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oghoneytryst · 5 years

Text

surprise;

continuation from the sunflower. series / part 2

where harry visits a fan at her little home to surprise her with a much needed gift.

a/n: hey so I had this up for an hour before deleting it because I'm testing something out concerning tumblr’s shit system so let me know what u think, hope u enjoy. happy reading! :~)

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- November 4 -

Insisting that the scorching weather in Los Angeles is unbearable for a woman in her situation, she begs her roommate to do the grocery shopping this week.

“Please don’t take long,” she tells him from the front door, Aaron, as he descends the outside staircase. His body plops with every step down, his back to her as she continues. “I’m really hungry. Wait, get some pistachio ice cream!”

“Pistachio?” Aaron stops mid-step and turns around with a disgusted look. “Since when have you liked pistachio? Have you ever even eaten it before?”

She mumbles something incoherent to him, then scoffs at his interrogation. “Don’t judge! Do you really want to upset my unborn child over their strange eating habits?”

Her roommate rolls his eyes. It annoys him every time she plays the pregnancy card, but he has failed to realize that she only does so because she knows it ticks him off. Either way, he can’t find the courage to argue with a pregnant woman.

He turns back around. “Of course not.” His body continues to flop in an unattractive manner all the way to the ground. He tips his head from side to side as his roommate continues to list some more requests.

“...And don’t forget the avocados!”

“Avocados are expensive. Do you have avocado money?”

“Thank you!” She ignores his question as he rounds the corner to the garage. “I appreciate it. A lot! Drive safe! Don’t forget the Twizzlers!”

The woman steps into the confinements of her home before Aaron can shout back another remark. She pulls the creaky gate in with her and locks it into place. To complement its security, she pushes the front door shut as well. The double protection had been a hassle when she had first moved in, but now she’s grown to depend on the extra safety measures.

A warm breath exhales from her chapped lips. The open window behind the couch lets in a gentle breeze from time to time, but it still isn’t enough to cool her down. The ventilation system in their unit is disappointing, but the roommates deal with it instead of investing a couple hundred dollars for a new one.

The woman leisurely moves to the kitchen, bare feet sticking to the floorboards. Her skin sweats and burns in this simmering Sunday heat; with the end of her tank top in a clump just below her chest, her hand protects the bare expanse of her belly. In spite of having just sent her roommate off to the store, she inspects every crook and cranny of the kitchen for something to satisfy her cravings.

Minutes and minutes pass. She stands on her tip-toes, stretches her neck up to the highest shelf of a cabinet, when the doorbell resonates against the walls. She closes the cabinet and presses her heels back on the floor, her face in a twist at the unfamiliar sound. Infrequently does anyone ever use the doorbell, neither her nor her roommate having invited guests in the past few months of sharing the space.

“Yes, of course, not like you have a key!” she exclaims, moving to unlock the door. She assumes that it is Aaron, as the neglecting man that he is sometimes. “Did you somehow forget that with your wallet again?”

The woman pulls open the door with a knowing look on her face. She wants to be playful in the reprimand toward her grumpy roommate, give him a tut-tut for being so unorderly, though they both know that she isn’t any better. In place of this, her eyes settle on an all-too-familiar face.

The man in front of her juts his bottom lip out, eyes squinting from the sun, designer sunglasses hanging from the collar of his refine white shirt. “Uh...” He begins to pat himself down, hands at a feel for every inch of his body before pulling out a folded leather wallet from the pocket of his trousers. He presents it to her with an “Ah!” and a flashy smile, two fingers pinching the expensive material. “No. I’ve got it right here.”

A gaping look replaces the woman’s previous smirk. Her body freezes in this burning heat, even with her skin sizzling to a sweaty warmth. Her jaw slightly drops, but the bulge of her eyes and the absence of her words properly depicts her internal reaction. She swears she had even heard herself gasp the second her mind came to terms with his presence.

“Hi there,” Harry says. He slips his wallet back into his pockets and titters, entertained by her physical response. “Erm ... are you ... are you alright?”

