When I got home after our date, I went upstairs and flopped onto my bed, smiling like an idiot. Liam was already laying there, reading a textbook. He set it aside and leaned up on his elbow, staring at me, grinning at me.

"How'd it go?"

"Great. She's great." I was staring dreamily at the ceiling.

"Yeah? What was the best part?" I smiled and looked over at him, turning my whole head to the side. "Jesus, look at you. I think your dimples are touching inside your mouth right now, Haz." He chuckled.

"The whole thing was the best part. The whole night..." My voice trailed off as I looked back up at the ceiling. I thought about all the really great moments, like you calling me nice and fun and hot (one of the highlights of my life); the way your mouth hung open when you laughed really hard, your tongue tucked behind your teeth; the way you leaned into me when I had my arm around you; how you listened to everything I said so intently, your eyes always scanning my face. But as I was thinking, I recalled the rough start. "Actually, there was a weird moment early on..."

"Weird how?"

"Well, I don't know exactly. You know that bouquet I made her?"

"Yeah..." He frowned a bit. "Didn't she like it?"

"No, she did. She did. But..." I hesitated, trying to figure out how to say it. "So, it was stuck in an orange, right?" He nodded. "She sorta freaked out. Like the orange freaked her out. Like she looked scared or like she might pass out or cry or I don't know."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Did you ask her?"

"Sort of. I asked if she was allergic." Liam laughed at me. I threw a pillow at him. "What?"

"I don't think you can be allergic to oranges, first of all," he counted on his fingers, "and two, that wouldn't explain her getting that upset. So what did she say though?"

"She said she wasn't, and that it wasn't a nice story, not a first date kind of story....You've read all her bios and shit online. Have you ever seen anything about oranges?"

He bit his lip and looked up, thinking. "It rings a bell. I think there was some article from Sugarscape going around Twitter, a couple years ago maybe, about her being a diva and it said she can't have anything orange, I think, but I could be wrong." He pulled out his iPhone and clicked away for a few moments. "Okay yeah, here: America's Sweetheart Maddie Turner has no sweet spot for oranges. Insiders report that she refuses to have any oranges or orange flavoured items in her dressing room or anywhere near her. It is definitely not an allergy, as we've seen her drink orange juice in the Grumpus movies (see clips below). But a source told E! News that Maddie will throw full on diva fits if there are oranges or other citrus fruits in the green room at talk shows or other events, even going so far as threatening to cancel appearances. Hard to believe the adorable girl we've all grown to love would do that. What do you guys think, tweet us--blah blah blah." (I looked up the article to put the actual text in, for specificity's sake.)

"Hm," I sighed. "It doesn't sound like her at all."

"It really doesn't."

"It seemed like it was something deeper, darker."

"Maybe it's to do with Matt?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Oh. Maybe." I got up and pulled my jeans and Liam's shirt off to get ready for bed, grabbing my phone from my pocket. "Thanks for the shirt by the way." I clicked the home button on my phone and the screen lit up with a notification of a text from you, reading I've never enjoyed playing with entendres this much ;) xx. I swiped it open. That's the message you sent while we were at dinner. I typed a quick reply: double the entendre, double the fun. I had an amazing time. Can't wait to see you tomorrow. xx Liam threw my pillow back at me. "What?"

He rolled his eyes, "So, the rest of the date was good, though."

"Yeah," I clicked off my side lamp, leaving only his to illuminate the room. "She's so funny, Liam. She made me laugh so hard so many times. Like, it's not just the writers on the show, mate. It's her. She's...she's brilliant."

"I'm happy for you, Haz. It's literally like a dream come true."

"Thank you. Thanks for your advice and stuff, too."

"And stuff." He chuckled, and I laughed along. "Always. I'm always here for ya."

"I've got to get some sleep, but I'm still so wired." I was wide awake.

"Just stay up."

"I can't. I have to be at work at 5:30 so I can spend the afternoon with her before she goes to New York tomorrow."

"Fuck. Well, shit, at least you're seeing her again."

"Yeah," I smiled against the pillow. Liam clicked off the light and we lay there in the dark, in the quiet. Eventually, I heard light snores from his side of the room, and I tried to match my breathing to his. I think I ultimately only got about 3 hours of sleep, though.

