One direction meet and greet soldier field

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one direction meet and greet soldier field

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Neither of them knew how to talk about it. They'd ignored it until they couldn't anymore, and once it was over all that was left, for so long, was day after day of trying so hard and failing not to make it worse.

At some point, arguing became the only way they knew how to talk to each other, and all their sharp, painful, ugly parts had been exposed in the worst ways. Harry likes to think it's settled, now. The pain has faded. Harry has a home in Los Angeles and a part of his life there that Louis's never touched. Louis has a football team and most of the writing credit on their albums.

Harry's recovered enough to have got his heart broken by someone else. And on the rare occasion when one or both of them is drunk or over-tired and they wind up somewhere private pressed together knees to mouth, it almost doesn't even hurt. They've learned to be mates again, good ones, even. Ninety-nine percent of the time Harry's happy with the way things are. It's just that sometimes he thinks he'd appreciate a little closure, so that he can stop choking on all these ghosts he breathing.

Mostly, Harry tries to not be alone. They go clubbing after a concert in Texas, where it's mid-October and chilly out, misty with rain. Harry hasn't been laid in a few weeks and he's been in a horny sort of mood since he stepped on stage. He dances with everyone he can, drinks and flirts and snogs a pretty blond girl in a dark corner for a bit.

It's fun and hot and gets him riled up, and he's about to suggest that they meet up in Harry's hotel room when a very drunk Niall slams into his back, laughing, and Harry gets distracted doing tequila shots with him and Zayn and Sandy instead. When Paul rounds them up a little after three in the morning, they're all three sheets to the wind and probably a lot more trouble than they're worth. Harry takes the stairs with Preston, because he wants to, and when he stumbles into his suite some twenty minutes later, the adjoining door between his room and the one next door is open and Louis is on his bed.

He's on all fours, rifling through Harry's luggage, wearing an oversized t-shirt that's seen better days and a pair of grey boxer-briefs that stretch tight over his thighs and round bum. Louis looks round at him and his face breaks into a happy smile, expression so reminiscent of a Louis from years past that it makes Harry's stomach flutter. Everything's fuzzy and bright around the edges, the lamp from the bedside table making everything glow in the shadows.

Louis's unfolding all of Harry's stuff, carelessly tossing it everywhere to get at whatever he's looking for. Harry should be proper angry with him. Instead he toes off his shoes and strips down until he's naked, feels his blood thrum hot in his veins from the way Louis's looking at him, frozen where he sits and too blitzed to school his features into the casual disinterest he usually sports whenever he looks at Harry.

Harry wets his lips and crosses clumsily over to the bed, the room spinning. He reclines against the pillows and folds his arms under his head, regarding Louis with growing interest. His dick is half-hard in his pants, and Louis's swallowed up in the t-shirt he's wearing, collarbones on display. Louis doesn't usually wear a top to bed. He just knows what Harry likes. This is a setup and not even a well done one but Harry doesn't care, wants it so bad he can taste it. Harry has to fight through the fog to remember the question he asked just a second ago, and Louis's already explaining by the time he catches up.

one direction meet and greet soldier field

You used to pack some of that, like, that numbing stuff for me. Was lookin' for it. His packing routine hasn't changed since the X Factor tour, and Louis's always had a love for sweets, an oversensitive molar and a complete inability to be sensible and go to Boots and buy some of the ointment himself.

He wonders if Louis still carries around an inhaler like he used to in case Harry's anxiety gets the better of him. They've always been good at taking care of each other, always a bit shit at taking care of themselves.

Louis must decide to give up on his bullshit story, because he shoves Harry's clothes messily back into the suitcase, zips it up and shoves it onto the floor. It hits the carpet with a heavy whump. Louis crawls up the bed to sit on his knees at Harry's side, facing him. His eyes are dilated, cheeks red, his expression thoughtful. His voice is way too casual.

He's jealous as shit and that shouldn't make want coil up hot in Harry's belly, but it does. She was, like, really hot. He rubs his cheek against his arm and curls the fingers of one hand into his own hair, tugs a little just to feel the pull. Louis's watching him and Harry likes it. Louis's tongue swipes over his bottom lip and his hands clench at his knees. Harry's seen that look on him so many times, knows exactly how turned on Louis is, maybe just from Harry's voice alone.