She doesn’t snap out of her embarrassing daze until his rich accent pronounces her name. Her eyes blink, her head shakes, and her mouth quickly shuts before it can ramble on as it usually does. She looks at him the same way she had at the diner two Fridays ago – cautiously, as though she cannot trust her own vision.

“Harry?” she croaks out, afraid that the realization will somehow cause him to fade away, as if he doesn’t exist.

“Yeah.” He bows his head proudly. “That’s me.”

“That’s ... what ... what in the...”

She tries to speak, but with her tongue as her foe, a momentary silence ensues. A breeze sweeps by and only then does she notice a chill on her bare belly. While the rest of her appearance is ungodly, she is primarily self-conscious over the swell of her stomach.

“Sorry if it’s the bad time to stop by.” Harry breaks the silence, trying his best to ignore the way she discreetly rolls her tank top back down. The material stretches over her growing shape, but there’s not much of a difference since he’s last seen her. “I’m actually really glad that I’ve managed to catch you. I rang the doorbell a couple of times in the last week and no one’s answered.”

“You ... what? The what?”

She puts a limit on her lexicon by repeating herself so much, but it is really the only word that seems to make sense in this moment: what? What is Harry Styles doing at her front door, dropping by as if the two had been life-long friends? What does he mean he’s rang the doorbell a couple of times in the past week?

The conversation is rather strange with the gate locked between them, but she can’t begin to think that it had been normal in the first place. She can’t even believe that he remembers her name, let alone where she lives, though perhaps he’d gotten it off of his driver’s GPS that one night. His letter and autograph had been enough to satisfy her daydreams, but this continuation has her head spinning right off.

Harry smiles bashfully to the floor. “I should explain myself then?”

“I mean...” she lets out an incredulous laugh. “If that’s – if you want to, sure, that’d be ... wow.”

“Wow?”

“Wow. Wow, I can’t believe this is happening and I don’t even know why it’s happening. And you’ve – wow. You’ve been here a couple of times in the past week? And no ... no one’s answered?”

“That’s correct,” Harry confirms, clasps his hands behind him. “Startin’ to think you’ve moved somewhere else.”

She snorts quietly at the idea. “In the span of a week?”

“Eh, a week and a couple days.”

“Ah, now that definitely makes more sense.”

“Alright, alright.” Harry chuckles and holds his hands up in a lazy surrender. “It wasn’t the smartest thought I’ve ever had, I know. Was just a strange coincidence, is all.”

“It is really strange. I’m usually here when I’m not at work.”

The color of Harry’s cheeks suddenly spread to a light pinkish shade. His avoids eye contact as his lips purse, the revelation confirming that he is a harmless idiot. He hopes that it goes unnoticed by her, but her hands wrap curiously around the thin bars of the upper gate.

“Did you forget that I have work?”

“...Depends what time you have work.”

“Your usual nine to five, although sometimes it can be up to six, maybe even later.”

“Hmm.” Harry takes in this information with a neutral mien. When he looks up at her eyes sparkling in delight, he tries so hard to conceal his growing smile. “Then yes, it did slip from my mind that you might have work to attend.”

Her laughter is a high-pitch, unattractive outburst that echoes in her ears. She clamps her mouth shut when she hears the strange howl and muffles it with her hand. “Sorry, that’s not funny,” she says, her eyes now apologetic. “I mean, it is funny, but probably not that funny ... you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Sure. If you want to laugh at me, it’s fine. I can take it.”

He declares the last sentence rather dramatically, clutching onto his heart and leaning his head back to the skies. Pretend sobs distort his face until the hysterics turn into genuine laughter. She mirrors his elation, the rays of the sun blinding every feature of his except for those lovely two front teeth.

She releases the bars of the gate, her hands tainted by tiny specks of dirt. “No, no, I’m sorry. I really appreciate that you went out of your way to be here.” She begins to unlock the gate when she notices that its barrier may indicate a distrust in him, or perhaps be even just a bit rude. In all honesty, she’d forgotten that it had even been there to begin with. Their conversation is such a dream to her that it is a distraction from everything else.

