Partners In Crime

Chapter 10: Who said what?

-Holmes Chapel, London

Present Time

Harry P.O.V.

I am 420% done with this week.

First of all, American girls.

I don’t understand how one can come after another within the time span of 2 hours.

“Oh my, a boy with a British accent!”

“He looks so handsome!”

“Do you think I should ask for his phone number?” Etc, etc.

I wasn’t used to all this attention. I’m just a normal kid back in Britain.

In my eyes anyways.

I’ve never wandered around the streets of London openly like this, moreover in foreign countries. I must be desperate enough to do so.

Secondly, the hospitality was just…too much.

Everyone was so friendly there it irked the hell out of me.

Unwanted hotel service, random hi’s by the lobby, people waving at me as if they know me…

Annoying.

Last of all, which was the stupidest thing I have ever, ever encountered.

Lanna wasn’t there.

Fuck using her surname, she should be lucky I’m not naming her after a female dog already.

What, was she too busy shagging other people until she had to leave?

Did she get pregnant?

Was she kicked out of the country?

That freaking woman can really piss off someone at the time span of 0.27869 seconds.

I flew all the way there, endured every little thing that would set me off, just to find that she left the country about the same time I left mine.

And now, here I am, at the airport, waiting for the plane to take me out of this hell hole.

I sat there at the desolated airport, it’s only 2 A.M. now. I brought early morning tickets to avoid crowds. I leaned back on the chair I was sitting on and looked through the transparent glass up above. Soon, I’ll be back home again.

Home.

Psh, it wasn’t as if I had one in the first place.

“It’s you!”

WHAT does the world have against a man who wants some peace?!

“No, it’s not me. Go away.” I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at the person.

“I met you at the airport, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t.” Irish. Why does that weird accent remind me of someone…?

“I did. You sat on my friend’s seat.”

Definitely Niall. Harry opened one eye to look at him. Familiar blonde hair and blue eyes stare back at him.

“Niall, remember? You’re Harry, right?” He took a seat beside me while continuing to eat his bag of chips. Does this guy ever stop eating? He eats in the most impolite way too, with his mouth wide open. Do all Irish people eat like that?

“Yes.”

“Gee, fancy meetin’ you ‘ere. What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” His mouth was filled with chips, making his accent sound weirder by ten times.