A Collection of Imagines

Harry + Zayn

Green or Gold pt. 3

I feel like I'm hyperventilating. I don't know for sure because I'm not exactly concentrating on that. The picture of both of my friends staring at me on stage burns into my brain. It hurts enough to leave my head aching over the fact that I'm desperately trying to forget. 

We wrap up the show and escape off stage. People rush us to get our mics and other equipment off of us. But I rush for a different reason. I have no idea where she could have gone, but I have to go find her. 

An explanation. That's what she needs right now. However, I don't really know if she knows. So, my plan is to keep cool, but to find her before he does. 

I stand up from my seat on the closed toilet. Unlocking the door, I catch myself in the mirror. How could they? And a person like me? I look nothing like the people that they were mistakenly matched together with. I'm completely ordinary. And they are gods. Literal gods. Why me? 

I fidget with the mic pack on the back of my jeans trying to get it off before I run out the door. I can tell the technician is wondering why I'm so persistent, but I can't get distracted now. I don't want to walk into the dressing room to find her packing her things. I need to go find her. 

I finally wrap the cords of my mic pack around the large battery and hand it to the technician. I sprint towards the door without a word to the others. The hallway echoes the sound of my shoes clapping against concrete as I continue my search down the long and wide hallway. 

Pushing the bathroom door open once more, I walk briskly towards the dressing room. I just need to get my stuff and make it back to the tour bus. There, I'll get the rest of my stuff and book a room at a hotel for a few hours. Or I'll go to a cafe. I'll go somewhere. Anywhere, but here. 

"Just take it, mate. Just --," I say as I press the mic pack into the technicians chest. I turn to walk out the door. Liam's hand finds my shoulder, trying to stop me from my pursuit. He asks me where I was going. All I told him was that I was going to be back. 

I try to find my way back to the dressing room, but I'm disorientated. I can't remember where we came from or where we started to get to the stage. My face turns back and forth to every sign on the hanging walls and ceilings. Finally, I find one that I recognize. 

My hand finds the handle of the dressing room. Tumbling over loose articles of clothing and shoes, finding my shit, and looking back into the long mirror hooked onto the door. I'm disgusted by my own face and disheveled appearance. I can't do this. The press I would get if people found out. I need to get out of here. The door shifts open, but my brain doesn't register that I didn't open it myself until it's too late. 

My feet pick up to towards the dressing room. I see the sign pointing towards the end of the hallway and I start running towards it. 

"You're leaving?" Her hands are full of her things that she bought for the show and more. Things that she would to have bring back for other shows. My heart falls into my stomach. 

"Yeah." His eyes don't leave mine which is making my body stay completely still. It's almost like he's freezing me from where I stand. However, he's frozen too. His hand is on the door keeping me from escaping out of the room, "I'm sorry." 

My arms get caught by something. Our manager says somethings about the show and the next one in New York. I slip my wrist out from his grasp and makes a face that annoys the hell out of me. I could hear his calls behind me, but I couldn't be bothered. I run down the hallway faster than before. 

"Where you gonna go?" How do you sound desperate and not desperate at the same time? My hand slides off of the door and I take a few steps toward her. She backs up a little with one of her hands going up to push a few strands of her long hair away from her face. I can't stop my insides from fluttering at the adorable act. "Are you gonna come back?"