Change Your Ticket

Can you like turn around?

Harry's POV

Not bothering to hold up the conversation, since apparently he isn't interested anyways, I get up and search for a shirt and sweats.
Really not wanting to change my clothes in front of a rude hot roommate, I quickly go to the bathroom and lick the door. I change into a Levi's Shorts instead of my long black skinny pants and put on a second hand Lacoste shirt with small white and black stripes as a pattern. I have bought the shirt at a store in London and maybe, it is indeed a bit short, almost as short as a crop top and maybe that has been one of the reasons why I bought it.
I don't get why most guys are so opposed to wear crop shirts anyways. In the 90s a lot of boys wore them. Even Will Smith in The Fresh Prince of Bel Air—and he rocked these outfits.
However, nowadays these shirts can only be found in the women's section and, therefore, I do prefer getting them in secondhand-stores. Fixing my cross necklace, washing my face and ruffling through my curls, I finally make my way back to the bedroom.
Of course, I can' t really help myself, I steal a glance at Zayn. Too bad that he is a douche.
At least it would have been nice to be mates, or even just civilized people. But he does seem to disagree with that.
Rummaging through my suitcase I grab my white knitted cardigan, my money, my camera, my mobile phone and at last the book that I am currently reading. Not wanting to be in his awkward presence anymore, I hastily shove everything into my backpack.
  "Bye", I mutter before leaving, because my mom has taught me to keep my manners, always.

Now that I don't have to carry my annoying suitcase around, I actually enjoy the buzz in the city. How people seem to rush to the metros as if there life depended on it, although only four minutes later another one would arrive.
Walking through the crowded streets, the sun shimmering bright and lighting up the spring day, I hum a tune for myself. Everywhere I look, there seems to be something happening. Once, I can see an an old married couple arguing (although I am not sure, because I don't speak French), another time a mom is happily trying to make her baby smile. Then there are stupid cyclists crossing the street although it's a red light, which then leads to multiple cars honking at them.
I am admiring all of it. And surprisingly I don't feel lonely in the midst of a million people, but I feel at peace.
So instead of immediately go searching for my friends, I decide to sit down at a small café in the district Marais.
"Je voudrais une tarte du chocolat et une Cappuccino, s'il vous plaîts", I tell the handsome waiter, who politely nods and returns with my order only a few minutes later.
"Merci", I say gratefully, as soon as I spot the delicious looking cake and the coffee, which I desperately need right now.
"De rien", he retorts and I think that means something like you're welcome. Enjoying the bitter taste of the Cappuccino, which mostly tastes bitter because it's way too strong for my liking, mixed with the sweet taste of the chocolate cake, I savor this relaxing moment, absentmindedly having closed my eyes.
When I open them again in order or take another bite from my piece of cake, I suddenly am shocked at my own thoughts.

Have I really just thought that this chocolate cake kind of resembles the color of Zayn's eyes?
Something has got to be wrong with me.
Although honestly, I have never been struck by anyone's appearance yet, only by his. Somehow, not only his good looks but his whole demeanor is attracting.
Just one look and that's all it has taken for me to crush on somebody who is most likely not gay, even if he was, he is most likely not interested and even if he was, I won't ever see him again.
Although his name doesn't sound French at all and to be honest he might even be British. But I would have to hear him talk again in order to determine that. If he was to speak again- I can't help but think bitterly.

The ringing of my phone interrupts my thoughts and I can see on the screen that Niall is calling me, since the two are probably wondering when I am finally going to join them.

Ending the phone call, I drink up the Cappuccino and finish the cake in mere minutes, before paying the waiter and heading out of the cute café.

"Took you long enough", Louis huffs when I step next to him.
"Oh come on, it's not like you missed me", I remark sassily to which Lou only rolls his eyes.
"So what did you guys do while I was gone?", I curiously ask.
"The typical thing", Niall answers, "went up the Eiffel Tower."
"Without me?", I demand to know sounding a bit harsh, because I would have liked to go up with them.
"You said you already were up there last time you went to Paris", Louis explains and damn, he has a point.
"Never mind then", I retort not really being upset about it.
"We can go yo there again", Niall suggests, clearly feeling a bit bad now. I shake my head, signal using that won't be necessary.
"Shall we just eat something and have a few drinks and head back?", Lou proposed and because it seems like a good plan, Niall and I both nod as a sign of our approval.

Back at the hostel, after having had two or maybe even three cocktails, we clumsily try to find out room. Me, being a natural klutz, bumping into multiple door frames on the way and earning me chuckling from my two mates.
"I am the winner", Louis chants loudly, after having reached our room first, "you guys are snails."
"It wasn't a contest, Lou", Niall remarks, nonetheless and before I know it he has reached our room as well, then yelling so that probably the entire floor could hear him: "You are the looser, Harold."
"It wasn't even a contest, Horan", I hiss back.

Louis and Niall are already passed out in their beds when I finally stumble into our room. These idiots. Even though I am a bit tipsy, or drunk, whatever I don't really care, I still insist on changing into sweats, wanting to sleep in comfortable clothing. Luckily, I find my sweats right on the top of my clothes.
Taking off my shorts, I step into the sweats, which makes me tumbling a bit, until eventually I fall on the ground with a loud thud.
"Ouch", I huff out, then laughing at my own stupidity.

"Harreh, isn't it?", a deep voice hisses, sounding full with annoyance and dislike towards me. The light switch is being turned on and Zayn is standing in front of me, no shirt on, with a scowling face. I am sitting here, my sweats still hanging loosely around my ankles and not only feel a bit exposed, but utterly embarrassed. The heat is rushing into my cheeks and I am glad that the light is not able to show my probably red tinted cheeks. And if it want only for my own embarrassment, I also blush because of his exposed upper body, which is looking fit and is also covered with lots of tattoos. He looks so beautiful and I can't help but stare a little longer, mouth agape.
"Can you get your drunken ass up and be quiet", Zayn demands sternly, his hands folded across his chest as if he was a father about to punish his son. If he noticed my staring, he apparently has decided to overlook it.
"Sorry", I finally mumble, snapping out of my trance, however, still not moving an inch though.
"Can you like turn around?", I timidly ask, not wanting him to watch me any further.
"Why?", he wants to know and even though my vision is a bit blurry I can see a smirk plastered on his face.
"Never mind", I decide to let it go and to finally pull my sweats up. I take off the cardigan and throw it onto my suitcase, doing the same with my shirt.
For some unknown reason Zayn is still standing in front of me and hasn't returned to his bed.
"Aren't you gonna go to sleep as well?", I ask, nonetheless turning away from him in order I get on my bed.
Only a few seconds later, before Zayn could have answered, in case he even would have, I manage to slip and loose my balance. Fearing another harsh collision with the ground, I am instead suddenly pressed against a bare chest. For a split second, I can smell his engulfing cologne, his body heat and his hot breath tickling my neck. For a split second, warmth spreads through my body and I just want to lean back against them, be engulfed in his safe hold.
Then his hands leave my waist and I am standing on my own again.
"I knew you were gonna trip", he whispers with a raspy voice, "now go to sleep."

I am struck for words again.