“Except, um ... I really don’t know why you’re here. It’s great that you are! I just don’t – oh, wait, I forgot something in the car, didn’t I? Was it my planner? I don’t use it as often as I should, that’s probably not smart of me, but it’s so forgettable sometimes—”

Her ramble cuts off when she pushes open the gate, Harry side-stepping to his right. On the floor of the balcony rests a large thing behind him that takes up most of the minimal space available. A clear plastic wrap protects the strange shapely thing, but through the transparency, she can see that it is a pale-blue color.

“Uh, no...” Harry stands tall and grins proudly at the little crease in her brow. “You didn’t forget anything.”

“Oh ... then it must be still in my bag.”

“Yeah, probably, but I did come to bring you something.”

The woman raises her attention up from the thing to look at Harry. Her face illustrates surprise as much as it does awe. “Bring me something? Bring ... for me? Wh—” She points downward, which elicits a suppressed giggle from him. “That? This? It’s for me?”

“Yes, it’s for you.”

Her bare feet stay frozen on the ground, but she leans her body forward to further inspect his gift. “What is it? I mean, thank you so much, that’s really nice of you, but ... what is it?”

Harry gives in; a chuckle vibrates through his chest. He suddenly notices how often it happens when he’s with her. She has some sort of energy that radiates positivity and optimism. It is a natural charm of hers, one that she doesn’t quite know she has.

“It’s a pregnancy pillow.”

The woman opens her mouth in shock, the strange shape suddenly beginning to make sense. “A what?” she whispers, holding a hand to her chest as the other dangles in the open air. The individual aspects of her face all seem to collectively light up: eyes bright, mouth open, cheeks lifting.

“Erm, it’s a pillow for pregnant woman to sleep—”

“Oh my god.” She laughs. “I know what it is! Why’d you ... what’s it doing here?”

Harry watches as she marvels over the plush and lengthy pillow from a short distance. He becomes a little shy as he explains himself, but it is nothing that he cannot conceal.

“You mentioned that you hate not being able to sleep on your back. I figured you needed as much comfort as you could possibly get at a time like this.”

A tiny “Oh,” slips from her mouth in the most delicate way possible, floating through the waves of the air. Her heart has some sort of queasy sensation, one that flutters and expands.

She doesn’t say any more. Her throat closes as the water in her eyes bundles up. She scoffs at herself in shame when the first tear falls. There had been a number of things in her first trimester that had caused her to weep, both significant and pointless. A couple of weeks into her second, she now has her emotions under control. However, this surprise of his is so simple yet so remarkably wonderful that it transforms her into an absolute mess in front of the person she looks up to the most.

A worrisome frown begins to mold over Harry’s eager grin. He looks back-and-forth from his gift to her teary demeanor. His hand invades the space between them, protecting her from the harmless pillow on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t ... s’ it okay? Is it the wrong shape or something? I got the C one cos’ I wasn’t sure if the U-shape was too large, but maybe you can have more of a variety with that one? If you’d like, I can return it and—”

“No,” she cries and interrupts his mini spiel. “No, it’s great!”

“Great?” he echoes, still unconvinced. “Are you sure? I can exchange it for another one if it’s not, maybe a different color?”

“Yes! I mean – no. Yes, it’s perfect, and no, the color is fine.”

“...Why’re you crying then?”

Her back straightens as she looks into his green eyes of concern. Her vision is a tad hazy, all thanks to this predicament of hers, but she has otherwise never seen a moment more clearly.

“Because this is the nicest thing anyone could ever do for me,” she answers, which causes Harry to finally relax. His arms fall to his side, his hands disappearing into his pockets as she tells him, “I love it. Thank you, Harry.”

“S’ my pleasure,” he sheepishly mumbles.

He is quiet, but loud enough to hear amid the normally hectic neighborhood. Where there is often a jumble of background noise – birds chirping, cars honking, music blasting – the two of them stand in silence. She becomes aware of how this is another one of their moments, if she can even acknowledge it as such a thing. There have only been two encounters, but in both there is a pause neither too natural nor too awkward.

