A/N: HAPPY MITAM DAY!

I'm dedicating this chapter to @sharpen-your-knife. Thank you for all your comments <3

So, they sang Torn during the Live Lounge performance... Why do we stan a band that is actively trying to kill us?

This chapter is told from Darby's POV. It's quite different but I hope you find it interesting. This is the first time she meets Harry and the rest of the boys.

Next week I'm posting a big Louis chapter, told from his POV in the present. It's taking me a long time to finish but it will be ready by next Friday.

DARBY / PAST

I got my first job by sleeping on the sidewalk outside a hotel for two nights straight.

In November.

One Direction had a gig at Madison Square Garden. Nobody knew when they were coming or going from the hotel, so your best chance of meeting them was to wait outside the entire time they stayed there.

I had hit the ground running after college, doing three back-to-back internships and trying desperately to place my work at Spin, Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, or any paying market that would have me, with no luck. I wouldn't wow anyone with wordy think pieces about the evolution of hip-hop or a review of some baroque pop album. What I needed was a scoop, something they hadn't seen a hundred times before, something authentic, something they couldn't say no to.

I was visiting my parents for a weekend, lying down in my childhood bedroom, staring at all my old 1D posters and Ziam manips when it came to me. The solution was staring me right in the face. I would interview the biggest band in the world. Simple! I had loved One Direction since I was sixteen and secretly continued to love them in college even though all my friends thought they sucked. I could write about a lot of subjects with authority but I could only write about one with true passion.

Despite being a hopeless, lovesick fangirl my whole life, I had never actually stalked a celebrity before. I came to the hotel equipped with a sleeping bag, a change of clothes, a canteen for water (which I got friends to refill because I couldn't leave my post), three layers of clothing and my phone, which had all of my questions and research on it as well as the app I would use to record the interview.

There were a few enemy camps, legions of girls who knew instinctively that I had never done this before. They didn't know what nefarious purpose I was there for but they somehow picked up on the fact that my intentions weren't totally pure.

The band didn't leave the hotel for the first 24 hours of their stay. A group of flannel-clad seventeen-year-olds huddled together, taking turns warming up in the coffee shop a block away. They said it was so they could charge their phones but I could see them trembling. It was like the French invasion of Russia out here. We were dropping like flies. By day two I was wondering if I might give up. My fingers were so cold I couldn't turn the pages of the books and magazines I brought to keep me busy. Chloe was getting really worried. She brought me an electric blanket but one look at my blue lips made her second guess her support of this suicide mission.

"Your lips are tuning blue."

"Tha eel fie," I said.

"At least come with me to the coffee shop to warm up."

The girls lined up against the barricade smiled sweetly, dark circles beneath their eyes, keen to get rid of me and take my spot by the door.

"Never!"

At the end of the second day there was a glimmer of hope, and that glimmer came in the shape one Mr. Niall Horan.

He was making his way out of the hotel in sunglasses and oversized Canada Goose jacket. The girls who had been shivering, too tired to hold their matted heads up, now appeared to have super human strength, pushing their bodies as far as possible over the barricade.

I was positioned on the right side entranceway closest to the door, but my slight advantage disappeared when another girl sneakily wove between my legs and popped up in front of me, pushing me behind her. I scrambled to pull out my phone, which I needed to record the interview. I had it turned off all day to save the battery.

As I was turning it on though, I saw the girls in flannel out of the corner of my eye. They hadn't left at all, but were spying on the hotel in the building across the street. I tried to hold what little ground I had left, but the second the glass doors swung open and Niall stepped out with his body guard I was completely swarmed. Not only could I not get to Niall but I couldn't move at all.

Niall took some selfies with the girls on the left side of the entranceway before moving over to my side. Even though I had at least two bodies ahead of me, I stuck my phone up in the air and shouted my questions. I looked ridiculous among the throng of screaming girls. I could briefly see his head tilt and look up through the crowd, but my question was absorbed by a new set of screams and he drifted back under the meaty wing of his body guard and made a brisk exit to his black Escalade. The crowd of girls moved with him like a one body and the sheer force of them carried me along with them.

