Retrouvailles

My flat was absolutely freezing, so my first action upon arriving was to bundle up in joggers, a thick wool jumper, and a pair of socks my Gran knit. But even when I was curled up beneath two blankets and a mountain of pillows, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for over an hour, and decided that tea was needed.

I managed to pull myself out of bed and shuffle to the door. When my hand grasped the knob, I heard the distinct sound of footsteps. Could I have forgotten to lock the door, and there was somebody trying to nick my television? That thing was bloody expensive, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.

When I first moved to Brixton, my dad helped me move in. His housewarming gift was a cricket bat. I hadn’t had occasion to use it until now. I grabbed the bat from inside my closet and stuck my head out of my bedroom door, trying to see in any sign of life in the dark flat. When I’d come in, I hadn’t bothered to turn on any of the lights before heading to my bedroom. The only thing on my mind was sleep, but that had a lot to do with not wanting to think about Brian.

There was another creak, and I felt my heart rate kick up a notch. My grasp tightened on the bat as I lifted it over one shoulder, more like a baseball bat than a cricket bat. My socks helped to stifle the sound of my footsteps, for which I’d never been grateful for until now. I made into the living room and I could make out a tall figure groping along the wall. He walked into the settee and let out a hushed curse, and I knew immediately who it was.

Rolling my eyes, I quickly found the lamp by the armchair and flicked the switch. The room was illuminated in a warm yellow glow, and I was finally able to see Harry properly. He was clinging to the back of the couch, and blinked several times before his eyes adjusted to the light. When he spotted me on the other end of the room, his eyes went immediately to the cricket bat I was using as a cane.

“What’s that for?”

“Hooligans,” I replied.

“Were you going to use it on me?”

“Had I known it was you sneaking about my flat, then I wouldn’t have even grabbed it,” I said, leaning the bat against the wall. “What are you doing here?”

“Came by the pub, Alan said you’d gone home early,” Harry explained. He lifted up one hand, revealing a plastic bag filled with crisps. “Kitchen?”

“I was just about to make a cuppa,” I said, and we both went into the kitchen. While Harry deposited the crisps next to the fridge, I put on the kettle.

He went to discard his coat and boots, then returned with his fingers tangled in his hair. I could feel his eyes travel along my body and then come to rest on my face, waiting for me to turn around. Instead, I busied myself with grabbing two mugs and tea bags from the cupboard. “Peppermint?”

“Zola,” Harry said. Of course he noticed. He was Harry, and he knew me like the back of his hand.

“Peppermint,” I repeated, as a statement this time, and dropped the tea bags into the mugs. The kettle came to a boil a minute or two later, and I filled them up to the rim with hot water.

“Was it Brian?”

My muscles tensed, and my fingers started to shake. I told myself it was from the subzero temperature of my flat, and not the anger coursing through my veins.

“What did he say?” Harry asked. “Zola?”

I felt the weight of his hand on my arm, but as if from afar. I swallowed, avoiding his searching gaze. Taking one of the mugs, I stepped out of Harry’s reach and headed for my bedroom. Of course, Harry was right on my heels. He flicked the light on as he came through the doorway.

While he set his mug down on the bedside table and took a seat in front of me, I’d leaned back against the headboard. I clutched my mug in my cold fingers, licking my lips anxiously. I knew that it was blatantly obvious that something was bothering me, but I didn’t know how to tell Harry the thoughts plaguing my mind.

“Tell me,” Harry insisted, shuffling closer. He’d crossed his legs, and his shins bumped against my knees when he’d eliminated as much space between us as was possible. With gentle hands, Harry took the mug I’d been hanging onto with white knuckles and placed it next to his on the bedside table. Then he enveloped my hands in his, slotting our fingers together. “Zola.”

“People think we’ve split up,” I said quietly, after an eternity of silence.

The smile that graced Harry’s lips wasn’t amused or arrogant. It was soft and comforting. “Well, we both know that’s not true.”

“He said that to get out while you can, before I fuck you up too.”

My voice was so soft I barely heard it myself. Harry rolled his lips together, and inhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring. By the way he was gripping my hands, I knew that he was calming himself down.