“Um...” She sniffles. Her mind begins to tick, precious time of hers going to waste. “Do you want ... would you like to come inside maybe? If you’re not busy with anything else?”

Her sentence trails off in a manner of uncertainty. She suggests it spontaneously, but her better judgement seems to harshly awaken her from the fantasy she resides in. She has just invited Harry Styles into her home, a ridiculous request that receives a reluctant response.

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but a strange noise croaks from his throat instead. She fears what he must be thinking about. Is it a genuine excuse or a respectful decline to her offer? It makes her nervous either way.

“You don’t have to,” she quickly adds. “If you’re busy, that’s completely fine. I definitely understand. This was very nice of you, thank you so—”

“I’m not – sorry.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m not busy. I’d love to come inside, but I’m a little concerned for your roommate’s privacy. Wouldn’t want to intrude their space.”

The pregnant woman eases with a calm smile. With the exception of forgetting her work schedule, she realizes how attentive Harry is. He remembers her name, remembers where she lives – again, with the exception that perhaps he had obtained this information from his driver – and he remembers how she had mentioned once that she hated not being able to sleep on her back. Despite never once having met her roommate, he remembers that detail too.

“Their space is my space and you’re not intruding at all. Besides, my roommate just went out grocery shopping. Won’t be back for some time, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Yeah, I’m really hungry.” She puckers her lips to the side. “There’s nothing in the kitchen, so I’m sorry to say that I can’t really offer you anything to eat.”

“That’s quite alright.” Harry laughs and shakes his head. “And in that case, I’d love to be invited into your home. Just give me a second, yeah?”

Prior to her response, Harry speeds down the stairs. Her eyes follow his path and notice the ominous the black vehicle parked at the curb. The engine still runs, and as Harry nears the passenger door, the sleek window rolls down.

She doesn’t want to be caught staring, so she focuses back on the pillow. Though she hadn’t known what it had been only minutes ago, she now thinks it is the loveliest sight she’s ever seen.

Smiling to herself, she takes a step forward and crouches down every so carefully. She gathers the plastic-wrapped C-shape cushion in her arms, positioning it at a tricky angle that is on her side and above her belly. It crinkles annoyingly, its particular sturdy length threatening to flop in every other direction.

When Harry finishes his discussion, he turns and finds her struggling to move past the doorframe. The pillow blocks her view, so she can’t step in as easily as she assumes. He calls her name, his fists clenched and arms bent in a speedy jog up the stairs.

“That’s alright, love. I’ve got it.”

She feels the weight alleviate from her grip. It makes sense that Harry lifts it as if it weighs nothing – he had been the one to haul it up the stairs. Down on the ground, the black vehicle is in the midst of a 3-point-turn before speeding out of the open neighborhood.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

She ignores the term of endearment, for now at least. He had said it to her twice before on the first night, to which she had overthought about it before succumbing to sleep. She knows tonight will be no different.

“No worries. Is it alright if I...”

Pillow in arms, Harry nods his head in the direction of the open home. He awaits her permission despite already having it.

“Yes.” She nods ferociously. “Yeah, yeah, go right in.”

The woman’s arm flails forward as a guide for his journey across the threshold. She knows that he is humble in his own way, but the second he enters her residence, she begins to feel timorous. This small space of hers is so ... small. He has spent the last eight years of his life as reigning royalty in places far and beyond. Size does not even begin to cover this drastic difference.

She pulls the gate in, locks it. “Sorry if it’s a little messy.” She swings the door closed, locks it.

Her heart beats in silence when Harry places the pillow down on the cold floor, dead-center in the unit as he turns to face her. He faintly huffs, scanning over the four walls and all of its property. The square table near the corner to his left opposite to the worn-out couch against the window on his right. Behind him is an open bedroom door in the narrow hallway straight ahead, a closed bedroom door next to it hidden by a sharp turn.

It is simple, as far as simple can be.

“Nothing perfect,” the woman admits, “but it’s home.”

Harry shakes his head. “I like it. It’s nice. Cozy.”

“Thanks...”

