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Meetings with management were quite honestly the worst part of the boys’ jobs. On tour they were able to goof off with the band and opening act and really live the popstar life. Recording was great because they could see how all of their hard work came together and created something amazing. Even dealing with fans, as crazy as they could be, was okay because the overwhelming love and support they exuded was exhilarating. Much better than boring, stuffy meetings with management. Harry heaved what had to be his tenth sigh since getting in the van with the other boys. He could be sleeping or golfing or-
“You sigh one more time and I’m throwing you out of this van,” Louis muttered, nursing his tea grumpily. He’d been out late the night previous with Zayn –who was out like a light beside Niall- and was not particularly pleased about their 6am meeting. Harry side-eyed the older boy, knowing from experience that his threat was not to be taken lightly. Just three weeks earlier he’d tried to throw Niall out of a moving bus because he wouldn’t stop farting. Since then Paul had installed child safety locks in all of their vehicles, but really one couldn’t be too safe.
The ride there lasted another fifteen minutes before the tired group was herded into the main building, sparing the few dedicated fans outside little more than exhausted smiles and quick hellos. The main representatives of the business end of One Direction were already gathered in the conference room, plus one man Harry had never seen before.
Harry felt vaguely underdressed as he looked over the business men in their suits while he wore only his jeans and an old tshirt, but felt some comfort in knowing that he wasn’t the only one. Both Niall and Louis were in their trackies, and Harry was fairly certain that Zayn’s shirt had received that mustard stain over a week ago.
“Boys, have a seat. This is Dale, our new marketing manager.” Harry glanced over and smiled at the older, balding man who reminded him ever so slightly of a bulldog. He wondered if the others thought the same. “He’s in charge of our new marketing plan for the upcoming album.” To be fair the old marketing manager had also been an overweight middle aged man and he’d done incredibly well for the band, but Harry could not help but to wonder how someone so far removed from their target audience could know what they needed.
“S’good to meet you lads. Now, we’ve been doing some thinking...” the man began talking marketing techniques and try as Harry might, he tuned out a little. Though Harry knew very little about marketing itself, even he understood that some of the ideas being presented were actually good, better than previous. It was like this Dale was inside the heads of the fans while still being conscious of the real figures that they had to deal with.
After the marketing spiel Harry sat through the customary lecture about being more discreet in clubs, but as per usual he brushed it off. It wasn’t like he actually slept with every person he danced with the way the Sun claimed, and honestly he did not much more than just dance these days. Eventually the lecture ended and the boys were able to leave. They stood and made their way out of the conference room, talking quietly.
Harry had just turned to comment to Zayn about Dale’s dog-like jowls when someone ran straight into him. Fortunately Harry had Zayn there to keep him upright. Whoever ran into him did not have the same luxury.
A quiet squawk sounded and papers flew every which way as someone hit the floor with a dull thud.
“Are you alright, mate?” Harry asked worriedly, bending down to pick up some of the papers.
“I-I’m f-fine,” a quick, quiet and somewhat nasally voice replied. Harry glanced up to see a boy around his own age kneeling, hands shaking slightly as they grasped at papers. The boy’s hair was very well groomed, slicked back and not a single hair was out of place. He looked up, his green eyes meeting Harry’s own. The boy’s unblemished porcelain skin paled even further before flushing red, and behind his thick, taped up glasses his eyes widened.
For his part, Harry was stunned. The look the boy was giving him was reminiscent of a green eyed Bambi; young, innocent, flighty. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was beyond adorable with his pink cheeks and equally pink lips. Harry was charmed.
“I’m sorry, I hope these weren’t in any particular order,” Harry murmured, smiling softly at the wide-eyed boy. The boy blushed harder, his slightly sweaty hands brushing against Harry as he scrambled to collect the papers.
“It was m-my fault,” the boy stammered, his eyes now stubbornly glued to his task. “R-really, I c-can-”
“It takes two to collide,” Harry chuckled, smiling kindly. The boy snorted at that, looking up at Harry minutely. Harry smiled goofily and the boy immediately looked down again, another blush replacing the first. He nervously pushed his glasses up his nose.
“What’s the holdup out here- Goldstein! What the hell did you do?” at Dale’s voice the boy flinched and scrambled to his feet. Harry slowly did the same.
“Mr Grossman!” the boy’s voice was squeakier than before. “Everything’s fine, I just fell really. These are the figures you asked for, I have them-” he looked up to see Harry holding a small stack of paper. He quickly snatched them. “I can put them back in order sir, r-really just give me f-five minutes!” Harry blinked. The poor kid looked terrified. Dale just sighed as though this were a regular occurrence.