The next morning, I went into Sal's early, and worked until 11:30. I spoke to mum and Gem both in the half hour before I got to your place, updating them on the showcase and my apology and the date. I had to keep it all very brief though, as I was tight on time.

"I want more details!" Gemma huffed when I said I had to go.

I chuckled, "trying to live vicariously?"

"Yes! Now tell me everything. What did she smell like? Did you kiss her? Are you, like, officially her boyfriend?"

I couldn't stop laughing. "Gem, you're bordering on creepy now. But, here are my short answers to those questions: caramel, yes, and I don't know."

"She smells like caramel! Seriously? Like how? What? How?"

"Her hair smells like caramel and coconut. It's amazing."

"Oh. My. God."

"You're worse than Liam," I laughed. "I have to go. I'm going to be late."

"Late to see her?"

"Goodbye, Gemma."

I hung up on her, still laughing and jogged up the hill to your house. The first thing I noticed was our pizza boxes, forgotten on the railing of your porch. I tossed them in your rubbish bin, which was empty, so I rolled it up the drive and set it by a gate on the side of your garage. Then I knocked lightly on your door.

You threw the door open with the biggest smile, just utterly radiant. I'm sure my expression mirrored yours. I laughed, "Are you all right?" You stepped back, making room for me to come in. Almost out of instinct rather than a conscious intent, I slid my arm around your waist. And you leaned into me. "You're out of breath."

"This is what you do to me," your voice was breathy, and your eyes connected with mine through your long lashes. You were so alluring, so earnest, so cheeky. I leaned into you, sliding my lips between yours and caressing your cheek with my fingers. I felt like I was melting into you, in a good way. In the best way.

When we broke the kiss, you asked, "Do you want to see the rest of my house?" I nodded, and you took me on an adorable tour of your house, awkwardly pointing into rooms that you never used. At the same time that it was so cute, I couldn't help but feel sad. Here you were, all alone, in this big house. So many empty, unused rooms, waiting for someone to fill them.

"You have more space than you need," I said, looking into the black and white guest room.

You stared into the room with your hands on your hips, not looking at me. "I always imagined someone would come to visit. I have no idea who that would be. But it feels like changing the room to something else would be giving up on that idea." This made me so terribly sad. Not like I was pitying you, that's not it. Just, I know people looked at you and thought you had everything. Fame. Money. Beauty. But you didn't have everything. You didn't have (or didn't realise you had) people who were close to you, who cared for you, who loved you.

I wanted to fill your empty rooms with laughter and love.

Still subdued with sadness, I followed you to your room. The decor was modern and sleek, yet not cold at all. I loved the light coming in from the back garden, through the French doors, and the grey on grey on grey colour scheme of the paint and furniture and bedding. I made a full circuit of your room, looking at the painfully cute pictures of you and Matt. I knew what he looked like from photos in the news. But those were all of him at 14. Here were pictures of you guys as little kids. You smiled up at him in every one like he was your whole world, and I wanted to cry thinking of what you lost. Thinking of Gem and how I would feel if I lost her.

I just wanted to hold you. And like at the music showcase, I was in awe of you. I was in awe of how you had carried on so gracefully. I was in awe of how you could spend your days making people laugh when you were hurting so much. I was in awe of your strength. I was in love, and I trembled at the thought.

I sat on the edge of your bed, overwhelmed, and held my arms out to you. "Come here," I murmured. You stepped into my arms, and I pulled you closer. Your knees slid onto the bed on either side of my thighs, and you sat on my lap. Well, fuck. This wasn't what I was expecting. But while I had you there, I kissed your neck. I liked the little squeaky sounds you made when I skimmed your skin with my tongue and teeth. When you bit my ear, I laughed and finally found my way to your lips, kissing you yearningly.

And I really needed to adjust my crotch.

I leaned back, pulling you with me, hoping to relieve some of the pressure on my unwelcome hard on. Yes, obviously I was turned on. But, just like the night before, that wasn't what I was interested in at the moment. I wanted you to feel loved. Because you are so very loved.

