My hands are clammy, gripping the karaoke microphone. Me, the Harry Styles is nervous to sing at an after party? When I've sang to sold out arenas?

Crazy.

See, the thing is, I've had my eyes on you for awhile. You come to shows, hangout backstage with us. We played drunk jenga once and one of the blocks that I picked from the tower said I had to kiss the prettiest girl in the room. You best believed I kissed you. Louis wasn't so happy, he scolded my ear off that night, and that might happen to be because you're his sister.

As in, he's protective of you because you're younger than him.

...Whoops!

The prolonged glances in your direction, the secret flower deliveries to your name, it's all just playing Russian roulette with my life if Louis were to find out.

Louis doesn't know about my crush on you, gosh he'd kill me—and find a damn creative way to do so. He'd probably make it slow and torturous too instead of short n'sweet.

Niall knows. I've spent one too many late nights laying on the bed in his hotel room on my stomach with my legs kicking in the air, going on about the way you looked at me that day, or if another guy had tried to hit on you.

Gosh, I really am in love.

Now, we were at an awards show after party. You came along, obviously. Despite not being in the band, you were always around, which I personally loved, Louis not so much. Alcohol was buzzing through my veins, impairing both my judgement and coordination, and making me appear more confident than ever before. Niall pushed me up to the karaoke microphones with a cunning look in his eyes, shining with amusement. I was far past gone to object, just going along with it. Climbing onto the table meant to be a makeshift stage—I stumble a little and nearly knock my head on the chandelier above.

Ah, that guitar riff. I Was Made for Lovin' You by KISS. The distinctive chugging rhythm, repetitive E minor chord.

"Mmm, yeah" I slur into the microphone, basically making out with the windscreen of the instrument with my inability to hold it at a reasonable distance. "Ha"

My foot taps against the wood of the table to the 32 do, do, do's before the actual singing comes into play. I can't see you anywhere in the crowd, I hope Niall's living up to his promise of rounding you up to see this. After all, it's dedicated to you. "Tonight... I wanna give it all to you." Please show up, I silently pray. "In the darkness. There's so much I wanna do." I continue, growing more anxious with every second you aren't here. "And tonight. I wanna lay it at your feet. 'Cause, girl, I was made for you. And, girl, you were made for me."

There. Niall pushes through the crowds of people with you following after him. Some of the crowd stubbornly refuse to move, so you're left about four rows back, but that's all that matters because I can see you, you can see me.

"I was made for lovin' you, baby. You were made for lovin' me." I begin the chorus with more enthusiasm now that you're in my sight. There's a look of surprise on your face and I can feel Louis glaring daggers at me on my left as he can definitely see my loving stare directed at only you. "And I can't get enough of you, baby. Can you get enough of me?"

I jump down from the table with a large thud, stumbling through the throng of people to you. Microphone still in hand, song still playing. Suddenly I'm halted—mic cords at it's max. I drop it carelessly, the sound reverberating ear piercingly loud through the speakers as it hits the polished hardwood floor. My only worry—getting to you. My arms are outstretched and soon enough you're in arms reach.

My hands slide over your flushed cheeks, cupping your face into my hands and I press my lips to yours. The taste of some cheap tequila from a haphazard concoction invades your mouth from my own. "{{user}}" I whisper breathlessly as we part. Nothing else matters—not the fact that Louis is gonna chase me around the hotel with a cleaver later, not the fact we're at an after party with plenty of other celebrities. You. You matter.