Did you just, like. You were hidden really well. Did you just kiss her? I almost brought her back here. One of his hands finds Harry's leg over the duvet and stays there, fingers curling in. Harry loops his own around Louis's wrist, strokes his thumb over the inside and presses down to feel his pulse race.

It's been months since he's had Louis this close. If you brought her here. His mouth feels dry and he wets his throat before he answers. Made her tits look really good. He unfolds his other arm from behind his head and palms over his crotch above the duvet, adjusting himself, rubbing just a bit.

He's hard and the memory of the girl, of her smooth skin and wet mouth and pretty laugh, is getting him hot. Louis watching him is getting him hotter. Wanted to see 'em. Would've pulled the strap of her dress down. She wasn't wearing a bra an' I could feel her nipples and I just wanted to taste 'em. He's so fucking hot, has always been so hot. Harry tugs on his arm, half-dreading Louis's reaction, but Louis doesn't pull away, doesn't laugh at Harry like this was all a joke.

Instead, he tugs his t-shirt off and pulls the duvet down so Harry's cock is bared, hard and red against his belly, and straddles Harry's lap.

Louis lines their groins up and Harry arches his back and grips at Louis's hips. Louis's breathing is slow and heavy. He rests his hands on Harry's shoulders, massaging where Harry's muscles tend to knot up around the base of his neck.

He tilts his head to the side and Harry has an almost desperate urge to sit up, sink his teeth into Louis's neck hard enough to leave a bruise because he knows Louis loves it. Instead he slides his hands up Louis's flank, thumbs over his little nipples and rocks his hips up when Louis gasps for him.

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He sits up properly in Harry's lap, rests his hands on Harry's chest and rolls his hips in circles, sloppy, thoughtless, like he's not aware he's doing it.

There's a small wet stain on his pants where the head of his dick is.

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Bet she would've been tight. Bet it'd been a while since she'd had anything inside her. He grips Louis's full arse in both hands and grinds up against him, cock shoving into Louis's balls through cotton. Louis's so fucked up and Harry doesn't know why, has never understood what it is inside him that makes him find it so much easier to project himself on a girl Harry met in a club instead of just admitting what he wants. What it says about Harry that he's so willing to play along if it means he gets this.

It's hard to breathe, air so thick and hot between them. He spreads his legs a bit more so Louis's in the cradle of his thighs and Harry's prick is rubbing over his arse.

Louis's cheeks are so flushed and his bottom lip pink and swollen from worrying it between his teeth. Harry cups the back of his neck and pulls him down, kisses him slow and wet on the mouth and whispers in his ear, "Would feel so good, yeah? Fingers up inside her, make her come like that, get my hand wet. His breath catches in his throat. He's trying so hard to keep quiet but he lets out a broken sound when Harry's hand slips into the back of his briefs.

His voice is husky soft and hot. Make her come on your big dick. Eat her out 'til she comes all over my face," Harry says. He touches the pad of his forefinger to the tight rim of Louis's hole and Louis sobs out a breath, squirming away and then pressing back into it. The spot on the front of his pants is getting bigger. He takes one hand off Harry's chest to start rubbing at himself through his underwear and Harry nearly loses it just like that.

Louis's sweating, hair damp and skin shining in the lamp light. His thighs are clenching on either side of Harry's hips. Harry rubs his fingertips over Louis's rim again, pulls to feel his hole stretch a bit. Louis goes tense all over and his mouth goes slack when he comes, cock jerking in his pants, so much jizz that the grey cotton is nearly transparent by the time he's done.

He pulls his hand out of Louis's briefs and pulls them down, out of the way, and grabs his hips again, fucks up against the swell of Louis's bare arse as hard as he can in jerky rough thrusts. His fingers get wet with it and find Louis's hole again, press against his rim and then inside when Louis doesn't tell him to stop. Louis's lets out a little whimper when Harry pushes his come in, so hot it sends Harry into aftershocks.