When they got close to the car, in the last mad rush to get Niall to notice them, the girls leapt forward. A large arm stretched out behind me and smacked my hand, causing me to drop my phone. "No!" I screamed. I looked down but couldn't see anything through the failing limbs. When I finally did spot it, I noticed that the screen was cracked. I reached down to grab it. Big mistake.

The phone was almost in my grasp when it was kicked it away. I had barely reached for it again when someone stepped on my back. As the Escalade revved its engine, more and more shoes climbed over my back like I was a damn welcome mat. The phone was completely crushed now-nothing but fiberglass ground to dust encased in cracked plastic.

The Escalade pulled away from the curb and the fans chased after it like a pride of lions.

I couldn't move. My hands were scraped and bleeding and I had the wind knocked out of me. I pressed my cheek to the cold pavement and shut my eyes in defeat.

Suddenly there was a hand on my arm shaking me. "Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?"

Between my frozen lips and my crushed windpipe, I couldn't speak. I sort of groaned and he turned me over on my side. My eyes fluttered open and, holy fuck, in front of me was the most beautiful face I had ever seen--possibly the most beautiful face in human existence. Anywhere. Ever. My heart ached, though I wasn't sure if it was due to his presence or internal bleeding.

He was waving his hand in front of my face. I barely got his name out. "Harry?"

His bodyguard was hovering over me too, speaking into his earpiece. To my horror and delight, Harry propped me up and cradled my head in his arms. Of all the days not to wash my hair... It was simultaneously the best and worst moment of my life. He felt my forehead. His touch sent a shock through my system.

"We're calling an ambulance," he said.

"No!" I scrambled into an upright position. "I'm fine. I need to talk to you." I clutched his suede bomber jacket. Even his jacket was charged with sexual energy, like his hotness had transitive properties.

"I'll take a selfie with you, love, but you need to take care of yourself first."

"You don't understand, I'm not a fan, I'm a journalist. Wait, that came out wrong... I am a fan but that's not why I'm here."

I sensed that Harry was not too convinced. He nodded along to what I was saying, his eyebrows raised in a patronizing gesture of acknowledgment. I couldn't blame him. I was literally camped outside his hotel.

I pointed to my smashed phone. "The questions were all on my phone. I was going to record the whole interview."

The bodyguard moved to pull Harry away and leave me with the hotel staff who were now rushing around to try to rectify the situation and no doubt avoid a lawsuit.

"Please, let me ask you one question," I begged.

I could see the light in his sea green eyes begin to fade. He appeared to shut down and close himself off. "Who do you work for?"

"Oh, no, it's not what you think. I'm not with a tabloid." I said, dusting myself off.

The hotel staff shrugged their shoulders and went back inside. Harry's bodyguard crossed his arms.

"That's why I'm here. I'm jobless. I'm trying to get an exclusive so I can get published and get my foot in the door. I'm a nobody, trust me."

"You're not a nobody." Harry pursed his pouty lips in deep thought. "Okay, what's the question?"

I had committed most of the questions to memory but now, faced with Harry himself, none of them seemed worthy or good enough. A cold wind blew through the streets and into his lush chocolate brown locks, blowing them forward over his headscarf into a frame around his heavenly face. A question suddenly came to me. "Onstage, during your Australian tour, you began wearing a silk blue scarf around your wrist. Where did you get it and what does it mean?"

He smirked. He liked the question. He liked my question! I said something that this beautiful man liked and I am dead now. Dead.

"Louis gave me that scarf after I officially joined the band. I wear it because it reminds be that I belong to... the band."

"His approval is really important to you then?"

Harry laughed. "That's more than one question... Sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Darby, Darby Rose."

"Yes, Darby, his opinion is very important to me."

The bodyguard was actively trying to pull Harry away but he was sitting cross-legged with me on the pavement now like we were two old friends.

