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Without sparing a look towards the man behind you, you grab Niall's arm and drag him through the bar and out the glass doors. You lead him towards your car and make him get in, and then you tell him everything.
You tell him the things he already knows-how you and Harry met. He was there. It was sometime in the spring nearly eight years ago. Back when you were just a shitty photography intern walking on eggshells made of broken glass trying to please your boss. She was a very high maintenance perfectionist of a woman who made you feel incompetent when you didn't quite see her vision exactly how she did. As an intern a lot of your tasks were mundane, but when your boss's abrupt family emergency left a few of her scheduled next day shoots lacking a photographer, you quickly volunteered to do one. She had raised her brow at you, looking back down at the list of shoots before her, she highlighted one for you. You were so giddy that she trusted you enough to represent her and her brand that you were on a high. That was until you realized she sent you to photograph five rowdy teenage boys for a digital magazine that almost no one knew back then. Of course, you'd done your research after getting assigned the shoot. A quick google search of One Direction had led you to be able to match each members name with their face easily, you even listened to a few songs and watched some interviews to get a feel for their vibe for the next day. You wanted to be prepared, but-Harry Styles? Nothing could've possibly prepared you for him.
You confess to Niall that when you saw Harry in that room something in your head just clicked. It was as if you were holding a massive amount of air in your lungs for a very, very long time, and he finally allowed you a sigh. You try to explain that it wasn't the way he looked, yes he was attractive, but a lot of men were attractive. It was the way he firmly shook your hand and introduced himself to you as soon as he entered the room. It was the way he intently listened as you explained your vision of the shoot, and nodded along, even shushing the others when he felt they weren't paying enough attention. He had sensed how far away you were from your comfort zone that day. All the snarky comments and backhanded compliments from your boss and coworkers had made you seriously start to doubt your abilities as a photographer, as an artist. He managed to make you feel comfortable and secure in the first ten minutes of knowing him just because he made the effort to listen and try to understand. You had never felt anything like that upon meeting someone, and you don't think you ever will.
You recall how you just brushed it off and tried to act cool-tried to act professional. You did what you did best, stayed quiet and let your voice be heard through the photos you captured. It was hard though, because the boys were much more immature then. You'd known from reading up that you were only a few years older than them, yet the maturity levels between you and them were drastically different. Granted, they were a group boys that were somewhat famous and attractive, so it was arguable that what they lacked in maturity they made up for with status.
