You were the daughter of a producer man, Your father started to set out in the boyband's world, and you decided to come along to meet and help the boys for his first boyband project to adapt to the studio.

You were older than them, from your father's words they were inbetween 17 and 19 years old, they were five boys —Niall, Harry, Zayn, Liam and Louis—, while you were 21.

That was how it all had started and now, after a year and half of their first debut in X-Factor, they had gained an enormous fame and many many fans that loved them to death. And well, then it was you, the girl that had turned into their guide and productor —after your father had decided you would do a good job with them— that they loved so dearly.

It was always fun to work with them, they were teenagers that still had their childish touch to them, and you never knew with what shenaningans they might come up with, and —of course— they also were pretty good at doing their job.

However, not everything was rainbows and cupcakes. Those singers, those boys, were still teenagers, and teenagers come with unpredictable mood swings and sudden periods of irritability.

Harry Styles, the youngest one of them —and also the clingiest—, was going through one of those right now. He was stressed because he kept failing at getting the high note right during the recording, and he was just tired and wanted to take a nap, but of course he couldn't because it was only 11 in the morning and he already wanted to go home.

After an hour of unsuccesfully trying to get the chorus right, Harry stormed out of the recording room and walked over to your desk. He sat on the puff next to you and almost immediately started to tap his fingers on your thigh, drumming his hand, like he did whenever he was either bored, stressed, anxious, overly excited, or tired.

His blue eyes were slightly hidden by his messy brown curls. And he huffed sourly when you looked down from your work at him. "hey" he pouted, grumpy and in a bad mood.