"Is that enough of an exclusive?"

"You're perfect-I mean it's perfect. The interview went perfectly. I just wish my stupid phone wasn't broken so I could have it on tape."

"Tell you what, Darby Rose." He pulled out his own phone. "I'll follow you on Twitter and you can DM me if you have any follow up questions."

I gave him my Twitter handle, and to see his glorious finger click on my stupid face nearly made me black out all over again.

His car had already pulled up.

"I've gotta go," he said, though he didn't move.

"It was great meeting you," I said, only now straightening up my hair and rubbing the dirt off my face. "I hope you have a great show. And I hope you wear your blue scarf. For me, my article, I mean. Or for Louis. You know, whoever."

Harry waved and was whisked away into his car. I occurred to me that he and Niall might have planned this, so that Harry could get out of the hotel unscathed-not that Niall didn't have a dizzying amount of fans, but if my experience of meeting Harry was any kind of indicator, all hell would have broken loose if he had been met by the same mob that Niall was. I probably would have been dead for real.

Though I was complexly floored by his kindness, I was sure it would all end there. There was no way he would actually remember me and take the time to respond to my questions, so I didn't bother DM'ing him.

When I got to the apartment that I shared with four other girls, I ran to my bedroom, and immediately began pounding out my article. So I only interviewed one band member and he only answered one question. It didn't matter. I landed the big fish and got a scoop that to a normal person meant nothing but would send the fandom into hysterics. And I had a operatic experience to boot: the hotel, Niall, the fangirls, the cold, Harry-the fan fiction practically wrote itself, only it wasn't fanfic, it was fucking real and it happened to me.

I finished a draft of the article at three in the morning while it was all still fresh in my mind. I then sent a flurry of emails pitching the story to every major music magazine I could think of.

I changed out of my dirty stalker clothes and took a shower. By the time I came out and got ready for bed I noticed that my inbox was full. I didn't expect to hear anything until at least the morning, maybe longer. Six magazines offered to publish the story and one, Rolling Stone, asked if I would come in for an interview.

A day ago I was unemployed without a publication credit to my name and zero prospects. Now, not only did I have my pick of places to publish my first story, but a potential job at my all time favorite magazine.

All I could think was thank you, Harry Styles.

***

Harry may have gotten my foot in the door but I kept it there. After publishing the One Direction story, I did the festival circuit in the summer, reviewing the bands at Governors Ball on Randall's Island, which was basically a mudslide with music, stackable wine and ASIADOG. Then it was onto Tennessee for Bonnaroo, where I set up camp with a bunch of freegans from Portland and showered outdoors to the distant thrum of Deadmaus. When I could find a hotspot my tweets went viral and when my tweets went viral the magazine gave me bigger and bigger assignments.

I was not surprised that One Direction had a huge press junket planned for their next tour. My boss thought I was the ideal choice to represent the magazine because a) Harry and I had met before and he followed me on Twitter, and b) I seemed to have a knack for getting personal information out of celebs by badgering them like an overcaffinated mosquito.

Unlike the other bands I covered, my boss was only interested in one thing when it came to One Direction: To get Harry or one of the other band members to confirm that he was dating Kitty Drift. I knew that this was the biggest entertainment story of the year, but it wasn't like asking about a scarf on Harry's wrist, it was his personal life. I felt sleazy doing it, especially since he'd been so kind to me.

But at the end of the day I needed this job more than I needed Harry Styles to like me.

I hadn't seen or heard from Harry since he followed me on Twitter. I wanted to tweet at him so badly but I was afraid to call attention to myself in case he unfollowed so I said nothing, silently basking in the glow of my Harry follow.

This would be my first time meeting the rest of the band face-to-face. I entered the hotel with a side bag and a latte the size of my head. I was late to the press conference and grabbed a seat in the back.

We had to take turns interviewing them upstairs in the hotel suites and the boys were separated. I would speak to Louis and Zayn first and then Niall, Harry and Liam.

