(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 21 - Messing With My Head)

I sleep for the entire duration of the flight from LA to Vancouver, and wake up as we are beginning our descent with a blanket tucked around me that definitely wasn't there when I fell asleep. I look around groggily, wondering who the culprit was, when the blonde air hostess, Megan, appears at the side of my seat.

"Did you sleep alright?" she asks.

"Um, yeah, thanks," I answer croakily.

"I thought you might be cold so I put a blanket over you. I hope that's OK," she says, smiling shyly at me.

"Oh, it was you?" I reply, curiously. "I thought it was Niall taking the piss."

"Yeah, it was me," she says, looking down at the floor, coyly.

"Right, well, thanks," I say.

"Did you want anything to eat?" she offers. "You missed lunch."

I shake my head. "No thanks. I'll get something at the stadium."

She nods, and then surveys me with concern. "Are you alright? You look exhausted."

"I'm fine. I haven't been sleeping very well," I admit, unsure why I am telling her this.

"Is there a reason for that?" she asks softly.

"Yeah," I sigh, looking away out of the window at the clouds below us.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" she persists, but her tone is gentle.

"Not really," I mutter, looking down at my lap.

She squeezes my shoulder. "OK. Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am," she offers, and smiles over her shoulder at me as she walks up the cabin towards the pilot's door.

"She's well into you," says an Irish voice behind me, and I glance behind me and smirk at Niall's smug, knowing expression.

"I don't think so," I reply.

"Harry, how are you still so blind to it after five years of women falling at your feet? She's already wet for you."

I ignore his cackles and turn back around in my seat, shaking my head and chuckling softly. You can always count on Niall to be blunt to the point of vulgarity.

As soon as we arrive at the stadium we head straight to soundcheck and then hang out backstage, doing some meet and greets, having dinner and chatting with the crew. Liam is in and out a lot seemingly arguing on the phone, and I catch Louis' eye as I watch Liam flounce out of the room for the third time, his phone pressed to his ear.

"Sophia," Louis mouths.

I give him a questioning look, and he gets up and comes and sits next to me on the sofa.

"Things aren't going too well. I think she's feeling the distance a bit."

"Aren't we all," I sigh.

"I know. You think she'd be used to it by now though, wouldn't you?" he says, rolling his eyes.

"I think a lot of people will be glad about this hiatus," I observe, and he nods.

"I know. When you think about what we've done in the space of just five years..." He trails off and stares at the wall.

"It'll be nice to stop for breath," I agree.

"How are things with Jess?" he asks. "Did you get in touch with her?"

I grimace. "Don't ask. She's brushing me off, big time."

"What do you mean?"

I pull my phone out and show him the conversation, and he raises his eyebrows at me and presses his lips together.

"Ouch," he sympathises.

"Yeah," I mutter, sliding my phone back into my pocket.

"What's the next move?" he asks.

"No idea," I say, flatly.

"Well, she didn't say no, did she?" he points out, and I frown at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You asked her if you could stay friends, but she didn't say no."

I give him a disbelieving look. "She practically told me to fucķ off."

"No she didn't. She said you didn't have to worry about keeping her sweet. That's not telling you to fucķ off."

"It's as good as!" I say indignantly. "She thinks I'm out to save myself in all this! That's how little she thinks of me."

"You got high as a kite and fuckeď a model," he reminds me. "Of course she thinks little of you."

"I know, I know," I huff exasperatedly. "I don't need to be reminded."

"Sometimes I think you do," he retorts. "But don't give up. Keep up the contact. She'll thaw eventually."

"What makes you so sure?" I challenge, and he rolls his eyes.

"Because she was crazy about you. That doesn't just disappear overnight. But the longer you leave it the more likely she is to move on. Don't let her go."

Easy for him to say when he's not the one getting the cold shoulder.

We head into hair and make up, and then huddle up just behind the stage as our intro plays and the crowd screams. We get into position and the screen tilts as Dan's guitar kicks in with the first few notes of Clouds. The roar is deafening as we make our entrance onto the stage, giving it our all and blowing kisses to everyone before we take our positions behind our mic stands and I sing the first line.

The crowd is incredible and the adrenaline lifts my spirits again, particularly when Liam spots a sign to the left of the stage that reads NIALL HAS MORE TATTOOS THAN NAUGHTY BOY HAS FANS. Niall cackles appreciatively while Liam asks everyone to "give it up for that sign!" I exchange looks with Louis who is grinning mischievously at the crowd, and he gives me a discreet thumbs up. I can't help thinking of Jess and her public defence of Louis a couple of months ago, and smile to myself as I imagine her reaction when or if she ever sees a clip of this.

I want her to see it, if only because I know it would make her laugh, so while no one is paying attention I walk to the microphone situated at the back of the stage that we speak into to communicate with the crew (only us, the band and the staff can hear it), and ask someone to take a picture of the sign. If I try and snap it myself there will probably be a full fandom inquiry, with worldwide speculation and a Larry undertone, and I simply don't need that. As I walk back to the front of the stage I see Josh, our drummer, pulling his phone out and taking a picture of it for me. I catch his eye and sign send that to me, and he gives me a thumbs up to indicate he has understood.

The sign is the topic of discussion on the bus on the way back to the airport (I am flying home again immediately as we don't have another show now until Edmonton on the twenty-first.)

"I'm fucking elated thanks to that sign," Louis declares, sitting back in his seat and smirking. "I fucking love our fans."