He hasn't come this hard in years. In the daze that follows he doesn't remember falling asleep. When he wakes up the next morning he's clean, tucked securely under the duvet, and the only evidence that Louis was ever there at all is the the rumpled t-shirt on the floor. Louis's taken to magic tricks lately. It's his new on tour hobby, perfecting his sleight of hand. He's shit at it, but none of the boys have the heart to break it to him, so they all spend a fair amount of time having coins and rubber bounce balls and other small trinkets pulled out from behind their ears.

He's got a line of black permanent marker along the side of his hand and his eye crinkles up at the corner when he winks at Niall next to him. Niall holds very still and affects a worried expression, and when Louis gives one last tug Niall gamely jerks a bit in the opposite direction, like it's knocked him off balance.

The fans laugh and cry, a little bit, some of them. Louis makes a show of wiping the pen off on his jumper.

Should see to that, Neil. Harry returns his attention to the small girl standing in front of him, holding a CD tight to her chest and looking at him with huge brown eyes.

He smiles at her. I like your sparkly shirt! Her name is Mira and she has a glittery cat on her shirt. Harry asks her how her day is going, and what her favorite song off the album is, and she answers in a little voice that he can't really hear very well, but he smiles and nods along anyway.

He passes the CD along to Niall once he's signed it, and does a bit of a double take when he notices the huge greeting card shaped like a plaster that Louis's holding on Niall's other side. It's purple with hearts and glitter and Louis's name is in big block letters.

Harry can't see what it says inside, as Louis's just closed it. Harry turns away, suddenly light-headed. He forces a smile when Zayn pats him comfortingly on the back During the first few days that Louis was in intensive care, and Harry and the lads were spending nearly every moment in awful silence hunkered down in a private waiting room, Zayn's clothes had still been absolutely drenched in Louis's blood. But it was the way the red had soaked into the white top Louis'd been wearing on stage that Harry hadn't been able to get out of his head.

When Harry was six, his mum went through an art phase, and he and his sister spent a lot of time on the kitchen floor finger painting. He'd loved the mess of it, his palms green and purple and muddy, bright streaks of color on a big sheet of white paper in front of him.

Gemma had been a perfectionist, took it so seriously the way she did most things, and one time when Harry had drawn sloppy hearts in muddy purple around Gemma's blue handprint she'd angrily shoved his arms away. Back when he and Louis were living together and still fooling around, they once picked up flavoured body paint at a sex shop and Harry's canvas was Louis, spread out for him and laughing, cheeks flushed and hands above his head and his legs open.

It was a lot easier to draw on Louis's skin and make it beautiful, and when Harry curled a bright pink handprint inside the sharp wing of Louis's hipbone, Louis didn't shove him away like Gemma did. To this day whenever Harry thinks about what happened, it starts with finger painting, and the handprint he left on Louis's belly, and gory red blooms on Louis's t-shirt while sixty thousand people screamed. It's always the start of the spiral of things Harry would give his soul to not have to remember: Harry looks back round to see Louis taking a picture with the girls, card held out in front of him.

His smile is sharper than it used to be, doesn't make Harry weak at the knees the way it once did, but it still takes his breath away for all the same reasons. And for a few new ones, too. Their mandatory psychologist, called Eric, is a very nice guy that Harry reckons is probably in his mid-forties. He's very laid back and has an intensely soothing voice. He's tall and a bit round and wears square black glasses. He has a pointed nose and ruddy cheeks and a well-kept beard.

This time last year, all four of them were seeing him separately for an hour and a half at least once a week and together every Thursday. When Louis was out of the hospital, he started up too. Harry isn't very good at talking about his feelings but Eric, he discovered, is very good at his job. Most of Harry's sessions were spent talking about everything else, until Harry's heart was so open already that it was easy to quietly delve into the parts that hurt.

He didn't make it out of a single one of them without a shedding a few years. Before the Chicago show, Eric is flown in to meet with them. They've got a one day break, but they're spending it at the hotel, and Paul escorts each of them to their semi-formal appointment to make sure they go.

Eric's room looks the exact same as Harry's, but instead of the pool it has a view of the busy street outside where a crowd of fans has lined up. They're sat on the floor, playing Double Solitaire.

The cards are brand new from the hotel gift shop and they smell intensely of plastic. They've been making small talk, but after about half an hour, Eric says, "So, Soldier Field tomorrow. He tries to think of the best answer to the question. He slept really well last night on the bus but he feels exhausted just being here. Honestly he'd be happy to never set foot in this city again, let alone play the same stadium. Honestly, he's been afraid all week that every time he opens his mouth what's going to come out is a scream.