Beat; another empty beat. The sunlight beams through the window, exposing a narrow cloud of dust particles that swim through the air. It strikes down in the space between them, physically representing the invisible energy that already divides them.

“Erm, where would you like it?” he innocently asks, though one can interpret such an inquiry in many different ways.

She is about to ask what he means, but saves herself the embarrassment as her vision points to the pillow on the floor. “Um, I guess ... I guess my room is fine, since that’s where I sleep.”

“Right. That makes the most sense, doesn’t it?”

He asks rhetorically – she won’t make that mistake again – so she responds with nothing but a kind smile. Her solemn attitude is obvious, but there is a major distinction between talking to Harry Styles in a diner and talking to Harry Styles in her home after he’s bought a pregnancy pillow for her.

“Which one is it?” asks Harry, bending over to grip onto the loud plastic material.

In a split second, she contemplates the idea of having Harry in her bedroom. It is something beyond her wildest dreams in circumstance she hasn’t quite imagined, but a panic arises before he can even manage to pick the pillow up.

“Uh, wait! It’s ... you don’t have to. I can take it myself.”

Bent halfway, Harry waves his hand as a dismissal. “S’ no problem.”

“Yeah, but ... okay.”

Her voice is the tiniest Harry has ever heard from her. In a slow rise from his weird position, he tilts his head as an expression of his suspicion. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

“No! No, it’s fine, I don’t mind. Just ... wait here, okay?”

A crease appears in the center of his forehead, but he nods nonetheless.

She scurries past him and down the hallway, into the bedroom with the open door. The woman does not release a breath until it closes behind her, safe from the reality of this strange event. It still doesn’t quite manage to cross past her skull, not even with Harry waiting for her in her living room.

Wow. Harry Styles is waiting for me in my living room.

Her faint laugh disappears in the November air that seeps in through her open window. With her mattress right next to it, she remembers that she hadn’t taken the time to make her bed this morning. On top of that, her undergarments litter across the floor, and empty snack packets pile over her dresser and bedside table.

Her biggest concern is the folded page from her planner. It also rests on her bedside table, inanimate over a ratty novel that devours her attention almost every night.

For the next couple of minutes, she cleans up whatever mess Harry may come across. Her bras and panties stuff in the confinements of her laundry basket, the remnants of her midnight snacks thrown in the trash can, and her most treasured letter safe under the used candle in her bedside drawer. She finishes by flinging her comforter up and over the sheets of her bed, then tugs at every corner until it looks somewhat presentable.

When she deems the room as less of a disaster, she fixes her appearance – as best as a tank top and leggings can be fixed – and lets out a nervous breath before opening the door.

“Alright, sorry about that. You can come in now.”

Down the hall, she can see that the pillow is still just a lump on the floor. No Harry waits beside it.

Her heart rate increases with alarm, even more so than the idea of having Harry enter her messy bedroom. She hates that she allows such troubling thoughts to torture her, but this whole circumstance is a desire much too wonderful to be real. It will not be a surprise to her if he had ended up changing his mind.

Her bare feet patter across the floorboards, her movements slightly frantic. As the hallway ends, Harry’s figure appears in the corner of her living room, his back to her. His upper body leans forward, eyes lingering on the acoustic guitar hidden next to the couch, if not for the neck that sticks up like a tower.

“Harry?”

He snaps around at the sound of her voice. She notices then how his pockets restrain his hands from reaching out to caress the curve of fine wood.

“Sorry, erm ... I got kind of distracted here. Sick guitar you’ve got.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles, her expression softens at the instrument that she has not touched in months.

“You play?”

“No.”

“Your roommate?”

Harry unveils his hands and stretches them out to the empty space in front of the guitar. He raises his eyebrows in an unspoken question, to which she nods and watches as he picks up and marvels at the memory.

“Not exactly,” she answers.

He does that head tilt again and cradles the dusty instrument with care. His fingers drag down the strings in a lazy fashion, ears attentive as he begins to tune it.

“See, when the two weeks that my ex gave me to move out were up, he was leaving to play a crowd at some bar downtown.”