“Have them at my desk before noon,” he grumbled in a resigned voice that confirmed Harry’s suspicion. “Lads this is Marcel Goldstein. He’s a marketing intern.” Now that the boy –Marcel- was standing straight, Harry got a good look at him. Marcel wore a white button-up tucked into black trousers with shiny black dress shoes. He also had a rather tacky tie and sweatervest. These combined with his taped glasses and slicked back hair made him look very inch the stereotypical nerd. Or, surprisingly for Harry, he looked every inch the perfect fetishized nerd, the kind that was so innocent and virginal that Harry simultaneously wanted to coo at him but also rough him up, get him dirty. “Marcel, this is-”
“One Direction,” Marcel’s voice was breathy and high, and Harry’s grin grew. Well that would help a little. The kid was a fan. Liam stepped in then.
“I’d rather just be Liam,” he announced, smiling kindly. “It’s lovely to meet you.” Marcel flushed and Harry noted that it really didn’t take much to fluster him.
“L-likewise.” The rest of the boys introduced themselves, as did Harry who threw in a wink for good measure. The way Marcel seemed to choke a little and turned the color like a tomato made Harry count it as a win.
“Zayn we have to get you home. You need to get ready for your engagement with Perrie,” Paul announced, coming up to them. Harry almost didn’t want to leave. He wanted to keep flustering Marcel, wanted to hear his squeaky, nervous voice. Wanted to see under that high collar, to see just how far down the flush began.
“I-I’m sorry again,” Marcel spoke up, pulling Harry from his thoughts.
“It’s really fine,” he insisted. “No harm, no foul.” Marcel still looked painfully contrite, like he hated himself for having ever run into Harry. Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully, the cogs in his mind turning. “If you really wanted to make it up to me...” he trailed off, ignoring the sharp look Liam sent his way. Marcel looked one part hopeful, two parts worried.
“Yes?” he prompted. Harry forced himself not to grin. God was this kid ever eager to please.
“Give me your number.”
Marcel blinked once, twice, before cocking his head slightly. He looked confused, an adorable little furrow appearing between his eyebrows. Harry kept his face serious, ignoring the fact that his bandmates and bodyguard still stood there watching. The studio execs had wandered away already.
“My what?” Marcel finally asked, perplexed. Harry’s stoic facade cracked and a giggle slipped through.
“Your number. Your cell phone number. So I can get hold of you and see you again.”
“I d-don’t...I m-mean...what?” Marcel repeated, eyes wide and blush prominent again.
“I want to see you again. And not here,” Harry elaborated before snagging the pen peeking out of Marcel’s trouser pocket. Marcel jumped slightly, watching as Harry held the pen out. Hesitantly he took the pen, and so Harry offered his arm. “Just write it down anywhere,” Harry instructed to Marcel’s stunned expression.
“You realize this is what the add contact option is for on your pho-” Louis was muttering before letting out an oof as someone elbowed him in the stomach. It was probably Zayn. Zayn was a sap. Harry liked Zayn.
Marcel awkwardly took hold of Harry’s wrist -his hands were slightly clammy but Harry didn’t mind- and wrote out his number in slanted cursive. His expression was dazed, as though he weren’t quite certain that this wasn’t some kind of dream. Harry was barely containing a face-splitting grin as Marcel shakily finished up.
“Uhm, done,” Marcel squeaked, eyes flitting nervously from the shaky penmanship up to Harry’s face to their audience and back again. Harry grinned, noticing with some amusement that Marcel hadn’t let go of his arm. Marcel seemed to realize this at the same time, dropping the wrist in his hand like it had scalded him. “I, ehm, right, I-I should g-go. I have t-to, I mean, Mr. Grossman needs these figures and I- right, yes.” Harry could help but to stare fondly as Marcel rambled nervously.
“Go ahead. I’ll call you later.” Marcel’s cheeks were aflame, darker than ever before as he nodded.
“I-okay, it was n-nice meeting you all.” The other lads all murmured some sort of agreement and Marcel scurried away, heading –presumably- for his cubicle. The instant he was gone Paul was herding the boys back out to the van, muttering about being late and how Zayn better not need much time to get ready. Louis –with no little amount of effort- threw an arm around Harry’s shoulders.
“D’ya want to tell me what that was all about, then?” he asked with false casualness. Niall snorted.
“It’s obvious, innit?” Niall questioned. “Harry’s got a thing for geeks!” Louis rolled his eyes.
“Well I knew that, I’m not surprised Eugene over there caught Haz’s attention with his hair and glasses-”
“His name is Marcel,” Harry tried to interrupt, but Louis barrelled on.
“What I meant was, did no one else notice that the guy could be passed as Harry’s twin? His nerdier, non-hipster, clumsier twin, I grant, but his twin!” Harry shoved at Louis, giving him a small glare.
