Fifty Million Followers [BOYXBOY]

34.

Am I dead? I think I'm dead.

My ears are bleeding from the high pitched shrill that's coming from this girl's mouth. There are dogs on the other side of the country who rear their heads, who are barking to the sky.

A few people near the club turn to the noise, because a girl screaming in the middle of the nights is always cause for concern. I've been taught about leaving girls alone when they're walking home, that even with good intentions, she won't know for sure. And now, I'm sat at a bus stop, dead middle of the night, with a teenage girl who's fucking screaming.

"Jesus, people'll think I'm attacking you!" I find myself scooting further away, my back pressing into the glass of the bus shelter. The girl slaps her hands over her mouth, and she starts breathing heavily instead of screaming. Its better, and I give her a minute.

I turn up the collar on my jacket, but if anything it makes me look more like a vampire than a famous person trying to hide from people.

"You're...you're...oh my God. OH MY GOD. YOU'RE MY FAVOURITE." I don't know if it's supposed to be a whisper or a scream but somehow it comes out as both. I smile, telling myself that she's just overwhelmed. If I saw Alex Turner or Matty Healy in this situation I'd probably be the same; they're fucking gorgeous and they play a good tune.

Her eyes start watering, her face becoming blotchy in the light.

"Oh...come on now, it's alright." I don't know whether to go closer to her, maybe hug her? Am I even allowed? She looks like a minor, and her parents aren't around. Nope, I'll just stick to this end of the bench.

She carefully moves her hand away and her mouth is stretched open like she can't help it. She's got braces on. Yep, definitely a teenager.

"I love...I love your music." Her shirt has Purple Envy on it, so does her back pack, I'm pretty sure she's wearing Purple Envy socks as well. She has a necklace on with our logo dangling off her throat.

"Yeah, I can tell."

She blushes, before composing herself a bit more. And when she begins shuffling over to me, the hair on my skin stands on edge. This is so dangerous; I'm worried for the both of us.

Because the image of me in the media can be so different in real life. I mean, yeah, I think I'm a nice person, and I do love the fans. But I can't know for sure if they know I smoke, that I like to swear a lot and that I'm impatient, brutish, and horny. This girl will have a perception of me created through interviews and paparazzi photos and Twitter. She doesn't know me, but she knows a version of me.

Has any person been in this situation before? Should I whip out some sunglasses and ignore her? Should I hug her and say I should appreciate her and all those things that people write fanfiction about?

What if she asks questions about my life? Is it rude to not answer them? Is it invasive if I do? Whose trust am I betraying? What the fuck is going on?

Her hand grips her phone, which is shaking. "Can I...take a selfie?"

"Aww love," She keeps giggling at my accent, which is making me smile though. She has such a strong American accent, it reminds me a little of Parker's. "I would, but..." I'm sweating, I'm smashed and stink of alcohol, I'm alone. "...this isn't the best time. I can sign something if you want, eh?"

She nods furiously, and shoves a Sharpie into my chest, turns around so that the back of her white t-shirt is facing me. I squiggle my shitty autograph. When we both sit back down, she is significantly closer and won't stop staring. I suddenly feel like a very irresponsible older brother.