A Dreamers Dream

Meet me in the Hallway. Mexico City, Mexico

Harry's perspective

When I finally get back to the hotel after my trip to the doctors, the damn delivery van that was blocking the back entrance earlier has finally moved, so we're able to sneak in that way and avoid a repeat of the episode from this morning. As much as I love my fans, that was just too much. I was really quite worried for their safety, not to mention that of my own and the rest of my team when they started climbing on the cars and banging on the windows, and the rocking motion of the car really didn't do anything for my already throbbing head and queasy stomach either. This cold seems to be totally knocking me on my arse for some reason, getting colds and bugs kinda comes with the territory when you're travelling around all the time. Still, this one is really making me feel like shit. The doctor gave me a vitamin shot and told me to get plenty of rest, which I laughed at. I'm on a bloody world tour for Christ's sake, chances of me getting any rest until it's over are slim to none for the next few weeks at least.

I know, deep down, that it's not just the travelling and performing which is making this cold feel worse than normal though, but the immense amount of guilt I am carrying around after the events in Sao Paulo. Not to mention the worry I am feeling over Maddie. I wish she'd just speak to me. I've tried to call her like ten times since we got to Mexico, but every time I do, it just goes to voicemail, and she doesn't reply to my texts either. I'm not really sure what the best course of action is here. Do I respect the fact that she clearly doesn't want to speak to me and leave her in peace and hope that she comes to me in her own time? Or do I turn up at her hotel room and force her to talk to me?

The impatient bastard in me is leaning towards option number two, but for now, I've managed to keep that aspect of my personality locked down in its cage. I know that chances are, forcing a confrontation like that will just make matters worse, but it's killing me not knowing she's OK. All I want to do is wrap her in my arms, tell her about the security camera footage and subsequent phone calls I made before we left Brazil and their outcomes. Reassure her and make sure she knows that she doesn't have to deal with this alone. I want to run my hands over every inch of her body and erase the memories she'll have of his being there, press my lips to hers and pour every ounce of compassion and comfort into her that I possibly can in an attempt to make her feel better. But I can't. Not until she lets me back in, I just hope she doesn't keep me waiting too long.

Reaching the elevators, I step inside and hit the button for the top floor wearily whilst removing the surgical mask from my face with the other hand and taking a few deep, unobstructed breaths. Which, annoyingly, just result in me having a coughing fit, wonderful. The coughing finally subsides, and I no longer feel like I'm about to bring up a lung as the lift pings, and the doors begin to open. I better try and grab a quick nap before the show tonight and hope and pray that my voice holds out I think to myself as I step through them into the hallway.

When I first see her, I honestly have to stop and rub my eyes to reassure myself that I am not hallucinating. I take a step out of the lift and squint down the corridor in her direction, and for the first time in two days the heavyweight on my shoulders lifts a little, and my heart jumps in my chest. She's here.

"Maddie?" I say quietly as I approach her, not wanting to make her jump. Her attention is focused on the phone in her hands, and I see that she is playing Words With Friends. She has this adorable habit of sticking her tongue out when she's concentrating, I've noticed her doing it when she's kicking my arse at computer games or trying to learn a new riff on her guitar, and it's the most endearing thing. She's doing it now, and I can't help the smile I feel pulling at my lips.

"Hey." She says quietly and quickly jumps to her feet, I extend a hand out to help her, but I am too slow, she's already brushing off invisible dirt on her jeans by the time I am within reach of her. "Stuart told me that you're sick?" she asks, her mesmerising blue eyes gazing up at me, full of concern. Is she worried about me?