“Also, he’s astonished you haven’t gotten fed up with my shit yet. And apparently I’m a chore.”

“He’s a twat,” Harry said. My eyes, which had remained fixed on our hands, flickered up to his. They were the colour of avocados, and currently trained on my face. “Relationships are a chore. Everyone knows that.”

“So you think I’m difficult?” I retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Harry rolled his eyes at me, unamused. “You know what I mean. It’s not easy being in a relationship, especially when the world is watching, but you do it because the person you’re with is worth it.”

My insides turned to mush at his expression, all gentle eyes and soft, smiling lips. I pulled my hands out of his and grabbed his face, my body falling against his as I connected our lips. Harry immediately grasped my waist to steady me, smiling against my lips as I ran my fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. He maneuvered me onto my back and draped his body over mine. His hips dug into mine and I let out a gasp against his mouth, which turned into a yawn.

“Harry,” I murmured. He’d been leaving marks against my neck, and lifted his head to look me in the eye. “Can we just sleep? I haven’t slept in two days and I’ve got work in six hours. You’re good at this, but I’m fucking tired.”

His eyes softened. “Yeah,” he said, and rolled off me. Harry hopped off the bed to remove his jeans and turn off the light.

I’d rolled onto my side and cocooned myself underneath a heap of blankets. The mattress dipped as Harry climbed in and shimmied over to me. He wrapped an arm around my middle and curled himself around my body, slotting one of his legs between mine. I let out an involuntary shiver when he pushed some of my hair aside to place a featherlight kiss against the nape of my neck.

“Next time you see that dick of an ex-boyfriend,” he muttered, his lips moving against my skin. “You have my permission to kick him in the shin.”

“How about I kick him somewhere else?” I suggested, my eyes drifting shut.

“Somewhere else is fine with me too.”

| | |

I don’t think I’d ever get used to waking up with Harry. Even if we fell asleep nowhere near each other, we somehow ended up tangled together in the morning. On this particular morning, Harry’s face was buried into my neck and one of his legs was thrown over mine. One of his arms was underneath my pillow and the other draped lazily over my midsection, his thumb tracing circles against my ribcage. I wondered if he was awake, or if the action was something he was doing unconsciously.

By the way that his breath hitched and then his lips pressed against my pulse point, I decided that he was in a state of half-awareness. Sleepy Harry was probably in my top three Harrys, along with Sexy Harry (which he was most of the time, even when he was being a complete knobhead) and Cheeky Harry (also most of the time, but usually not to his advantage when I was in no mood to put up with his antics).

“Good morning,” he drawled, his grip on my side tightening. Harry brushed his nose along my jaw, probably smirking while he did it, and planted a kiss beneath my ear.

“I have work in twenty minutes,” I told him. Lately, I’d been taking some of the shorter shifts at Beigel. Today, I was schedule to work only four hours, from nine until one.

“Stay,” Harry mumbled, his curls tickling my neck as he continued to place kisses against my skin.

“Can’t,” I replied. “Work means money. Money means I can pay my rent and bills. Not all of us are millionaires, y’know.”

Harry’s lips stilled against my neck. If I was able to see his face, then maybe I’d be able to form some sort of guess as to what was running through his mind. As it was, I was left waiting for him to say something.

“I want you to move in,” he said quickly, faster than I’d ever heard Harry speak before. I almost didn’t recognize his voice when it wasn’t falling from his lips like molasses.

“What?”

Harry sat up, the sheet crumpling around his waist as he did so. His eyes were wide as they bored into mine, and he licked his lips anxiously. I pushed myself up into a sitting position, crossing my legs and clasping my hands in my lap.

“Are you being serious right now? Like, you actually want to live together?”

He didn’t say anything, only nodded and continued to look at me like he was afraid I’d start shouting.

“Do you think that’s a good idea, Harry?”

“I mean, if you don’t want to, then—“

“No, answer the question. Us living together. Is it a good idea?” I didn’t have to explicitly say it, Harry knew I was talking about his image. And the band, and the fans, and management, and every goddamn person who’d ever heard of One Direction.

