Wide Awake (One Direction / Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 47

"GOODNIGHT, SHEFFIELD!" Niall cheers to the audience, and we see one last glimpse of the thousands of screaming fans before Niall jumps down under the platform, and it raises, closing the small hole that revealed it all.

It's been a tough few days, but Harry and I do our best to just avoid all the hate. We try not to look at too many fan signs - if there are really good ones, someone'll point 'em out for us, anyway - and we limit our PDA to the point that we only brush hands across stage. We're nervous.

"Great show, lads," Niall says, eyes bright and cheeks scarlet with feverish adrenaline.

"And we danced all night to the best show ever," Liam sings, in a peculiar tune.

"Pretty catchy," Harry shrugs, about Liam's little tune, "But I'm knackered. Let's hurry up to the meet 'n' greet."

We all agree on that, and we stumble through the backstage area and finally find the meet 'n' greet. Dozens upon dozens of fans are waiting for us, squealing and jumping around, like Niall hyped up on caffeine and sugar. (Usually a lethal combination for anyone who doesn't want to be hugged to death.)

"So many..." I say drearily. Zayn looks exhausted, adrenaline draining away, but I know we all do. We've been touring for three days straight, and it's quite tiring.

"C'mon lads, biiggggg smiles," Liam says cheerily, tiredness etched into his features, yet his eyes are bright and squirrel-like.

So we all paste on our biggest, most brightest smiles. And, well, I won't deny that finally being able to hold Harry's hand (albeit under the table) did help. Harry elbowed me playfully, and I nudged him back, grinning.

Fans poured in like a flood, chatting nineteen to the dozen. We smiled, greeted, chatted, signed, and bid farewell to what felt like a gazillion fans. It was tiring, but every once in a while, a fan would come up and glow with pleasure and pride, congratulating us on our success and congratulating Hazza and I for our relationship. And that really helped, it really did.

The pouring crowds soon lessened to light downpour, and soon only a drizzle was left. We left a little extra time for them, as they had been waiting for ever so long.

At long last, the final fan grinned at us giddily and skipped out the door, meeting her friend along the way. Liam raised a hand, counting down seconds with his fingers, making sure the fans were out of earshot. Then we all let out a massive sigh.

"Correction of what I said before; I'm DEAD," Harry groans, stumbling to his feet from behind the table, then sinking to his knees. Face first.

"Toujours," I sigh, falling down right next to him. Niall follows suit.

"Upsy-daisy," Liam scolds, helping Zayn up and lending me a hand. "We'll get back to the hotel and sleep."

"Or," Niall says, pulling himself up with Zayn's assistance, "We'll get back to the hotel and sleep." He eyes Harry and I suspiciously.

"Niall, for goodness' sake," Harry says into the carpet. "We're too tired to have sex."

I make a muffled sound of agreement. I'd much rather cuddle.

The next morning, we're packing up to go to Nottingham. This pretty much consists of Liam, Harry, and Zayn neatly folding their own clothes into their suitcases, and then Liam and Harry coming to help Niall and I respectively pack ours, because we just chuck it all in without bothering to fold.

Harry plucks a crumpled t-shirt out of my suitcase while I perch on the bed. He squints at it.

"Isn't this mine?" he asks. I peer at the insignia; it is.