I could tell immediately that Louis and Zayn were hungover. They sprawled out on the leather sofa, their heads lolling on each other's shoulders, like two naughty schoolboys. Zayn wore a faded grey tank and a leather jacket while Louis barely held it together in an Adidas hoodie and black jeans that were, unbelievably, even tighter than Harry's.

"You two look like you had a good night. Care to share?"

"Yeah, we went to the Drake show. It was sick," said Zayn.

"Did all of you go?"

"Just me, Liam and Lou here," he patted Louis' knee.

"Since you brought him up. Let's talk about Liam. What do you make of the whole Ziam Mayne phenomenon?"

"Nice segue. Real subtle," Louis retorted. He was in a mood.

Zayn humored me. "The fans are really passionate about it. The art is... pretty graphic."

"Do you like it?" I bit down on the end of my pen.

Zayn batted his long dark lashes and replied shyly, "I dunno, do you?"

The pen fell out of my mouth. "I--uh--Louis," I stammered. "You've been in a steady relationship for a while now. What's it going to be like doing another long, arduous tour? Do you get to spend much time with Eleanor when you're on the road?"

He sighed. "She comes with me when she's not in school. We make it work."

"I suppose it's harder for Harry and Kitty Drift," I slipped in casually. "She has a tour of her own. It must be difficult for them to make time for each other."

Louis' head snapped over to his manager. She motioned for him to roll with it.

"They're just good friends. If that," he said.

"A lot of people think they're more than friends."

"I don't pay attention to idle gossip."

"You think it's idle gossip?" I took a sip from my latte, which was cold and I couldn't help but wonder if Louis's icy glare had something to do with it. "They've been seen together several times..."

"Of course they've been seen together at events. They're in the same industry and on the same label."

"No, I mean at her house." As soon as I said it I knew I was totally out of line but their manager didn't interject so I kept pushing him. "Harry's car has been spotted at her L.A. home numerous times this month."

He blanched. "That's not true."

"Several outlets have-"

"I don't care! It's not true!"

Was Louis really this petty, all because Harry's girlfriend was more high profile than his? It shouldn't have surprised me. There had been rumors of a power struggle between them. Louis may have been the brains behind the band but Harry was its heart and by far the most loved.

I couldn't help but laugh. "I don't think it's too much of a stretch to believe that two gorgeous, talented singers might fall for each other."

"Kitty's not that gorgeous and she's definitely not that talented."

Meow! Thank you Louis Tomlinson for trash talking America's Sweetheart. This article was going to be bigger than I thought.

Louis rubbed his tired eyes, "Like, aren't you from a music magazine? Shouldn't you be asking us about our music?"

"I need to understand how you work before I can understand how your music works."

Zayn grinned. "I bet you say that to all the boys." He turned to Louis. "She's good."

"I shouldn't beat around the bush," I said. "Are you worried that all the press surrounding Harry is taking attention away from the band as a whole?"

"I think you've answered your own question," said Louis. "We've been here for ten minutes and that's practically all we've talked about."

"So, it does bother you?"

Zayn looked out the window like he wanted to jump, while Louis' eyes bore into mine.

"This fucking conversation is what bothers me."

I had conducted some salty interviews over the past year but had never encountered anyone as temperamental as Louis.

I pressed on. "The big question on everyone's mind is: are you worried that Harry might leave the band to pursue solo projects? Perhaps even a project with Kitty."

Louis stood up. "This interview is over. Get out."

Things fared a bit better in the other suite. These boys looked well-rested bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, even Liam who'd gone out the night before.

Liam greeted me politely with a firm handshake as did Niall, and I got a dimpled smile from Harry that nearly brought me to climax. He was wearing a scoop-neck t-shirt, the two swallows on his chest soaring above his collar. Tattoos usually made men look tougher, but Harry's only made him appear more vulnerable.

"Hello there! You're looking employed and important today," Harry exclaimed, "Darby Rose of Rolling Stone." He read aloud my press badge with emphasis and went in for a fist bump.