“I don’t care,” he stated. “We basically live together now, except with two homes. I’ve got a bloody toothbrush here, for fuck’s sake. And God knows how many of my shirts you’ve stolen.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not that it makes a difference to you, mate, you only own like five thousand and wear about three of them.”

“What do you say, then?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” I replied honestly, pushing my hair away from my face. “Can you give me some time? I need to think.”

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice raspy and thick. “Yes. Take time. And go to work too, you’re going to be late if you sit around any longer.”

I slapped his chest and Harry let out a whine before collapsing onto his side and covering his face with this hands. He’d made it so that I had to climb over him in order to get off the bed, but Harry didn't grab my waist to tug on my shirt to keep me there, and allowed me to get over to my closet without difficulty.

Once I’d swapped my joggers for a pair of jeans and put on a clean shirt, I dropped my phone into my bag and headed for the door. I could hear Harry’s footfalls behind me, and his hands caught my hips before I had a chance to get into the hallway.

“I have a shoot later, so I’ll call you, yeah?” he mumbled against my hair, dragging his hands around my hips and tucking his fingers into my front pockets. I patted his hands, ignoring the tingling in my abdomen.

“I’m at the pub tonight,” I informed him.

“D’you want me to pick you up?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Zola.”

“Harry,” I sighed, turning around to face him. If anyone walked past, they’d get a rather revealing sight of Harry Styles standing in my doorway in just his pants, looking tired and a little bit concerned. “I’m an adult. I don’t need you picking me up from work.”

He mussed up his curls and nodded, a forlorn expression flashing across his face. “‘Kay,” he conceded, and leaned down to peck me on the lips. “I promise not to eat all your crisps.”

“You’d better not,” I warned him with what I hoped was a playful smile. Harry returned it halfheartedly.

The real reason I didn’t want him picking me up was that I needed some time away from him after he’d dropped the ‘moving in’ bomb on me. My brain was still scrambling to figure out what on earth caused him to think that us living together wasn’t that big of a deal. The entire One Direction fan base would probably have a synchronized heart attack if Harry Styles’s girlfriend moved into his house. They already had a hard enough time accepting the fact that he was no longer a bachelor (despite us having been together for the past five months), I didn’t want things to escalate further.

When I arrived at Beigel Shop with my hair twisted into a bun and sunglasses over my eyes despite the fact that it was overcast and grey, Bea raised an eyebrow. She finished scraping cream cheese onto the bagel in her gloved hands and wrapped it up, handing it to the waiting man. Because there was a queue, she quickly went about popping another bagel into the toaster.

Mickey was in the office talking rapidly on his mobile. He glanced up and nodded at me as I slipped in and put my things into one of the lockers. When I joined Bea out front, after saying a quick hello to George, who worked in the kitchen during the day, the queue had disappeared and there was nobody in the shop except for us.

“You look terrible,” Bea commented, watching me apprehensively as a poured a cup of coffee. “There’s talk going ‘round that you and Harry Styles have split up, is it true?”

She certainly didn’t beat around the bush. I put on my best straight face and dropped my voice to a grave whisper. “We’ve called it quits. Over for good.”

Bea didn’t even hesitate. “Are you serious? He’s dumped you? Holy shit, Zo,” she breathed, her lips parting in surprise.

I rolled my eyes. “No, I was fucking with you. Don’t believe everything you read online, Bea. It’s all horseshite.”

It bothered me that she’d assumed Harry was the one to dump me. But I guess it wasn’t all that surprising, considering when we stood next to each other he was the supermodel (even when he’d fashioned his hair into a fucking pigtail like a six year old girl) to my wandering tramp of the homeless persuasion. Most of the time I was still astonished he wanted to date me at all, and I didn’t need Bea reminding me that Harry was vastly out of my league.

The pace picked up after that, and remained steadily busy through the remainder of my shift. I got a text from Nick during my break that he wanted to get coffee with me before I went to the pub, and I agreed to meet him at a cafe near the Radio 1 studio. Bea didn’t bring up Harry again, but I caught her glancing at me over her shoulder all morning with furrowed eyebrows. It was a look that told me she was mulling over some thought that concerned me, but I couldn’t tell if it was negative or not. Bea was a nice girl and I knew she meant well, she just wasn’t very sensitive to how other people might react to the words that came out of her mouth. So when she kept her mouth shut save for work-related subjects, I was relieved.