A visible frustration compels Harry’s hands to freeze. His face maintains that well-known solemn that people gawk over. She would be the same, if not for the severe intimidation that she now feels as she continues her story.

“He didn’t say it, but I could tell that he was expecting me to be gone by the time he got back. I still had so much to pack up, and Aaron wasn’t expecting me to move in so soon, and not only that, but I also had all these emotions that were just incredibly out of control. I don’t even think they were pregnancy hormones, just plain stress and I didn’t know what to do about it. So, I may or may not have taken his guitar with me.”

Harry’s face illuminates with surprise. “You stole his guitar?” The instrument suddenly feels heavy in his hands.

“Kind of ... he has another one though! He never really plays this one anymore. Well, obviously he can’t play it anymore, but ... I don’t know, something just came over me! I know you always say to treat people with kindness, but I was really angry and really upset and too scared to vandalize anything, so I just kind of ... took it. If you ask me, it’s more of a burden on myself because it really does take up way too much space—”

Harry stops the continuous flow of her words by stating her name. It is firm and to-the-point, enough to make her tongue slither back behind her teeth. The seconds are ticking away, fingers nervously fumbling together in a knot. Harry sets the cursed instrument back onto it forgetful home next to the couch and considers her story carefully.

“I tell people to treat others with kindness,” he begins, stepping closer to her, “because it’s how I think people deserve to be treated. When it comes to him, I think you’ve done just that.”

It is fair to say that Harry makes her smitten as her demeanor turns bashful. He has some way of making her feel sane, making her feel as if there is a beauty that transcends all of the mucky, grimy dirt in the world.

“Really?” she squeaks, the corners of her mouth pulling upward.

“Of course. I think it even further illustrates your resilience.”

He seriously needs to stop before I start crying again.

“I um ... I should’ve sold it by now.” She shrugs at the lifeless object that haunts her with a distant memory. “It makes the most sense, but I just don’t know why I ... can’t. Aaron sometimes messes with it though, so I guess it’s good for something.”

“Erin? Your roommate?” Harry asks, which pries out a nod from her. “Hmm. Well, I do understand what you’re trying to say.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You loved the bloody dickhead, right?”

The woman laughs at his assertive language, but it cuts off with an almost weak cry. Yes; she loved him.

“A part of you still holds onto that. It’s completely normal.”

“Or pathetic.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “If it were pathetic to hold onto people you’ve loved in the past,” he moves around her, bends down, and lifts up the pillow with ease, “then anyone who’s ever written a song about someone else is a complete pity party. Now tell me, do you think that’s true?”

He leaves the question open for her response, but he doesn’t wait for her to muster it out. Instead, Harry follows the exact path she had previously went down, into the hallway and through to her bedroom. His quickness takes a second for her mind to register, but she soon trails after him.

“Um, I guess not.”

Harry sets his gift down on her full-size mattress. He steps back, hands on his hips, proud over his act of kindness. He side-eyes her, discreetly smirking at her discomfort and uncertainty.

“Fine. I’ll take that answer.”

He doesn’t examine her room as he had done with the rest of the unit. He instead gets down to it and tears away the plastic wrap. He frees the plush material of the pillow and balls up the broken seal.

“You want to try it out?” Harry offers, setting the plastic crumble onto the floor to discard later.

Her hesitance and fear does not disperse. “Try it out?”

“Yeah, sure. Test it out. See if it’s comfortable enough. If not, I can change it for another one.”

“Oh, that’s ... not necessary. It’s a pillow, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“We all have our own preferences. You won’t know it’s fine until you test it out for yourself.”

Deep down, he knows he’s gotten it right. She assumes that he has a need for perfection. If not, it is his constant worry that has probably double-checked the damn thing a dozen times before delivering it to her in person. It’s enough that he appears at her home when she is in her most slump attire, but now he wants her to lie down in front of him, to break down her defenses if just for one moment to test out this silly pillow.

“Okay, I guess that’s true.”

She agrees to his suggestion rather quickly, but overthinks how to get on the bed without it being either unintentionally sensual or incredibly awkward.