Your hair brushed against my cheeks, and you joked about me trying to get you into bed on the second date. I regretted sitting on your bed, regretted making you think that's what I was after. And I hoped you knew it wasn't. But I didn't even get a chance to answer because you stuck your tongue in my mouth as if it might be what you were after. I held your hips as you kissed me, your fingers tangled in my hair and your chest pressed tight to mine. Oh god, it was hard (again, no double entendre intended) to keep it PG with you that day. I breathed a shaky sigh as you rolled off of me, onto your side, your hair still draped over your face. I pushed it gently back behind your ear so that I could see your beautiful face, flushed flaming pink to match your well-kissed lips. "I guess that means we're dating," I bantered.

You rolled your eyes. My eye roll. The Harry Styles eye roll. It was an eye roll you reserved specially for me. "I guess," you retorted, as if the debate over the definition of "dating" was still raging. I smiled at you, but underneath, I have to admit, your feigned lack of interest had me worried, actually. I took it as a joke, I wanted it to be a joke, but I feared it wasn't. I pushed that fear down and kissed you again instead.

As we lay there on our sides, gazing at each other and kissing, you looked down at where our arms were sort of tangled, looking shy. "Do you want to watch a movie?" you asked breathily.

"Sure," I kissed you again. Because I could. Because here was the girl I had dreamed of kissing for most of my teenage years and she was letting me kiss her. Because I had fallen hopelessly in love with you and everything you did or said made me want to kiss you. "What movie?"

"Um, have you ever read Hamlet?" I nodded, running my fingers from your cheek into your hair. "Well, um, you know the characters Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?"

I nodded again, now cupping the back of your neck with my hand, ready to kiss you again, "Hamlet's mates, right?" Kiss.

You smiled and laughed sort of awkwardly. "Yeah, well, there was a play that focused on them and it was made into a movie and I have to watch it for class..."

"Okay."

You sat up, pulling your hair to one side and twisting it, then wrapping it around and tucking it into a neat little knot. "Okay, let me just get it from my office, and maybe you could grab our leftovers and my bouquet to eat while we watch."

I sat up as you stood, "Erm, we forgot our leftovers on the porch last night. I tossed them in the bin when I got here."

"What bin?"

"Sorry, the trash can," I said in an American accent.

I stood as you laughed, sending me off to get the snacks. I felt a little odd walking down the hall by myself at first, like I had to be careful, or quiet, or something. And then I couldn't find the ranch dressing at first, which is odd because your fridge is nearly empty. Well, empty of any food, that is. There was a huge case of diet cherry Coke (seriously, woman, do you ever drink anything else?), and the ranch was squeezed behind it. Then I had to search for a bowl for it. I opened a couple of cupboards to find that they too were nearly empty. It was like you didn't really live here. Like it was a set for the show. Finally, I had the drinks and sauce and veg in hand and made my way back to your room.

While I was gone, you had rearranged the pillows at the head of the bed and you were sitting there, fiddling with the remote. I set the bouquet and ranch and a drink down on the table beside you and started to walk away, to sit on the other side. "No, wait. Sit here," you said. "I'll scoot over." You moved about two feet over, and I grinned at you, slipping my vans off my feet and sitting on the bed, so close to you. You leaned your shoulder against mine, so I put my arm around you and we both snuggled further down into the bed. It was not lost on me, that I was laying in your bed. In fact, the thought quite distracted me for several moments.

"What are you supposed to do, or like, look for?" I asked, running my fingers up and down your shoulder.

"Um, well, they don't usually tell us. We're just given the titles and then we have to do the research and kind of figure out the significance. It's probably something to do with adapting plays into film, though."

"Hamlet."

"Well, no, the movie's based on its own play, centred on Rosencrantz and Guildenstern."

"Have you seen that play?" You shook your head, no. "Well, if you haven't seen it, won't that make it hard to, like, decipher the differences and whatnot?"

You laughed, "what the play looked like doesn't matter. What matters is just the actual filmmaking. So, how they position the cameras, choices in music, editing, sound effects and so on."

"All right," I said sceptically. "Let's see." After the opening credits, these two guys rode in on horses. "Soooo," I looked over at you, "like, the use of real horses."

You giggled, nodding yes. And then Gary Oldman aka Sirius Black started flipping a coin and you added, "and the close-ups of the coin. Now shush and just enjoy the movie."