Nick was already at the coffee shop with two mugs in front of him, looking uncharacteristically pensive. I sat down and took of my coat, eyeing him suspiciously. Once he’d taken a long drink of his coffee, he looked at me calmly. “What are you going to say to Harry?”

“So he told you then?” I asked, tracing the rim of my mug with a fingertip. I watched Nick through my eyelashes, gauging his somber expression. It was throwing me off — Nick was never this serious.

“Of course he told me,” Nick replied automatically. Those two told each other everything; I guess my question was a little redundant. “He said you asked for time, which is understandable. But I thought you might want a third party to help you weigh your options here.”

“Third parties are supposed to be impartial,” I reminded him, my mouth quirking upward at the corners.

“I can be impartial,” Nick argued, appearing mildly offended. “What was your first reaction when he asked?”

I let out a sigh, leaning back in the chair. “I don’t know. Surprised, I guess? It sort of came out of left field.”

“He’s been thinking about it for almost a month,” Nick said quietly. “He just didn’t know how to ask you.”

“Living together is something couples do after a year, if that. We’ve only been together for five months. It just seems fast.”

“Harry’s a compassionate guy. He wants to be there for you in every way he can, and he thinks that this is the best way to do that.”

“I get that,” I said, and Nick eyed me over the rim of his mug with one brow raised as if to say: but? “I don’t know if I’m ready to take that step with him. Harry and I are already moving faster than I have with any other relationship, and it’s hard to keep up. Then there’s the fans to think about.”

“No, don’t think about them,” Nick instructed, setting down his mug. He leaned forward, staring at me intently. “Never let Harry’s fame stop you from doing something you want to do. This is about you and him. Got that?”

I nodded.

“Good,” Nick sighed, sitting back. “Have you ever thought about the idea of living with him?”

“I spend enough time at his house, I guess it’s crossed my mind,” I said with a shrug. “But I wasn’t expecting him to ask. Like, at all. And it’s only been, what, six hours? I need at least a day to properly think about it.”

“If you had to decide right now, what would your answer be?” Nick asked in curiosity.

“Er,” I mumbled, and Nick raised his eyebrows. “I’d probably say no.”

If possible, his eyebrows went up even further. “Really?”

“I’m still processing the whole thing, alright? It’s more of a tentative ‘no’ right now, but that might change.”

“Hmm,” Nick hummed, the muscles in his jaw working as he thought. “If you do say ‘no,’ try to let him down easily, yeah? That idiot is completely smitten with you.”

“Do you think it would change things?” I asked. “If I said ‘no.’”

Nick shrugged. “Harry’s already pretty shit at relationships, he’d probably react badly. You know he’s doing everything so fast because he’s afraid of losing you, right?”

“And speeding up our relationship is supposed to make me want him more? It’s a bloody terrible strategy, mate, since he’s more likely to scare me off if he tries to do anything like this again.”

“Tell him that,” Nick insisted. “He needs to know that what he’s doing isn’t sitting right with you. Otherwise he’ll keep going at this rate and soon you’ll be engaged.”

I blinked, my heart rate picking up. “Don’t say shit like that, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Stop talking, Nick, you’re freaking me out.”

“You know I was joking, Zo.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cried, my hands falling uselessly onto the table. “I’m fucking stressed out enough as it is, and Harry’s asked me to live with him and I have no idea what to do! I don’t let people in so easily, and then Harry came along and hurled himself into my life and every day I wonder what the hell we’re doing. So please, Nick, don’t make jokes like that. It scares the living shite out of me.”

I hadn’t realized I was crying until I stopped talking and the tears were streaming salty tracks down my cheeks. Nick reached across the table and grasped my hands, concern washing over his face. “Hey, love, it’s alright. But you should be telling Harry this, not me.”

I nodded, ducking my head to avoid the curious stares of the other patrons. Nick was right, of course, and I needed to talk to Harry.