She decides to just bend a knee at the end of the mattress, crawling up a couple inches and then shifting on her bottom. She scoots herself further up, turning onto her side as Harry lifts the pregnancy pillow. He carefully turns it up and over her head, resting it in a backward C-shape with the curve of the pillow against her back.

“So ... does it like ... go between my legs or something?”

She sinks into the plush material of the pillow, pulling the bottom end between her knees and squishing it.

“Erm ... yeah. Think so. That’s what the picture looked like. And the long part supports your back.”

She shuffles around, a hand on her belly as if it needs guidance alongside her. “I’m being so dramatic,” she admits. “My belly’s not even big enough for me to be complaining yet.”

“Uh-uh. There’s no argument when it comes to your comfort. You can’t sleep on your back or your stomach without it, so it is helping you out.”

“Okay, yeah, but ... oh.”

Harry crouches down to her eye-level, narrowing his eyes at her remark. “Oh?”

“Oh,” she confirms, snuggling into the pillow. “Oh, my back...”

“What’s wrong with it? Does it hurt?”

“No!” she exasperatedly laughs. His concern is persistent, but cute nonetheless. “This pillow has so much support for my back. And it’s so ... firm. And comfortable. And it smells nice.”

Harry smiles at her bliss. Her eyes flutter shut, and she digs her head deeper to breathe in the soft material.

“It’s alright, then?”

“Alright?” she opens her eyes, a close-lipped smile across her bare face. “Yeah, Harry. It’s alright.”

The moment proceeds with silence. She marvels at this new treasure of hers; Harry watches her with very great care. His legs begin to burn due to the prolong crouching position that he is in, so he settles himself down on the floorboards. His knees bend in front of him, his hands locking by the fingers around them.

A small conversation ensues thereafter, small little remarks over how her experience is going, the hassle he had gone through to get it for her, and harmless small talk that reveals a little bit about their drastically different lives.

She’s not sure how much time has passed until she hears the front door opening. The sound of crackling plastic bags mixes in with the jingle of keys, but she doesn’t relax until she hears the lock of the front door.

“I got your avocados!”

The deep voice makes Harry do a double-take. His acquaintance lets out a squeal and rises from her bed, shifting to plant her feet on the floor. She reaches down to tug on his arm, without realizing that this is the first she has actually touched him in the two separate times that they’ve met.

“C’mon, you can meet my roommate,” she whispers. “He’s going to freak out!”

“He?” Harry questions, but the woman is already out the door.

When his 24-year-old body eventually gets up and strolls down the hallway, he leans against the closest wall and begins his observation. There is a tall man in his sights whose back faces him. This guy, who he now realizes is not Erin, but Aaron, un-bags the groceries on the same kitchen counter that his pregnant roommate somehow manages to prop herself up on.

“...so expensive, you can buy them yourself next time.”

“Don’t act if you’re not going to enjoy them, too.”

“You’re lucky I even got you the Twizzlers on top of your Sour Patch Kids. They ran out of pistachio ice cream, by the way. I’m not sure how. Who even eats pistachio?”

The terrible news makes the woman’s jaw slowly fall, but when she notices Harry, the gape of her mouth turns upright.

“Aaron,” she begins, “I have a surprise for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“It’s a good surprise!”

“I don’t think any scheme you come up with can ever be good.”

“Just stop being stubborn and turn around!”

Aaron glares at the woman suspiciously before cautiously turning his body around. His body jolts back, frightened by the unfamiliar third person, until his face suddenly goes slack.

“Holy shit,” Aaron breathes out, recognizing the luscious curls and wonderfully structured face. “What the fuck? What – he’s, that’s...”

“He’s Harry,” the only woman in the room announces, then looks to the Cheshire man. “This is Aaron, my roommate if you couldn’t tell.”

He can tell. He can also tell that his presence dumbfounds Aaron. What he doesn’t know is how much she had raved about him to Aaron the day following their first meeting. Her roommate had been incredibly jealous, insisting that he joins her on her next treat-yourself-Friday.

“Pleasure.” Harry forces a smile, steps forward, and holds his hand out for him to shake.