As I shuffled through my notes, Niall asked Harry, "Have you guys met before?"

"Yeah," he whispered, "she's the journo I met in New York in November."

"The one who doesn't tweet you?"

Both of our faces reddened. How the hell did Niall know about that? Come to think of it, how did Harry notice that I hadn't tweeted him?

I was starting to feel really guilty about what I was about to do.

"So, another stadium tour! Congratulations. I feel like you just finished your last tour."

Niall laughed under his breath. "We just did. Seriously though, we're lucky. It's been great..." He spoke in short elliptical sentences as he rattled off a list of all the new cities they'd be visiting and all the places they were eager to revisit. Niall had an encyclopedic knowledge of just about every stop on the tour. It was impressive.

Harry raised his hand and mumbled excitedly about France but the other two were talking over him.

"A lot of really amazing places," I agreed. "Bringing anyone special on tour to share in the experience?"

I could see them shifting like tennis players trying to anticipate where I might go with this line of questioning.

"Family, friends, girlfriends..."

Liam chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I'd like to bring my mates with me to Australia this time 'round. Go surfing."

"Harry, what about you? I know Kitty Drift joined you on the last tour. Will you be inviting her along on this one?"

"She came to one show."

"It must be hard to be away from a... significant other for so many months."

"Kitty and I are just friends," he volleyed back.

The dreaded "just friends" response. I was under explicit instructions to get him to say they were anything but just friends, his pat rehearsed answer for every journo he'd be seeing that day.

"Will you be watching her stint on SNL this weekend?" I asked lightheartedly.

"No."

I was losing him and the other two. They averted their eyes, stonewalling me. I needed to get them back and I wasn't going to do it by asking nicely.

I turned to Liam and Niall. "Do you two hate Kitty as much as Louis does?"

Their eyes widened.

"Louis told you that?" said Niall.

"No!" said Liam, panicking. "None of us hate Kitty. She's really lovely and she and Harry are great together."

"Liam!" Harry hissed.

"Thank you," I said smugly, scribbling in my notebook.

As I was packing up to go Harry strolled over to me. I couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed at the way I handled the interview. I hoped he wasn't too angry but from the looks of it he was fairly annoyed with me.

"I guess you got what you came for."

"I'm sorry, it wasn't like that."

"You're editor asked you to get me to admit I'm dating Kitty instead of the blanket answer I've been giving the press all year?"

"Okay, that's exactly what it's like."

"You won. You must be happy."

I fastened the latch on my bag and threw it over my shoulder.

"I'm not actually."

"Really?" he seemed genuinely puzzled.

"I'm a fan too, remember. The last thing I want to do is offend you."

He crossed his arms and gave me that signature pout that was intoxicatingly sexy and innocent at the same time.

"Don't print it," he said.

"Off the record: Why won't you just say you're together? What's the big deal?"

"We're not together." Then he looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening. "Some people just want it to look like we are."

I don't know why but I believed him.

"You're going to print the story," he said kicking the air with childish disappointment. "But I'm not a liar and I wanted to tell you the truth."

The next interviewer, a short bald man from a city paper had already taken a seat across form Liam and Niall. One of the group's managers led Harry away by the small of his back.

I slowly crept out of the room, taking a complimentary muffin and eyeing Harry as he answered many of the exact same questions with the same warm smile on his face.

It was 1:30. I was supposed to head back to the office but felt paralyzed. I had more than enough for a solid click-baity story--Louis' bitchy comments about Kitty, Liam and Niall confirming the relationship. But I couldn't shake the fact that I didn't buy it and I didn't want to run with a story I didn't believe in. Instead of heading back to the office, I whipped out my laptop and camped next to the door. The boys were in there for hours with no breaks. I had newfound respect for the work they put in to maintain this monumental brand.

Zayn and Louis left early with the frazzled blonde from management trailing after them, begging them to come back.

Louis "accidentally" kicked my laptop.