“You’re an idiot. And he is not my twin. He’s cute.” Harry pouted. Louis crawled into the van then, muttering under his breath about twins and narcissism and isn’t that like incest? Self-cest? Harry ignored him in favor of grinning down at the numbers scrawled on his arm. Yeah, Marcel was cute. Harry was certain that he was going to be a lot of fun.
xXx
Over the next few days the boys of One Direction were ridiculously busy with promo and photoshoots. Too busy to make any plans, but not quite too busy for Harry to text Marcel. The first time he’d texted Marcel, it took twenty minutes for the hesitant reply to come back.
Yes, this is Marcel. Who is this? How did you acquire my number?
Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to be surprised at the fact that Marcel was one of those types to text with perfect grammar, spelling and punctuation. Rather than comment on it however, Harry just responded.
This is Harry. Harry Styles? You gave me your number when I saw you at the office. I wanted to chat.
The next reply came in seconds flat.
Is this some kind of joke?
While Harry was impressed both at the speed of the reply and the directness of Marcel via text, he was also slightly put out at the disbelieving tone he read along with the six words. However, he was not put off of his initial plan, and so he continued to respond.
Of course not. When are you free next?
Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that? You’re the one who’s a popstar here, not me.
I like this new, forward Marcel ;)
I’m sorry that was rude wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have said that, I’m free whenever though I really don’t understand why you should even care.
It’s fine, Marcel. Like I said, I like it.
There were a few minutes of silence after that, and Harry wondered if somehow he’d pushed too hard. Marcel seemed...fragile, almost in this regard. He didn’t want to scare the marketing intern away before they could see each other again.
After half an hour of no response, Harry was getting antsy. He typed up another text and sent it.
Are you free tomorrow night? I’d really like to see you .
Another twenty minutes passed before Harry’s phone finally buzzed with a text. He ignored the way Louis snickered as he dove for the phone sitting on the sofa at their current photoshoot and ignored the glares of the photographers as he quickly checked to see what it said.
I’m free tomorrow night. What did you have in mind?
And then half a moment later, another text buzzed through.
I was in a meeting with Mr Grossman. Some of us have actual work to do, popstar :)
Harry’s grin didn’t disappear for the rest of the shoot.
By the next day they’d decided on a place and time to meet, as well as had discussed a wide range of topics. Apparently Marcel, while a fan of One Direction, was a more avid fan of the classics such as Debussy and Beethoven. He admitted to having first been attracted to the band due to their cute faces, but stayed for their cuter voices. Harry could only imagine the blush that accompanied that particular text.
Over the course of the texted conversation they discovered that they had some in common, such as their love of Disney movies and ice cream, and also were so different that Harry felt like he both had an entire world to introduce Marcel to and an entire world to be introduced to. It was new, it was exciting. It was wonderful.
The boys were all determined to accompany Harry, to perhaps take some of the paparazzi focus off of him for the night, and so the plan was to meet at a local club. Harry couldn’t wait to see Marcel so out of the element he’d seen him in once before.
The club was crowded and noisy, just like every other night. The pack of bodies was crushing, everyone dancing and moving in sync with one another. Harry had told Marcel to meet him at the south end of the bar at 8:30, and it was already 8:10. Not wanting the other boy to be waiting, Harry wandered over to where they were going to meet. Within five minutes a quiet voice was cleared behind him and a timid hand tapped on his shoulder. Harry spun with a grin.
Marcel stood there, his eyes wide and his lower lip between his teeth nervously. There were no glasses on his face now, and his eyes were not identical to Harry’s no matter what Louis said. They were a lighter green with flecks of brown in them, and seemed a little unfocused. Once again Marcel’s hair was gelled into submission, and he seemed to have forgone the sweatervest in exchange for a colored button up and a bowtie. Harry honestly thought he looked precious.
“H-hi,” Marcel mumbled, glancing down slightly. While both boys were lanky and tall, Harry had a few centimetres on the other boy.
“Hey Marcel,” Harry smiled easily, reaching out and touching Marcel’s upper arm. “How are you?” Marcel blinked slowly.
“I-I’m alright, how are you?” his voice was nervous and stuttery, just as squeaky as the day they met. It did things to Harry.
“I’m perfect,” Harry replied cheekily. On their own accord his hands smoothed out the fabric of Marcel’s shirt over his chest and straightened his bowtie. “I like this,” he commented. Marcel flushed.
“You look good,” Marcel’s eyes widened considerably after the words passed his lips, and Harry would have bet anything that Marcel had not intended to say that. Rather than tease him, Harry just grinned.
“You too.” There was a beat of silence and Marcel lifted a hand to his nose, only there were no glasses there for him to push up. He shifted uncomfortably. “D’you want to dance?” Marcel looked terrified, but nodded. Harry held out a hand and Marcel placed his slightly clammy hand in his. Harry tightened his hand and gave a tiny pull, leading a stumbling Marcel out onto the dancefloor.
