I think it’ll end up being posted tomorrow afternoon. I’ve had some issues with my phone that I needed to sort out - I went to update the software and it’s completely fucked the phone up and it won’t turn it back on or anything.
Obviously this part (and the majority of the rest of the story) still needs a high amount of editing but here’s a little, mini sneak-peek for you guys;
“Did you see us, Harry? Were you here to see it?”
“I was, I was,” he hummed softly, pressing his lips to the top of your head before you pulled away from him and found comfort in the seat beside his, “I popped out after your performance to get you girls some champagne as a well-done for doing so well. I didn’t think it was right to give you champagne from a half-opened bottle that Jeff opened when we sat down. I wanted to give you girls the opportunity to pop the cork yourself.”
“You know I love popping the corks at home,” you grinned cheekily, reaching for the neck of the bottle that was only moments ago placed on the tabletop, a smirk on your face as you spun on your heels and hollered quietly to the four girls finding comfort in their seats beside their loved ones, “girls, Harry brought us champagne to drink. Let’s pop this bad-boy open and sit back until our nominations.”
“Cheers, Harry,” Jesy grinned, reaching over and squeezing his forearm in a thankful manner, a twinkle in her eyes as she watched you pop the cork.
“You’re welcome, ladies,” he stated warmly, falling to his seat and pulling one out for you, “come and sit down. Make yourselves comfortable,” he suggested, watching as you took the seat between him and Perrie, Alex on her other side that lead round towards Leigh-Anne and Jade and Jesy, “excited for your nominations tonight? How many are you up for again?”
“Three. Group, Single and Video. Which One Direction are also nominated for. So, expect to sleep over the sofa tonight if you win,” you teased cheekily, squeezing his thigh playfully as you looked up towards him and nudged your nose to his cheek. The feeling of his slight stubble tickling and scratching at the tip of your nose, “I’m not joking either, Styles. I can’t deal with your big-head boasting about another win.”