I squeezed you closer and kissed your forehead. "Okay, love, okay." You blushed furiously. I kissed your hair one more time as you restarted the film, which I loved by the way. I made Liam watch it the very next day, and Gemma too. She watched it and then called me to babble about it; we even played the questions game. (Gemma is far more obsessed with you than she has ever let you see, by the way. Trust me.)

One of my favourite parts of the movie was when Oldman was juggling, and I leaned down and whispered I can do that and you raised your eyebrows at me and said no shit and I nodded all cocky and then he dropped all the shit he was trying to juggle and you asked if I could do that and laughed and I tickled you until you were crying and then you stopped me by kissing me and pressing your hips against mine. Fuck. What a great movie.

And then when you unpaused it, they played that questions game.

And when Oldman was making all those animal sounds and then made a car horn sound and you paused it again and talked about anachronisms. And how that was a a self-reflexive effect, reminding viewers that we weren't in Denmark in whatever period Hamlet is set, nor even in England in the 1600s. We were in modern times viewing this modern art form of film. It was absolutely dazzling. You've said many times that you don't really care for this business, but Maddie, I saw passion in your eyes that day as you spoke, and I don't think it was just for me. You truly seemed to love the art of filmmaking, and for what it's worth, I think you are an incredible artist.

When the film was over, we talked about how you were getting to the airport. You told me you were rich, fly first class, stay in fancy hotels. And of course, it wasn't bragging, it was that same stark honesty you had given me before. I appreciated that honesty, while at the same time felt utterly insecure about my finances. I know it may have seemed like I was upset that you had more than me or that there was an imbalance of power or something like that, but it was honestly just that I was so afraid you would think this poor kid who could barely pay his bills might be using you for your money. I wanted you to know that I liked you for you. That I loved you for you.

But then you alleviated my fears when you said, "I don't care about money. I care about who a person is. And I like the person you are." My heart was beating so hard in my chest. It was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment.

"I like the person you are, too." I kissed you again. "You should let more people see the person that you are." I pushed my tongue in your mouth.

When you broke the kiss, you changed the subject abruptly, "How many tattoos do you have?"

I chuckled into your mouth as I answered, "forty-three." We made out for several minutes, enough to get me panting and my jeans tenting. You pulled away from the kiss and maintained eye contact as you leaned across my body to kiss the cross tattoo on my hand. Fuck, your tits were pushed against my straining erection, and it twitched under their weight. But if you felt it, you showed no indication. Still holding my gaze, you moved to my wrist and kissed each tattoo there, and there was something so tender about it, so loving. Up to the rose, you twisted my arm to access the bible and tiny A, then over the ship, to the ones on the back of my upper arm--silver spoon, skeleton in a top hat, shaking hands... on and on, you kissed each individual tattoo on my arm, pushing up my sleeve to access the ones out of sight, and my body reacted, the hair on my arms standing up with goosebumps. Between each, sometimes during, you just kept looking at me, those dark eyes poring over mine. My breathing was ragged, and my heart was thundering. I can't explain exactly how it felt, to be the object of your study in that moment, to have you adoring me and adorning me with kisses.

You pulled down the collar of my tee, kissing my parents' birth years and the swallows and 17BLACK and I laughed, low, from deep in my throat. I lifted my arm, and you widened your eyes and kissed the star, the gem cookie, pingu. It tickled, and I chuckled again and squirmed as you moved to each. Your nose was buried in my armpit, and I prayed I still smelled okay after a shift at the restaurant and all our making out, but I don't think my odour was offensive because at one point it seemed like you were breathing in my scent intentionally, which made me laugh again. You pulled away, blushing, and I lifted my shirt to expose the laurel leaves on my hips and the butterfly on my stomach. I ran my fingers into your hair as you kissed each of those, just as delicately and lovingly as you had the rest. Meanwhile I was on fire for you, burning in my skin with desire. I wanted to feel your bare skin against mine, wanted to kiss every inch of you as you'd done me.

But it was time for you to leave. You sat on the edge of the bed with your back to me and buried your face in your hands. "I don't wanna go," you whined.

"Oh, baby, you'll be fine. You'll be great. Don't worry," I sat up and wrapped my arms around your shoulders, kissing your neck.

"No, not that. I mean, that too, but," you sighed and looked at me over your shoulder, "I just, I don't want to go." I kissed you gently, caressing your cheek with my thumb. "But I have to," you shook your head and stood. "Like, now, or I'll miss my flight."

