Sequel: Retrouvailles

Le Chat Noir

nigrum cattus

When the pub stayed Harry-free for the rest of the weekend, I took it as a sign to breathe easy. Things were going to go back to normal. Well, for the most part. Lucy had taken time off claiming to be ‘ill,’ but then I saw a photo of her on Twitter on Sunday morning having brunch with Niall.

To compensate for a lost employee — and probably save himself from doing too much work — Charlie agreed to hire Archie’s brother, Alan, who’d just moved here from Cardiff. Alan was a far better worker than Lucy, and on Saturday night I didn’t find myself frantically trying to serve everyone like I usually was.

Mondays were always slow, except for the few regulars that seemed to come in every day of the week. On these days I never had to mix drinks because the only thing people wanted was a pint and for me to leave the telly on the sports channel. Highlights from the weekend’s football matches were the only thing discussed, but nobody was complaining.

The pub emptied out just after midnight, and although we weren’t closing until two Charlie had Alan and I start sweeping the floor and wiping down the tables. I kept the sports channel on so we’d have something to watch while we cleaned, but then Archie came out of the kitchen with the intention of having a chat.

“So, no Harry today,” he mused, leaning against the bar.

“What of it?” I retorted, shooting him a look from across the pub. Alan glanced between us, eyebrows raised.

“Seems your attempt to rebound didn’t last long, did it?”

I nearly dropped the dishcloth I’d been using to wipe down tables. “What?

“You and the popstar. It was obvious, yeah?”

“I was not rebounding with Harry fucking Styles,” I stammered, furiously scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on one of the tables.

Archie examined his nails with an air of nonchalance. “Oh come off it, Zo. I know you’re cut up about Brian, and the sexual tension between you and the popstar was practically palpable on Friday.”

“Nothing. Happened.” I seethed, stomping past him to rinse the dishcloth. Archie spun around and leaned forward on his elbows, giving me a cheeky look.

“But you wanted something to happen, didn’t you?”

“Piss off, no I didn’t,” I muttered, but that just made Archie grin wider. “Look, he’s a nice bloke. But I was definitely not trying to shag him, alright? Frankly, I’m relieved he’s stopped coming in. It was a shit notion that he thought he could get away with going to a pub every night and nobody would notice.”

Then I realized why Harry hadn’t stopped by all weekend. Somebody must have noticed that he wasn’t laying low and staying out of trouble, and the rumours were flying about One Direction’s party boy again. The whole reason he’d been so miserable the first night was likely being thrust in his face again, and he was staying away for the sake of his — and the band’s, and the label’s — reputation.

Or I was just trying to compensate for the fact that I kind of missed him.

I was still wiping tables when Archie and Alan retreated into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the pub. Last Monday, it was empty by twelve thirty. Except for Harry. He stayed right until closing every day of the week, which I still didn’t understand. I was only here because I had to be, and I was being paid for it. He would’ve racked up quite a tab if he got more than water and the occasional pop.

Heaving a sigh I tossed the dishcloth onto the bar and went to work wiping it down for the third time in the last half an hour. It was unnecessary, since the lacquered wood was already shining, but I had nothing else to do.

Charlie came out at one, and the pub was still free of customers. He hated closing early, but decided to let Alan and Archie head home an hour early. I was sat on one of the barstools with a fresh ginger beer, swinging my legs as I watched cricket highlights on the telly. I’d never been much into cricket, but it was either this or a Coronation Street marathon. Charlie had disappeared back into the office, and I had a feeling he was watching some HBO miniseries. Last month it was all about Band of Brothers, so by now he’d be starting The Pacific or Generation Kill.

I stayed there until two, when Charlie came back out to lock up. I slid on my cardigan and checked that I had my Oyster card handy, then bid my boss goodbye. All I wanted to do was get a few hours of sleep before I had to head into Beigel Shop for seven.

London was almost more familiar to me at two in the morning than it was in the middle of the day. That probably had something to do with the fact that I was usually at work or sleeping then, but I still liked the quietness of an early morning weekday more.

The bus driver on my route back to Brixton nodded in a familiar way as I stepped on, and I offered him the brightest smile I could muster. That wasn’t saying much, since I was running on two hours of sleep.

