Carry On {A Harry Styles Love Story}

2.0 ; Blackbird.

2.0 ; blackbird.

❝ blackbird singing in the dead of night,

take these broken wings and learn to fly.

all your life,

you were only waiting for this moment to arise. ❞

☆ h a r r y ★

“We’re One Direction.” Louis’s eyes were alight with amusement, eager to see the girl’s reaction. He seemed almost giddy when her eyes widened, recognition dancing across her delicate features.

Part of me hoped she was a fan; we loved our fans dearly and had everything to thank them for. Another part, though, was hoping she wasn’t. Not that I hoped she hated us, but it was hard to befriend people, namely girls, when all they did was scream in your face, cry, try to get in your pants, use you for fame and money, or pull off a combination of the above. Then again, what kind of fan couldn’t even recognize us? I could tell Lou was growing fond of her already and Niall was still grinning largely from the short bit of banter they had exchanged—although, then again, when was the Irish lad not smiling?  

She neither screamed in our faces nor started crying. “You mean the internationally famous British-Irish pop boy band?” she asked, the question spilling from her lips in a rush. Her American accent was hopelessly cute.

“I guess that would be us,” I answered. “Unless there’s another internationally famous British-Irish pop boy band.” I tossed her a smile, but the words still felt awkward to repeat. It was kind of mind-boggling to think that only a few years ago, we were just five normal boys sailing under the radar. We were still five normal boys, but whatever bit of anonymity we once possessed had been lost in the sea of screaming fans that now swarmed us almost anywhere we went. I wouldn’t give it up for anything, though.

Her eyes were still wide. They were quite lovely, a sweet tawny color made lighter by her dark lashes. She was actually a rather beautiful girl. Her skin was impeccably smooth, sparking a tiny bit of envy in even me, and she had a fair complexion. Most of her golden brown hair rippled freely over her bare shoulders in soft waves while the top layers were gathered and tied at the back of her head with a white ribbon. Even in such casual clothes, she was pretty fit. I briefly wondered if any of the other lads thought she was as gorgeous as I did. Ah, who was I kidding? Of course they did.

“Wow,” the girl said now, the word coming out all breathy. She cleared her throat, but her eyes were still round with shock. “Like, seriously, wow. I mean... What? Really. You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“We shit you not,” Zayn responded, twiddling with the white drawstrings of his black hoodie. A bemused smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

The girl blinked slowly before basically face-palming herself and muttering a simple, “What the actual fuck?”

Niall snickered light-heartedly, wearing a full-blown grin. Yeah, it looked like the Irish lad definitely liked her so far. I couldn’t say I felt any differently, though...

She dropped her hand back to her side and looked around at us. “Well, where are my manners?” she grumbled almost sarcastically. More clearly, she said to us, “I’m Jersey.”

“Like the Jersey Shore?” Liam piped up.

The girl—Jersey—shot him a withering glare. “No, not like the Jersey Shore. More like Jersey Markum.”

“Jersey Markum,” I repeated, liking the way her name felt in my mouth.

A laugh bubbled from her lips. “It sounds so different with a British accent.”