatever it is you’re drinking, it was rather good. Do you want to sit?” Liam asks, nodding his head towards an empty table.

Harry: You shove your hands deeply into the pockets of your coat and bury your mouth and nose into the cream knitted fabric of the scarf wrapped several times around your neck. As you walk down the crowded streets of New York City, the brisk wind blows your hair behind you and fiercly bites every inch of bare skin on your body. The sun has long set behind the old towering buildings of the large city, only making the air between you and the many other people on the streets colder and more aggressive. Although you only had a few more blocks to go until you reached your little, cozy apartment, the idea of making it there much quicker by calling a cab and not walking the short distance in the cold seemed almost heavenly. You make your way out of the pack of pedestrians walking in every direction along the pavement and stop when you reach the curb. After a few minutes of trying to hail a taxi, you finally get one. As it slows down a couple feet from the curb, you take a hand out of your pocket and reach for the door handle but at the same exact time, so does another hand. “Hey!” you yell, teeth chattering from the cold, “this one’s mine, wait for the next.” Normally you would not be this rude, but you were cold and just wanted to be home. You look up to see whose big hand had grabbed the door handle right as you did and find that it is someone you recognize from the covers of magazines and the posters you once had hung up in your room. Harry Styles is standing not a foot away from you, his sensuous curly hair windblown and his nose red from the cold. You brush off the fact that you once claimed to have loved everything about the tall British boy and shoot him a dirty look. You were not going to let him take your cab just because he is famous and totally fuckable. “Sorry, love! But I’ve got to get back to mah hotel! I’ve got an interview in an hour,” he shouts back over the wind. The sound of his voice in person made you want to fall right out of your skin; it was so perfect. By this point you are freezing and you would give anything to just be home. “I have a cake in the oven and it’ll be done soon so I need to get home,” you lie. You had just blurt out the first think that came to your mind “Harry, come on!” You cover your mouth with the hand not on the handle and look at Harry with wide eyes. He starts to laugh and takes his hand off the door, and a couple seconds later, you do the same. The cab driver rolls the window down and calls out to both you and Harry with a heavy Indian accent, “Either one or both of ya get in or I’m driving off!” You and Harry exchange a look and smile at eachother. He opens the door and motions with his free hand for you to enter the taxi first. He gets in right after you and shuts the door, cold air from outside mixing with the warm interior of the car. “Where to?” The old driver of the cab asks. You tell him the address of your aparrment building and Harry names off his hotel. “Mm, I really love cake,” Harry says to you with a hopeful smile. You look at him and laugh a little, but then look down. “Uh, I lied. I don’t really have a cake in the oven, I was just really cold,” you say, blushing. “I don’t actually have an interview,” Harry laughs, “I was just really cold.”