Aaron nods, still overwhelmed when he grips onto Harry’s hand. His hold is so tight, as if he never wants to let go.

“Harry Styles,” Aaron states, laughing at the image of the curly-headed man. “This is ... I don’t even want to ask. This is just perfect. Holy shit.”

The woman finds amusement in her roommate’s profanity. She laughs at him while Harry stands there and watches the twinkle grow in her eyes. He starts to feel uncomfortable, the space making him feel as though he is an outlier and does not belong.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Harry raises his wrist, focusing his vision to the watch clasped around. “I’m afraid I have to be heading out.”

The two people in front of him become dejected at his announcement. “Really?” the pregnant woman asks. The hour seems to have gone by far too quickly.

“Yes. I have ... um, something came up on my schedule.”

Aaron sighs. “Damn. That sucks.”

“Yes.” Harry simply nods. “Yes, it does suck, but I’ve really enjoyed my time here. Erm...”

He contemplates the idea that flashes through his mind. In a short few seconds, he fights with himself, imagining if any consequences can come out of it. He says her name anyway, without fully establishing a proper intention.

“Do you have a pen? And something I can write on?”

At his request, the two roommates instantly separate. Their busy bodies frantically search the messy unit for exactly what he needs. She finds a blue pen with its cap missing from the drawer in the kitchen; Aaron runs to retrieve a yellow sticky note from his bedroom next to hers.

“Here,” he says, a little out of breath, but still managing to flash a charming smile.

Harry thanks him, then steps forward to place himself in the space between the two roommates. He sets the sticky note down on the kitchen counter and leans over to scribble something with the colored ink.

“You seem to have everything well under your control here. Aaron obviously helps you tremendously.”

The other man smiles excitedly at the way his name drowns in Harry’s English accent.

“But if you ever need something, please...” Harry straightens up, peeling the sticky note off of the counter’s flat surface. He scans it over quickly, then turns to his right to present it to her appropriately. “Don’t hesitate to call this number.”

The woman projects her head back, blinking profusely at the blue digits staining the single sticky note. From over Harry’s shoulder, Aaron’s eyes are wide and bright, but she can’t focus on them. Her head begins to spin, eyes squinting as if to steady the ever-turning world.

Normally she would find it within herself to reject his kind offer. She would tell him with a sweet smile that it is okay, that she is fine the way she is, despite wanting nothing more than to see him again. This gesture of his is so unexpected that she is taken aback and lost at what she is to do.

“Um ... thank you,” she settles on, fingertips pinching on the thin note. She doesn’t know what she will do with it, but for now some other mindless part of her guides her actions.

Harry smiles, relieved that she accepts his proffer. He stares at her a little longer; the way she instinctively shelters her baby mesmerizes him.

“Alright, well. I must be off. Thank you for inviting me into your lovely home.” Harry turns around to Aaron, who is thankful that his cheeks do not turn red from embarrassment. “Nice meeting you.”

“An honor,” Aaron says, gripping onto his hand one final time. When Harry turns away and proceeds to the door, the other man cringes at his choice of words.

She follows after him, watches as he unlocks the door and unlatches the gate. The sun whips its fiery flames on the skin of their warm bodies, but Harry ignores the heat to turn around and gently embrace her. His gesture takes her by surprise, but she acts quickly and presses her hands against the back of his shoulder blades.

“Lovely seeing you again,” Harry mutters her name. His large hand stings on her back, the anchor on his wrist hooking her in. “I hope you like the gift. Until next time?”

When he pulls away, she isn’t in the right state of mind to respond with words. Instead, she nods in agreement and gives him a measly wave, just as she had done on the first night. While Aaron begins to silently thrash around in the kitchen, she watches Harry descend to the ground just as the black vehicle conveniently pulls up to the curb.

She watches him from the door, this time for the entire duration until his car disappears beneath the autumn skies. The yellow sticky-note is heavy in her hands, the idea of meeting with him again tickles her bones. He has been so kind to her, enough that she wonders how fortunate her little family is to receive such endearment.

Even if she has not felt her child move yet, she knows that they are just as touched by it as she is.

#honeytryst

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