A bit shit, I guess. That wasn't very helpful. He's been scratching at his arm under the elbow compulsively the last few days. The skin is red and raw but he can't seem to make himself stop. If Eric notices he doesn't say anything. I don't really know what to say. I'll make millions of pounds selling the story to the tabloids no matter what. They're almost finished with the game, just three cards left between them.

Harry puts the second four of diamonds down, and Eric the second three of Clubs, and Harry the second two of Hearts. The chain is facing Eric, so he slides them all up into a neat stack next to the others. Harry automatically grabs one of them to start sorting the two decks. I'm worried about all of us.

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His face isn't shocked at all. If nothing else Harry is a grade A worrier.

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We're all a little nuts lately. Most of us, I mean," he amends. He's not looking at Harry. That he seems fine? I used to be able to read him so well, y'know?

one direction meet and greet soldier field

And right now he seems totally fine, but I just I have this feeling. The cards are all packed away, boxes neatly stacked. Harry has the strangest desire to pick them up and hurl them at the wall. If it had happened to you, rather than him, I imagine he'd be much less stable. I suppose 'stable' is a relative term. I think he's frustrated with all of us. We've been a bit suffocating the last week or so.

I think he understands, or at least he's trying, but he doesn't—he can't, really. He won't ever be able to. Eric is watching him closely without being unnerving. Harry almost asks him how long it took for him to learn to do that. Eric goes on before he can think of any sort of response.

But it's not really them we do it for. It's for the people left behind. A closure, a very necessary closure, for the people left behind" "Uh, yeah. I guess, yeah," Harry says, nodding, hat threatening to fall off his head.

one direction meet and greet soldier field

Eric waves a dismissive hand lethargically. Prince Louis can suck it up and deal with it. He wishes he had something to do with his hands other than pull at his necklaces. It's quiet for a while, though not awkward. Harry looks down at his hands to find them trembling.

And me and Louis are so, like. I'm afraid he's not all right. Who are you to take over ownership of his emotions? And hey, it's human nature to put everything in the perspective of you. But keep in mind that your particular brand of worries and fears and feelings aren't necessarily the same as Louis's, and that's okay.

You're not doing anything wrong, even though it feels like it. The best thing you can do for him is to just be there, as cliche as it sounds. Be there if he wants to talk, or if he wants to yell, or if he wants to sit quietly and tape his hand to his ankle. And the very best thing you can do for everyone is to make sure you take care of yourself. I don't think that I would handle it very well.

If I lost him. Harry supposes he can do that much. Taking the stage at Soldier Field hurts in ways Harry hadn't even dreamed possible. He has no recollection of traveling back to the hotel, or walking to his room, but he barely makes it to the toilet before he throws up until he's dry heaving, stomach cramping painfully. When he's done he feels weighed down and gross and numb to his bone marrow. He takes a shower that's as close to scalding as he can get it, scrubs until his skin is bright pink, accidentally washes his hair twice.

He dries off and cleans his teeth, turns the lights off and climbs into bed. He feels like he's going to spontaneously combust, or maybe shrivel up into nothing but bone, like there's too much inside him and he can't get out, too lost to find his way, digging through an avalanche. And then the air conditioner clicks on and like it was a sign from God, Harry loses what precarious control he had over himself.

The tears come so fast that he can't breathe, chokes on sobs already ripping out of his chest. He covers his mouth with his hand and pulls his knees in, half turns to shove his face into the pillow to muffle the noise.

He cries harder than he ever has, even when Louis was in the hospital, even when they were sure he wasn't going to survive. He feels broken and hurt and relieved and terrified, feels like he's coming undone at the seams and is helpless to do anything about it. He knows he's being loud but he can't control it, finds himself screaming into the pillow over and over until his throat feels like it's on fire.

At some point, the door opens and then closes but he doesn't lift his head, couldn't even if he wanted to, wracked with sobs and weak from the strain. There's new weight on the bed and warm hands touch his back, and then his shoulder and the side of his neck. Oh, sweetheart," Louis murmurs, and the sound of his voice just makes Harry cry harder, until he feels like he's going to be sick. Louis curls around his back, forcing an arm between Harry and the mattress to wrap around him properly, Harry's back tight to his chest.