"Are you all packed?"

"Yeah, I took care of it this morning so I wouldn't have to worry about it while you were here," you looked at the suitcases by your closet.

I picked them up and carried them out, shaking my head as you offered to take one. I couldn't believe you were about to fly thousands of miles away just when I'd finally become a part of your life. You opened the back of the rover, and I slid the bags carefully in and closed it. I hugged you tight, kissing your hair and cheek and ear, murmuring, "I'm going to miss you. So much."

"Me too," you said into my shoulder.

"Call me when you land."

You laughed and pulled away. "It'll be like five in the morning."

"I don't care," I insisted. "Call me." I needed to know that you got there safely. That you were all right. I felt desperate and out of control and oddly afraid. So I kissed you with all the passion and intensity I could deliver, hoping you would understand how much you meant to me.

You got in your car and drove away, and I stood there on your driveway in the fading light of dusk, watching your tail-lamps disappear around the corner. I ran my hand up into my hair, that nervous habit of mine, as I started to walk home. My heart was heavy, as if the earth had suddenly sped up in its axial rotation. But I told myself it shouldn't be. You were only going to be gone for a few days. And really, I had so many reasons for it to be light. The past two days had been incredible. Like a dream. But you leaving was like waking up, and I just wanted to stay asleep, cuddled in the comfort of the dream with you.

I tried to get some homework done when I got home, but it was hard. My mind kept replaying every moment of our afternoon together. I got a text from you around 7:15 saying your flight had been cancelled and that you were taking a later one. We messaged back and forth for a little while about the movie, discussing the best parts, and I told you about my boring evening without you, trying to do homework. I was smiling like an idiot the entire time. Then you had to go, to board the plane.

I had just fallen asleep when my phone rang. "'Lo?" I mumbled, squinting at Liam's alarm clock. 2:30.

"Hey, it's me," you said, and I instantly woke up. "I'm here."

"Okay, thanks for calling to let me know. How was the flight?"

"Okay," I could hear you smiling though you were thousands of miles away, "I mostly slept."

"Lucky."

You laughed, "go back to sleep!"

"No, I'm all right, I barely went to bed. I can get up a bit later." I rolled onto my side and saw Liam was awake and smiling at me. "What have you got on the agenda today?"

"I'm heading to the hotel to drop off my stuff and then I have to go straight to the morning news show for my network. And then later this afternoon I have one of the late night shows. I'm not sure which. How about you?"

"Classes and band rehearsal. And missing you."

You laughed again, but this time lower. "Yeah, I've got that on the calendar for the next three days."

"Me too, baby."

"I have to go, they're rushing me into the car."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later."

"Later." And you were gone, and it was terrible. It felt like there was so much more to say. So much left unsaid. So much that I needed to say. Redundant. Sorry.

Liam grinned at me, his face glowing blue in the dark from his clock. "Baby."

"Shut it." I laughed.

"Okay, baby," he smirked.

I threw my pillow at him again. "I'll kill you."

"No, baby. You'd miss me." He continued to tease me.

"I hate you so much sometimes," I rolled over to face the wall, smiling broadly.

My pillow thumped against my back. "Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, daddy."

He chuckled, "What the fuck."

"You started it."

"Don't be such a baby."

"Go to sleep, Liam!" I shouted. He laughed but didn't offer any retort this time.

The next few days without you were so difficult. I went to class and rehearsed and missed you, just as I said I would. I also texted you throughout the days, flirting and teasing and just telling you about my day. I hated being apart from you. I still hate it. Even just a couple of days is too long for me. Did you know that in 29 years of marriage, Paul and Linda McCartney only spent 10 days apart, and then only because Paul was in jail for weed. Lol. They had a beautiful friendship, and a beautiful, long-lasting love. I want that for us, minus the jail sentence. Well, and minus the weed, too. Not really my scene. But the love. The never being apart. I want that for us.

God I'm so awkward. How did I ever get you to fall in love with me?

~~~~~

I love awkward dorky Harry so much. And his doubled entendres. 😉

By the way, the film they watched is called ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD by Tom Stoppard (writer/director) and starring Gary Oldman and Tim Roth. Great film worth watching.  :)

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