It was probably my tiredness that lowered my observing skills, or else I definitely would have noticed that I was being followed from the moment I got off the bus. But I had my hands tucked into the pockets of my jeans and my head down, the hair that I’d loosed from its bun obscuring my peripheral vision. Central London was one thing at two in the morning, all stillness and unlit shop windows, but Brixton was entirely different. Keep your head low, because if you looked at anybody funny — or at all, really — then you were bound to get into trouble.

However, I was entirely unaware of the fact that I wasn’t alone until I reached the door to my building and started to rummage through my bag for keys. A hand caught my shoulder and I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment, but then I was turned around and saw that it was Harry standing there.

“You’ve got to be joking,” I said, my voice strained. My heart was racing and I still felt like I might be attacked at any moment by somebody in a balaclava with a knife. “Do you have any idea how stupid it is to sneak up behind somebody in fucking Brixton?

Harry was grinning, which I found infuriating. I finally grabbed my keys and shoved them into the lock, immediately headed in. To my irritation, Harry grabbed the door before it shut and followed me into the elevator.

“Figured you knew I was there,” he shrugged as we rode up to my floor.

“Well, I didn’t,” I huffed, arms folded. The doors slid open and I stomped all the way to my room, a million questions flying through my head. Why was he here? How long had he been waiting outside my flat? Why didn’t he just come to The Black Cat? Was that a headscarf?

The door nearly hit Harry as I let it swing shut behind me, but he stuck out his arm just in time to stop it from colliding with his face. I didn’t miss the fact that he took off his suede boots before coming further into the flat, keeping his eyes on me the entire time.

“Are you upset with me?” he asked, finally.

I shrugged out of my cardigan and tossed it over the back of the armchair before taking a seat myself. I watched Harry as he sat down on the settee and placed his forearms on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He was looking at me expectantly, but I could tell that he would be patient for my answer.

“No,” I decided. Because I’d come to the conclusion that he was avoiding the pub for reasons that did not include me. Or that was the story I was sticking to until he decided to refute it.

“Good,” he breathed.

A few moments of silence passed before I’d finally had enough. “Alright, out with it. Where’ve you been?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched, but he managed to fight off a full-blown smile. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” I snapped. Unfortunately, my quick and sharp response was enough for Harry to quit his attempt at not-smiling, because he broke out in a toothy grin.

“There was the party on Saturday at my mate’s place, and I was planning on dropping by afterward but Louis was a complete idiot and broke his wrist trying to sledge down the staircase in a laundry basket, so I spent my night at the hospital,” Harry explained, adding in eye rolls and sighs where appropriate. “Then my mum called Sunday morning and told me that my step-dad got tickets to the United game, so I went up to Manchester. Then I was coerced into going home for dinner, and by that time it was too late to drive all the way back to London.”

It was a fair enough explanation, and I believed him. “What about tonight?” I asked.

Harry chewed on his lower lip, pulling it back with his teeth until the soft pink flesh disappeared entirely. When he released his lip to speak, it was even more pink than before and completely distracting.

“Yeah, Grim showed up and told me we were going to some art thing, which actually turned out to be pretty interesting. I did actually make it to the pub, but you’d already closed. So I came here and waited at the bus stop, because I couldn’t remember which building you were in, and followed you to your door.”

“How comforting to know I wasn’t being followed by a mad person. Oh, wait.”

Harry chuckled. “I wanted to ring and tell you all of that, but I haven’t got your mobile number.”

“Very suave,” I commented. Harry rolled his eyes and tossed his phone at me, which I thought was pretty stupid since my reflexes were less than excellent and it was a six hundred dollar piece of metal and software. I saved my number to his contacts and tossed the phone back, which he deftly caught with one hand and slid back into his pocket. “Well? Is that all you came here for?”

“I came to see you,” Harry answered, as though this was obvious.

I stood up and stretched, instinctually letting out a yawn at the same time. I noticed that Harry’s eyes lingered on the strip of skin exposed when I’d lifted my arms, although I couldn’t imagine what he found interesting about my less than toned stomach. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve got about three and a half hours before I have head out again, and I plan on sleeping. Unless you want to watch me sleep, which would just increase your mad person points, I’ll see you later.”

