During The X Factor (One Direction)

Chapter 17 - Permission

I emerge from the bathroom to find people wearing headsets and carrying clipboards sprinting from one end of the corridor to the other. I had been hiding in the bathroom to escape the chaos backstage, but apparently it’s still crazy.

After Dermot had announced to the world that One Direction had come third in the finals, the majority of the audience went mental. Even through the random set of doors, I could hear the groans and complaints of the audience.

I refused to go back to my seat, however, because it took me only a few seconds to realise that I was in another too-bright corridor; backstage.

I feel like a toddler in Disney Land. Okay, perhaps it isn’t that exciting, but it’s still pretty cool. It’s the final, and I’m backstage!

And the boys have just left the competition…Even better!

I make a mad dash to the left, trying to remember the way I had ran with Gemma weeks ago. I don’t have long to wait, however, until I find someone. I run down one corridor and turn a corner and there, and who do I see walking down the middle of the hallway?

“Liam!” I shout to him. He smiles when he sees me, stopping dead in the corridor and waving at me. I don’t return the wave. Instead, I walk right up to Liam and throw my arms around him.

“I’m so sorry you got voted out!” I mumble into his shoulder,

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” he assures me, “We came third. Third! That’s just amazing for us!” he laughs, squeezing me tighter.

“You’re not…crying, are you?” he says to me, and I have to hide my face so I don’t morph into a vegetable again.

Laugh shakily, I reply, “I’m just really happy for you, that’s all.”

That’s not entirely true. Of course, I’m thrilled for all of the boys for doing so well, but that’s not why I’m on the verge of crying.

It’s because of Liam. He’s not angry with me, he’s not shouting at me, he’s genuinely happy! I had thought, after seeing him so briefly last week when I visited the house, that he was royally annoyed with me.

And he isn’t! I admire him so much. Looking up at his smiling brown eyes, I make one simple decision;

He’s perfect.

“I missed seeing you every week.” He tells me, pouting sadly, like a little innocent puppy, “I’m glad you could be here tonight.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too.” I tell him truthfully, swinging from side to side slightly as he cradles me back and forth. I think he’s a little bit hyper after their 3rd place victory.

I take one look at him and his buzzing self, and burst into laughter. He doesn’t know what I’m laughing at, but joins in regardless. It only makes me laugh at him more…

I might have imagined it, but somewhere I hear someone squeak, check.  

We calm down after about a year of laughing, and he hugs me again.

Liam is what Lola would call a hug monster, and I laugh outwardly at the memory of her jumping onto a bench shouting that she is in fact a hug monster, and threatening to hug every passer by in the park that day.  

I peer over Liam’s tall shoulder as he continues to squeeze me tightly, and at the end of the corridor I see a familiar figure leaning against the wall.

It’s Harry. He looks like a statue, frozen into a position where his arms are casually crossed over his chest, and he has cleverly angled himself so that he is staring right at Liam and me.

Can I never get a moment alone with a boy? First the whole ‘is that your girlfriend’ thing, now this.

One difference I can clearly see, though, is that this is far worse.

“Hey, Liam, why don’t you, er, go find the others? Celebrate your bronze trophy…or something!” I suggest to him, breaking apart our hug and avoiding looking behind him at all costs.

“Umm…sure!” he smiles, “See you later, yeah?”

He goes to hug me once more - well, that’s what I had thought he was doing. Instead he leans down to kiss me. I feel my face burning, and Harry’s eyes glaring at me. Not a brilliant combination.

In my split-second panic, my brain acts of it’s own accord. I suddenly find myself facing the wall on my right and I feel Liam’s lips brush my cheek. I push past him before he can even say anything to me, and before he sees Miss Tomato Face again. Thankfully, I hear him walking off in the other direction.

When I look up, I realise that I’m stood facing Harry. I stop when he’s about an arms length away, and I can feel the awkward silence looming over us.

I speak first, “Congratulations on coming third, Hazza.” I smile, hoping that he’s in a good mood, like Liam was.

He laughs shyly, “Yeah, pretty amazing.”

…More awkward silence…

“I saw you were talking to Liam.” Harry says, and I’m glad he’s trying to make conversation. I’m not as glad that he chose to talk about Liam, a terrible subject for us to talk about.

“Yeah! We were just talking about this and that…as you do.” I laugh. Harry chuckles, but then we fall back into the awkward silences. Our conversation is a bit like a yoyo, only with less spinning.

Suddenly, Harry seems to collect all the courage he can find and, taking a deep breath, he rushes into speech,

“Chaz, answer me honestly, what do you think of Liam?”

I blush. “Well…” I reply, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I like Liam” I admit, gazing off into the distance, “He’s nice and he’s sweet, and he’s always really glad to see me. He’s one of those people who just make you happy, for no reason. You know what I mean?” I speak without thinking, and when I zoom back into the present I find Harry looking at me, answering the question I didn’t mean to ask…

“Yeah, I know.” He replies sadly, and with those three words I can tell there’s something wrong with Harry.

“But,” I continue, “I know if anything ever happened between Liam and me, you might start off World War III…”

My attempt at humour fails me, and Harry just stares blankly at me. He combs his hair with his fingers nervously, like he doesn’t know what to say or do next.

“Chaz, I know I’ve upset you over the past few weeks, and I’m truly sorry for that, but I just want you to be happy.” He says to me, and at first I’m clueless.

Then, slowly, the jigsaw begins to piece itself together in my head.

I bet I look like a right idiot, standing in the middle of the corridor waving my hands around like some sort of made up sign language. I keep pointing to Harry, then at myself, then in the direction that Liam went. Like a crazy-person dance.

In the end, about fourteen hours later, I manage to speak, “You mean…me…and, um, Liam?” I gasp at him, realising that my mouth has gone extremely dry in these last fourteen-or-so hours.

Harry’s hands are dug deeply into his pockets, so deep in fact that he struggles to pull his hand free to rake his fingers through his hair again.

I don’t even laugh. I’m stood motionless, gawping at him.

“Yes,” he whispers eventually, “Go for it, Chazza.”

I can’t believe what he’s saying to me.

Especially after that argument you had…

SHUT IT BRAIN, THIS IS IMPORTANT.

I look at Harry and see that he’s being completely serious about this. Without any hesitation, I run straight at him and squeeze my arms around his waist.

“I’m so lucky to have a such and amazing friend like you, Harry.” I whisper.

He laughs again, “Yeah?”

“Definitely.”