It was impossible not to notice the inconsistent flashes of camera-phones and red recording lights around them, but Harry ignored them in favor of watching Marcel dance. At first he stood there awkwardly, but once Harry had his arms around Marcel’s waist, the other boy seemed to loosen up a bit. Marcel shyly placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and tried moving with the music. To be honest it was akin to watching a baby deer walking for the first time and Harry really needed to stop seeing Marcel as Bambi but it was impossible not to. His dancing was awkward and stilted but so very Marcel that Harry was endeared beyond saving.
It became apparent, after the first few songs that Marcel’s eyes didn’t just look unfocused but indeed were unfocused. From the stumbling motions to the way he squinted in the dark, Harry felt a pang of adoration as he realized that Marcel had forgone his glasses which clearly he needed in order to look nice for Harry. And yes, that bulge in his pants was his glasses case, no matter how happy Marcel likely was to be with Harry.
“Hey, d’you want to get out of here?” Harry leaned in and murmured in Marcel’s ear. His already flushed with exertion skin seemed to burn against Harry’s.
“I-ah-b-but-you-d-do you m-mean-” Harry just pulled away and gave a little grin.
“Come on,” he urged quietly, grabbing Marcel’s hand again and tugging him off the dancefloor. From across the club Harry made eye contact with Liam who nodded in understanding and pulled out his phone, likely to text the others that Harry was leaving. But now that Harry had informed one of his mates, that was all that mattered. He continued to pull Marcel out of the club, but paused before they reached the back door.
“Why are we stopping?” Marcel called over the loud bass. Harry gave him a wry smile.
“There’s going to be a lot of paps trying to get our pictures. Keep your head down, yeah?” Marcel’s shy and hesitant but genuine smile that had been growing since they went out onto the dance floor faded immediately. He nodded solemnly, his head already turning to the floor. Harry frowned, concerned about the flash of something in Marcel’s eye but decided that he would check on it after they’d made it to the car he had waiting outside. “You ready?” Marcel nodded shortly and Harry’s grip on his hand tightened. Together they pushed open the doors and rushed through.
“Harry! Harry over here! Harry look this way, who’s that with you! Hey! Is this your boyfriend?” The paparazzo’s screams were louder than the music inside the club but Harry kept his grip firm on Marcel’s hand and pushed through the sea of them. He could feel Marcel’s hand trembling and moved faster, elbowing cameras out of the way.
The instant they were inside the tinted car, Harry turned to face Marcel who was staring down at his lap.
“Are you alright?” he asked carefully as the driver pulled away from the club. Marcel shrugged.
“I-I’m fine,” Marcel responded, not looking at him. Harry was reminded of the day they met, and it was like he’d regressed back in progress.
“Are you sure? They can be nasty and-”
“It’s fine. Y-you can just drop me at the nearest station.” Harry frowned.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I’m weird and you obviously don’t want to be seen with me not that I blame you I mean look at me and look at you.” Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Marcel barreled on. “It’s the bowtie isn’t it? I knew I shouldn’t have worn it but I just didn’t know what to wear and I wanted to look good but obviously I can’t even do something as simple as that and I-” Harry leaned over and interrupted Marcel the only way he could think of: by kissing him firmly on the lips. Marcel froze under him, and so Harry kept it soft, carefully coaxing the other boy into responding. Marcel was hesitant and uncertain, and after a moment Harry pulled away.
“May I talk?” he asked lowly. Marcel blinked and nodded. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you, it’s that I didn’t want them to tear you apart. They can be nasty and I didn’t want to put you in the position where you see your name and face plastered all over the Sun tomorrow. And for the record I am looking at you, and personally I quite like the bowtie.” He tugged on said accessory, loving the way it made Marcel’s adam’s apple bob. “Though to be honest,” Harry pulled the glasses case out of Marcel’s pocket and snapped it open, taking out his glasses. “I think your outfit might be missing something.” Very carefully he slid the glasses onto the bridge of Marcel’s nose.
They both breathed quietly for a moment, staring at each other.
“Remember when I said you looked good?” Marcel questioned quietly. Harry nodded. “Well now I can say that for certain. Before I was just guessing.” Harry laughed loudly, his grin coming out full force.
“I’m glad you think so,” he chuckled. “Now what do you say we go to a cafe somewhere and have a cuppa? I’d like to talk to you and the club just wasn’t the right place to do that.” Marcel smiled shyly and slipped his hand –not very clammy now- into Harry’s.
“I’d really like that,” he murmured, looking down at their hands bashfully. “Really really.”
Harry couldn’t contain his smile as he quickly told the driver the address to a quiet cafe, feeling rather proud of himself as his own green-eyed Bambi shyly snuggled closer on the leather seats, their hands entwined. Yeah, Marcel was going to be fun, he thought happily, but he certainly had the potential to be so much more.