But instead of going for the door, Harry stretched out like a cat on my settee and rested his hands on his stomach. I knew, even with his grey henley, that his stomach was in fact toned and probably very nice to look at.

“I’m good. I could use some shuteye myself,” he said, and shut his eyes for effect. Then he opened one and peered at me standing over him. “I think watching me sleep increases your mad points, Zola.”

I scowled. “Enjoy sleeping on that thing sober. When you were drunk, you probably didn’t notice how it slopes in the middle and completely screws up your back.”

“Was that an invitation?”

“To what?”

Harry just grinned. “To watch you sleep.”

Just to get things straight, I was still struggling with the fact that I was friends with Harry Styles. Now he’d turned up the charm and was grinning at me with those teeth and those godawful dimples and I really didn’t want to say no. My bedroom was my private space. I only let Brian in there after we’d been dating for six months — we’d been sleeping together before that, but never at my flat — and I hadn’t even considered letting him in there up until that point. But here I was, having only known Harry for just over a week, seriously considering letting him sleep in my bed. Or, at the very least, step foot in my bedroom.

Harry saw that I was struggling to answer, and stood up. Like he always did, Harry stood very close to me, but I sensed that this time it was different. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, but kept his hand on the side of my face. His thumb brushed my cheekbone and for the briefest of moments, his eyes flickered down to my lips.

“You’re the most fascinating person I’ve ever met,” he murmured. “I could stare at you for hours and not get bored.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not,” I replied as his face drew closer and closer to mine.

Our noses brushed, and I decided that it was a compliment. Before his lips touched mine, Harry brought his other hand up and cupped my cheeks. His palms were warm and smooth, but his fingertips had the slightest roughness to them. I forgot all about analyzing Harry’s hands when he kissed me, his lips soft and warm and tasting of peppermint.

The kiss was brief and chaste, but sweet nonetheless. Harry pulled back and dropped his hands from my face, then went back to chewing on his lower lip. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You sure took your time with the approach,” I replied. “With all that build-up I was expecting to be blown away, not feel like I’m back in college and boys are still shy about the whole snogging thing.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so…forward.”

“Seriously?” I asked, and he nodded. “You really haven’t learned that much about me then, have you, Styles?”

“We already had this discussion, Zola. You don’t tell me anything, so what exactly am I supposed to know?”

I shrugged.

“Fine, then,” Harry muttered and kissed me again.

This time he’d opted for hungry, hot kisses that bruised my lips and made me wonder why the hell I hadn’t tried to snog this bloke earlier. Harry’s hands pushed my shirt up and pressed against my lower back, bringing me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and tugged at the curls sticking out from below his headscarf. Without hesitation, Harry dragged his hands out from under my shirt and grasped the backs of my thighs.

“Up,” he breathed, his mouth against mine, and I obliged. Harry kept on kissing me as he walked through the flat, my legs locked around his waist. I felt a bit of confidence in myself that he hadn’t complained about carrying me. In the small flat it was easy for him to find my bedroom, and I didn’t have time to object because before I could drag my lips away from Harry’s my back was hitting the bed and Harry had fallen right along with me. My ankles were still crossed over his lower back, so he wasn’t able to shift his weight off of me or stop any part of our bodies from touching.

When I did unlock my legs, Harry sat back on his heels and tugged off his shirt, the headband tumbling off along with it. He tossed both aside and started to work his way from my ear to my collarbones, then paused at the dip between my breasts where my bare skin ended and my top began. I didn’t wait for instruction, grasped the hem of my shirt and shimmied out of it whilst lying down. Harry grabbed the material halfway and took it from my grasp, dropping the shirt next to the bed. Then he continued where he’d left off, kissing over the thin fabric of my bra and down my stomach.

Harry paused at the button of my jeans, glancing up at me with a silent question. I’d already abandoned all sense of the line between personal and professional, let him in my bedroom, and I couldn’t just ignore the butterflies flitting about in my stomach or the way my heart started to race when he dragged his lips along my skin. So I nodded, and didn’t regret it for a second.
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well, that happened. one more to go, and it's sort of an epilogue. i do love these two, though, so i may do some sort of sequel thing in the future. would any of you be interested in that?

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