"Whoops, didn't see you there, Darcy."

I gave him the finger.

He gave me two.

When Harry did finally come out, at roughly eight in the evening, he was surprised to see me sprawled with my laptop outside the door. "It's just like old times," he said.

"Except I haven't been trampled."

"Progress."

I stood up. He was almost a foot taller than me but he was gangly and not fully in control of his limbs, so I felt taller.

"I'm not going to run the story," I said.

He shifted nervously. "No?"

"You said it's not true and I believe you."

"Is that why you stuck around? To tell me that?"

"No, I stuck around because you have to give me something better."

He bit his lip and looked up in deep thought. "I sleep naked."

"Come on, everyone knows that!" And now I was picturing him naked. Great. "You can give me dirt on someone else in the band."

"I'm not got to rat out my mates."

I held up my laptop with one hand and typed with the other. "It doesn't have to be anything bad. It just has to be interesting."

"I do have a funny story about Louis..."

"Perfect. He's the one everyone loves to hate."

"Hey!"

"Emphasis on the love."

"Well, I think this is kind of sweet but he would kill me."

"Now you have to tell me!"

He pulled me back into the suite. His hand was hot against my forearm and I was reminded of how good his touch felt. I was convinced it had healing properties.

Niall and Liam had already left. There were just some folks from their team packing up.

"You know the song he wrote called 'Right Now.'"

"Yeah, I fucking love that song. It's my jam."

"Well, he tells everyone it's about Eleanor but it's actually about his mum!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, he calls his mum every day when we're on the road. He misses her so much when she's not with him."

"I didn't know he was such a softie."

"He's the softest," Harry beamed.

I was typing furiously. This was too good. "I can see what you mean."

"It's sweet, right?"

"No, I mean he's totally going to kill you."

Harry laughed. We both looked down at the ground like we didn't know what to say next.

"Thank you for not running the other story. I know it's what your boss wanted and it's really cool of you not to do it."

"I owe you one. If it wasn't for the quote you gave me in November, I probably wouldn't have got the job in the first place."

He tucked his hands in his pockets. "You're stubborn. You would have succeeded no matter what."

"Thanks. Well, I better go. This momma's boy story isn't going to write itself. I hope we can help each other out more often." I extended my hand and he shook it. His touch was like a drug. Any excuse to touch him and I would take it.

"Until we meet again," he said. "Sorry, that sounded weird. I'm not from the 17th century."

"You could be," I said, "with that hair. A prince."

Okay that was weird. He covered his face.

I decided to spare us both any further humiliation and threw my bag over my shoulder, heading down the hall to the bank of elevators.

I stopped and turned to him. "You know, I'm still going run Louis' quote about Kitty."

"Wait, what? I thought we were friends!"

I smiled. "I'm your friend, not Tomlinson's."

He waved me off, his svelte body leaning on the doorframe. I only realized how nervous I must have been when I got in the elevator and felt my entire body relax.

When I got off the elevator I did something that was so unlike me I surprised myself. I tweeted him. "@Harry_Styles Nice chatting with you tonight. Thanks for the scoop!"

I ran to catch the subway making my way through the thick warm air and sweaty crowd. The train was packed and rattled like a rickety old rollercoaster. This was the sort of thing that would normally drive me crazy but tonight I didn't even notice. I was on such a high from talking to Harry.

I got off at my stop and ran up the subway steps, dying to get home to work on the piece. As soon as I got outside my phone was buzzing like crazy.

I looked down at my notifs.

It was Harry. As promised he had tweeted me back. "@DarbyRose pas de probleme. We make a good team."

A/N: This is a bit of a departure from the other chapters. What do you think?

What's your favorite song on MITAM? I really like If I Could Fly (excuse me while I cry forever) and A.M. but they're all SO good. Wolves is great too, and Olivia and What a Feeling!

In next week's chapter Harry, Louis and the boys go to Harry's final fitting for his wedding suit and things do not go as planned...