He kisses the back of Harry's shoulders and the nape of his neck while Harry clutches Louis's hand against his chest, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to say something - anything - but he can't stop crying like the world is ending long enough to get a word out. When he finds the strength, seconds or minutes or hours later, he turns in the circle of Louis's arms and tucks his face into his neck, trembling so hard the bed is shaking too.

His heart is beating a little too fast and he's warm like a furnace and Harry can't seem to pull any air into his lungs. Just breathe, Starshine, there we are. He has no idea how much time has passed.

The chest of Louis's t-shirt is soaked with tears and snot and drool. Harry doesn't have the willpower to even lift his head, but he pushes the cotton he'd been biting down on out of his mouth with his tongue and says, "Sorry. It hurts to keep his eyes open, so he lets them close. He's stroking Harry's hair with just the right amount of pressure on his scalp to soothe the throb in Harry's head. Harry feels like he's a million miles from earth.

It's not what he meant to say, but once it's out he realizes he's curious. These aren't thin walls, and Louis's room is across the hall. Louis's lets out a breathy laugh. He doesn't remember that at all. We had to skip the encore. With monumental effort he uses his fingers to push Louis's t-shirt up a bit and curls his palm over the wide patch of scar tissue on his belly.

He remembers finger painting with Gemma. No, Harry, that's mine. His eyes are prickling again. Louis's pinches his side. When he wakes up, his eyelashes are stuck together and tacky and he feels like he's been run over, but for the first time in years Louis is still in bed with him in the morning.

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He looks good in the sunlight, propped up on the pillows, lines on his face from the sheets and his hair tousled. The t-shirt and pyjama bottoms he was wearing last night are on the floor. He's got circles under his eyes like he hasn't slept much, but the smile that quirks his mouth when he sees that Harry's awake is honest.

Harry's eyes must be swollen, he can't open them all the way. He must look a mess. Harry snorts, sits up gingerly. He's sore, and a bit uncertain. When he apologizes again it's a weak joke and Louis makes an exasperated sound and kicks him in the leg. Harry catches his foot, rings his thumb and forefinger around Louis's ankle. There's a lump in his throat when he ducks his head and presses a kiss to the inside of Louis's calf. I've never loved anything the way I loved you, he thinks.

I'll never love anyone the way I could love you again, if you wanted. He stares at the textured ceiling and tries to keep his chin from trembling. I was so jealous of Zayn, those first few days.

D'you know he still has nightmares? Wakes up and has to shower like he's still covered in--"" "I know," Louis cuts him off quietly. Harry doesn't know whether he should be surprised or not.

Wonders if Zayn's confided in him or if Louis's just been awake to hear on the nights it happens. Louis clears his throat. Being jealous of Zayn. Maybe it's not like, rational, but not selfish.

There might have been a rumor about them taking a break from touring innowadays. Regardless of the truth, it is still all the more reason for you not to miss this year tour. Since it is a tour we are talking about here, there are many concerts that have been done by this band of cool and talented men. Seeing them perform on the stage is a chance that might not come by easily. They have many fans around the world after all. Surely, it is not that easy to obtain the tickets to watch them, especially when you take your time too long just to think about it.

It was done from December 18, to July 1, There were 53 shows; 23 in Europe, 5 in Oceania, and 25 in North America. This tour was associated with Up All Night album. Yes, the setlist of this tour was the songs of that very first album. Started from February 23, to November 3,this second tour had its shows in total. One Direction performed 69 shows in total with 28 European shows, 31 North American shows, and 10 South American shows. Upcoming Events It has started from February 7, How long will it be?

Sure, there are lots of cities, venues, and dates for this world tour other than that. Now then, does this review convince you enough to make you buy the ticket now? Seeing One Direction performs in concert will be one amazing experience you will ever feel and see. However, if you want to see it more in arranged way, we have the schedule here at Main Event Specials for each date.

It contains the exact information, like the time and the location of the show. Sure, we are where you can buy the ticket to watch their tour.

We do have good deals and packages you can consider.