Niall: You stand alone at the high top table a few feet away from the bar at a pub. The friend you came with was submerged in the crowd of people watching the football match of the screens hanging from the walls. You were not at all interested in the game and going to bars was not really your thing, but your friend had called you to go out and since you had been studying all day, you thought it might be fun. Though, the night ended up being the exact opposite of a good time. You were stuck at an overly crowded pub filled with drunk, annoyingly enthusiastic sports fans. Sighing, you leaned your elbows on the table next to the glass of water your ordered since you assumed that you would just end up being the designated driver for your friend. You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and try to tune out the sounds of the people around you. A group of three Irishmen, probably around your age, are perched around the table next to you, yelling and swearing at what you assume was the televisions broadcasting the game, but when you look over at them, you see one of the men removing his wet sweater and a caramel colored liquid dripping off the edge of the table. “Damn, mate!” you heard one of the boys say, laughing, “I just got that drink not a minute ago!” The boy who spoke had light hair, but thats all you could really see of him in the dim lighting of the pub. He pulled  his hands off the table and shook them a couple times, drops of beer flying to the ground. You sit up and pick up your glass of water and put it to your lips, letting the now room temperature liquid enter your mouth. A couple seconds later, someone runs into your table, knocking the glass of water to the groud, but not before the remains of the liquid are sent all over you. The water had gone everywhere, soaking your shirt and the tips of your hair, dripping off of the table, and all over the person who had bumped into you, causing you to spill it. “Fuck, I’m so sorry!” You look and see the blond who had been at the table next to you standing there, gripping the edge of the hightop. His face looked horrified and he was shaking his head apologetically. “It’s fine, it’s just water,” you reply in an aggrivated tone, standing on your toes to try and find your friend in the sea of people inhabiting the pub. “No, it’s not! Yer all wet’! Let me get ya something to clean up!” You open your mouth to protest, but the blond is gone before you can even speak. He reappers holding a handful of bar napkins and hands them to you. “Thanks,” you mumble, grabbing the thin peices of paper from him. “Me friends pushed me, I didn’t mean to run into ya!” the blond yells over the sounds of people cheering at the game, his voice was rushed and with the irish accent, it was almost hard to understand what he was saying. You look up at him, using the napkins to try and make yourself less damp, and notice something that you were unable to see when he was standing only five feet away from you at the table with his drunk friends. The boy who had accidently ran into your table was Niall Horan. One Direction was one of your favorite bands and seeing one of the members like this made you blush. (This was definitely not what you pictured when you though of one Niall getting you wet.) ”It’s totally fine,” you say, setting the clump of soaked paper on the table to absorb what it could of the water on the surface, “uh, are you Niall Horan? Ya know, from One Direction..?” His frown transitions into a smile and he nods. “People usually don’t recognize me when I’m out late with me friends, ya know?” He is still smiling when you look back into his crystal blue eyes. Niall was just as cute and amazing as he was in pictures, usually when you see celebrities in real life they look so different since they can’t edit their faces much outside the computer, but Niall looked exactly the same, maybe even better. You really did not expect first time you met one of the boys, especially the one you liked the most, to involve a pub and broken glass but it was definitely something the two of you would remember for awhile…

Louis: You stand against the wall next to a poster of a new romantic comedy film as you wait for your friend to get out of the bathroom. The film you two had just seen was far to intense to leave during, so your friend was on the edge of her seat almost the entire time, regretting drinking an entire large soda before the film even started. The lobby of the theatre was quiet and not super crowded; the only other people there were the workers and people buying snacks from the concession stand before their film started. “That movie was so long,” you heard a guy say as he walked out of the men’s room. “Yeah, but it was so good! Like that fighting scene, it was all like insane!” said another voice, one that sounded so framilier, though, you could not quite put your finger on who it belonged to. You looked up, biting your lip as you thought, and then almost as quick as a shot to the heart, it came to you. The sharp, distinct voice was that of Louis Tomlinson! You looked over to where him and his friend (who you did not recognize from pictures or anything) stood. There he was, wearing the iconic striped shirt that every fan of One Direction knew so well and a denim jacket. Louis was laughing as he used two of his fingers to remove a few strands of his effortless fringe out of his clear blue eyes. Your friend appeared at your side then, buttoning up her coat and smiling. “I feel so much better. Ready to go?” she asked. You nodded, although unsure what she had said. You were too busy trying to subtly watch the cheeky stature of Louis through the corner of your eyes. He was leaned coolly up against the wall with his hands shoved into his coat pockets and white teeth peaking through his perfect smile. Louis pushed himself off the wall and threw an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s go, mate,” he said, “I’m starving.” You watched as he walked past you, still laughing and smiling. “Isn’t that one of those guys from that bad you like?” your friend whispers to you, leaning in. You nod, now a big smile across your face and your heart beating fast. As you watch Louis walk past the ticket counter, you see him put his hand into his pocket again and quickly pull out his phone. A black square falls down past his leg, but neither him nor his friend notice and just continue walking. Your smile fades and you rush over to where he dropped his wallet. You bend down and pick it up, running your finger over the smooth leather. “Louis!” you shout over to him before he is out the door, rushing towards him holding up his wallet. He looks back to see who had called his name. ”You dropped this while you were walking and I picked it up and now I am giving it back to you,” you say rather quickly, nervous to be talking to him. Louis smiles and takes the wallet. “Thank you so much,” he says, “if this would have fallen into the wrong hands, things could have been real bad.” He opens his arms and gives you a hug. The zesty scent of him enters your nose and makes you smile even bigger than you were when you entered his arms. “Good thing it fell into my hands then,” you say with a little smile as he pulls away from you. “Yeah, really good,” he replies with a wink.

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