I check my phone while they are all laughing about it, and see that Josh has sent me the picture he took. It's a bit blurry as he has zoomed right in from his position on the higher level behind the stage, but it's still legible. I'm going to send it to Jess but I want to wait a bit, after the dismissive Whatever I had from her yesterday.

Liam turns away from us all to speak to Sophia on the phone again, and judging by the low chuckling coming from his seat I'm guessing they've made up and are back to their usual sickening mush.

I board the flight back to LA with Louis, and Megan gives me a beaming smile as we sit down.

"You look a bit perkier," she remarks.

"Thanks," Louis replies cheekily before I can answer her, and she laughs goodnaturedly as the cabin door closes and she begins her checks for take off.

Once we are in the air she comes and chats to us for about half an hour, before our eyes begin drooping and she brings us blankets and lets us doze. It's past four a.m. by the time I get home, and I'm fast asleep before my head even hits the pillow.

I eat leftover spaghetti bolognese for my lunch when I wake up, and head outside in a pair of swimming shorts to thrash some lengths out of the pool again. I hit fifty easily, but for the last ten I obsess over sending the picture of the sign from last night to Jess. I could carry on swimming, but instead pull myself out, dry off a bit and lay back on my sunlounger while I contemplate the caption to accompany the picture.

Lighthearted and casual is the key here. What did she love about me? She liked me teasing her, and making her laugh.

I ponder a few different versions, before deciding I am trying far too hard and I just need to be myself. I attach the picture and type, This was at our show last night. Does it have anything to do with you? ;) x

Is a winky face too familiar? Too friendly? Is a kiss too forward?

Not when you're in love with someone. Send.

I put my phone down on the table and lean back in the sun, closing my eyes and not daring to hope for a reply. Yet in less than a minute my phone beeps. I jump upright like a jack in the box.

It's her. She's replied.

Nice! No it doesn't, but I'd be proud if it did x

I'm grinning like a fool. Not only did I get an immediate response, but IT'S GOT A KISS ON THE END.

My stomach is fluttering uncontrollably and I feel strangely lightheaded. This is serious progress. This is better than I could have imagined.

My hands fly over my keyboard, typing back a reply. No chill.

How are things? x

It is seen within two minutes and I wait, staring at the screen, willing the typing bubbles to appear.

My excitement fades somewhat when nothing happens, and after about five minutes I put my phone down on the table and try to play it cool. I run my hands through my wet hair, glance casually around the garden and then stretch nonchalantly. I'm fooling no one.

I jiggle my legs impatiently, as though this might entice a text to come through. I almost jump out of my skin when my phone beeps again.

Good, thanks. Just on a night out so can't really talk. Take care.

OK, this isn't a complete dismissal like last time. She's just busy. I can deal with busy.

OK, sorry. Talk soon xx, I type back quickly. It's seen five minutes later.

I secretly hope for an acknowledgement back, preferably in the form of a kiss, but I'm not surprised when I don't get one. She's out with her friends, so I'm not really expecting a response.

I stand up, run excitedly towards the pool and fling myself into the deep end with a flourish, laughing out loud under the water so the sound distorts into some sort of robotic hysteria; I feel as though finally we might just be getting somewhere.

This latest development serves as motivation for another hour's swimming, after which I haul myself out of the water, wrap myself in a towel and collapse on a sunlounger, tired but happy. I snooze for a hour in the shade and wake up mid-afternoon feeling better than I have done in weeks. I reach for my phone, but there is nothing new from Jess.

I remember back to my conversation with Louis backstage, and his point that she hadn't said no to staying friends. In fact, now I think about it, she didn't really answer me at all.

Feeling reckless, I type out another text to her, and press Send before I can change my mind.

You never answered my question about staying friends? :) x

I'm not anticipating a reply from her very soon considering she is on a night out, so I am surprised when a text comes through about ten minutes later.

Yes I did. And I don't wish you any bad feeling, but I don't see the point in keeping in touch. It's not like we're going to meet up for coffee. Better all round if we both just move on.

My heart begins kicking a nervous beat as disappointment creeps through my veins. Her tone seems different to earlier; there are no kisses, and her words come across as firm and final. Does she really want me out of her life for good? Why wouldn't we meet for coffee if we stayed friends?

I think back to March when I met her after work in the Costa opposite her office. It would be good to do that again. It would be good just to lay eyes on her again, no matter what the circumstances.

I hadn't been planning on asking her to meet me quite this soon - I'd been hoping to build things up slowly and regain a bit of her trust. But seeing as she has mentioned it, I feel I have no option but to bring it up. Here goes...

I was hoping maybe we could? Meet up for coffee, I mean x

Does that sound pathetic and desperate? Fuck.

The message is read almost immediately, and my heart jumps as I see the bubbles dancing. I barely have time to consider whether an immediate reply will be a good thing or a bad thing before it pops up.

Why?

It's not a no. IT'S NOT A NO!

I type back as quickly as I can, eager not to lose her while she is engaging with me. I make numerous typos and spend longer hitting backspace and correcting my mistakes than I do actually typing the message.

Just thought it would be good to catch up. I'll be home in August, I was hoping maybe I could see you x

I wait with bated breath for her reply, my stomach in knots. The bubbles appear and I watch the screen while she seals the fate of our relationship in one hundred and sixty characters.

Sorry, but I don't think that's a good idea. Enjoy your time off though, and I hope the US dates go well.

And with a new stab of misery, we're back to square one.