Fooled (Larry Stylinson) ✅

19. Interview

"So what inspired your artwork?" I asked, chewing on my pen a little. I was doing an interview on an artist that had just been recognized by the Museum of Modern Art for his sculptures made of everyday objects.

If you asked me, a statue made of old toilet paper roles and tin foil wasn't that impressive, but for whatever reason people were going crazy over this guy's art and it was my job to interview him.

"Yeah, so I've always been really into recycling and helping the environment. I don't even have an art background -- I was actually an environmental studies major in college. But I just thought, why not try to make something out of this stuff? And here we are," the man replied. He looked directly at me as I spoke, which was kind of awkward because I was staring down into my notebook half the time, trying to record the things he was telling me.

Finishing up my notes, I nodded and began to study his face more intently. He was young -- about a year or two out of college I would say -- and he was very attractive. He wore a black T-shirt and skinny jeans with large, brown rimmed hipster glasses that complemented his soft brown eyes. His black hair was styled into a smooth quaff and stubble traced his jaw, adding a bit of edginess to his otherwise grungy look.

Not gonna lie, he was pretty damn fine.

"Yeah, that's great. So how do you think your artwork got so big? Were you promoting it at art shows or on social media?" I asked, frowning at how sloppy my handwriting was. It was always so difficult for me to go back and read my notes, which was pretty frustrating because it meant I would have to spend hours listening through the recordings I took to refresh my memory.

But with this artist, I didn't think I was going to have much trouble remembering him. Everything about him was unique, from his style to his work to his British accent -- you didn't hear one of those everyday. Unless you count mine and Harry's....

Harry. Ugh, why was he creeping into my mind at a time like this? It had been weeks since I had spoken to Harry. He hadn't texted or called and neither had I. I assumed he was still with that awful witch of a woman -- I actually met her when I went back inside the restaurant and she was horribly rude -- and even if he wasn't, he had already established his reputation as a liar. There was no going back.

And so I tried to forget about him. I really did. I even went to the gay bar with Niall, like he promised me, but I couldn't get into it. Even with five shots of tequila inside me, I didn't want to dance with anyone. There was no one there that I felt like I could connect with, vibe with the way I did with Harry. And that's when I realized that it was going to be much harder to get over him than I thought.

"Yeah, so I'm new to the art community. Just moved to New York a few months ago to work in an environmental lab. This was just a side project. But I ended up making a social media account for it -- an Instagram page. And I followed a bunch of people in the enviro community, and suddenly it had blown up -- I had thousands of followers overnight and there was a Buzzfeed video about my work... it was incredible really..." the interviewee said, his eyes lighting up. I licked my lips and tried to hide how turned on I was by him as he wiggled around in his seat, his thin legs swinging as he smiled over his newfound fame.

"I can imagine, yeah," I replied with a grin. "So that all happened in March, yeah? So what's going on now? What's happened since then?"

"Oh, yeah so you heard about the thing with the Moma. We talked about that," he replied, taking a sip from his cup of coffee. "But I'm working on other projects. There's this band on the rise... called Hawthorne. It's three British lads, ironically enough. So I'm collabing with them for a music video. They're gonna feature my art. I might even sing in it, though I get nervous."

Wow, wow, wow. Perfect. Just perfect.

No matter where I went, I could never fucking escape Harry -- at work and now at school. Hawthorne was Harry's band, and while I had since deleted all their songs off my playlist, I couldn't help but hear Harry's luscious voice replaying in my head as soon as I was reminded of the band name.

"That's awesome. I've actually heard them live and they're great. Which song will they feature your work in? Is there an environment theme there?" I asked, trying to quell the nausea building in my stomach as I dove deeper into a conversation about Harry and his band.

"Yeah, so it's the song Rose. You know it? It's kind of a love song, but it's about starting over and piecing things together. So it fits well with my work and what I'm going for. You know building something out of nothing. I'm excited for it," he said with a smile, his white teeth complementing his dark stubble.

I nodded. "Awesome. Well I think that's all my questions, Mr. Malik," I said, closing my notebook and wishing for the life of me I could remember his first name. "Thanks so much for your time and for agreeing to meet me with me on such short notice."

"It was my pleasure," he replied, extending his hand. I reached out and shook his hand, my own hand tingling as he gripped it harshly. "And please, call me Zayn. Doesn't have to be so formal," he added with a small smirk, his eyebrows arching in amusement.

"Of course, sorry," I said, grabbing our empty coffee cups and throwing them in the trash. Then I returned to the table, where Zayn was putting on his backpack and getting ready to go.

Zayn and I left the coffee shop and then I turned towards the N train to get to work. "It was great meeting you," I called to him before walking away. Zayn looked up at me, our eyes connecting, and bit his lip.

"This might be wildly inappropriate. But can I give you my card? It has my cell on it," he said, handing me a blue and white stripped business card. It read: "Zayn Malik - environmental scientist / artist / creator" followed by his email, social media, and phone number.

I raised an eyebrow at him, my lips curling into an awkward smile. "Sure, but why?" I asked him.

"Well. Our professional relations are done here," he said taking a step closer to where I was standing. I fidgeted in my skinny jeans and wished I had worn something looser. "So perhaps we can meet again on a more... personal level," he continued, his eyes squinting a little.

"Oh, yeah sure, Zayn. I'll shoot you a text," I said quickly, before my severe lack of confidence could take over and ruin my chances. "We should get a drink one day. But I have to head to work now. See you."

Zayn smiled, licking his lips a bit. "That would be lovely. Have a good day at work, Louis," he said, shooting me one last glance before he turned on his heel and went in the opposite direction.

Oh. My. God.