28 Minutes

6:03

I can make out the features and flaws of the man's face now. His chiseled jawline paired with sharp white stubble dotting his chin and upper lip. Sparkling green eyes paired with a too-wide nose. Soft plump lips paired with messy, thick eyebrows. Society's wrongs and rights paired on a face together to create perfection. 

I watch as he reaches out with his hand. I notice the glows of golds and silvers circled around his fingers. I notice, too late, that he means to shake my hand. It's too late. Five seconds have passed already and Harry gently lowers his hand to his side. 

"So, Louis, how is that you know Harrison," Harry questions, a purring sound laced in his words. I could sit for hours and listen to him talk. I've never been interested in audiobooks before in my life, but if Harry were to do one I would never stop listening. Not slow enough to bore, but slow enough to get you on the edge of your seat. 

My mind jumps back to the question. Harrison. Who the fuck is Harrison? Must be the Rodgers fellow. It would only make sense for him to ask about the host of the party we're both at. I look up to the ceiling, trying to come up with something vague enough to be right. 

"Met him through work. Friends of friends," I explain, hoping it's enough for Harry.

"Ah, I hear that's how this industry works. I'm fairly new to all of this." I want to scream that I know, that he radiates it. I want to scream and show him all the preying eyes watching and waiting to strike. I want to scream and tell him that, yes, everyone in this room knows and sees your freshness. 

And that will be the death of you.