Hearts Like Ours

Charlie sat with her legs pulled to her chest, wrapped tightly in a blanket. She brought a cup of hot chocolate to her lips as she studied the boy who sat beside her on the small loveseat in the living room. Her father was seated across the room, relaxed in his favorite recliner. Her mother leaned in the doorway with her own cup of hot chocolate, listening to Harry as he spoke.

Once or twice, she’d caught Charlie’s eye. She would quickly look away in those instances, unable to stifle the blush that would rise to her cheeks. It was obvious what her mother’s thoughts were concerning Harry, and she hated how close they were to Cam’s. Couldn’t anyone mind their own damn business?

She couldn’t help but be captivated by Harry as he spoke, describing the madness that made up his life. He was at ease when he spoke, one leg crossed as he leaned back against the cushions of the small loveseat. Charlie could feel the heat radiating from his body even through the blanket. It was a comforting sort of heat, which she found herself leaning into as she hung on his words. The sound of his deep, pleasant voice made her eyes feel heavy. It was a sound that both excited her and lulled her toward sleep, but she forced herself to keep track of his words rather than the sound of them as they fell from his lips.

The rain outside had picked up, forcing them to close the windows when they had been cracked. The temperature had dropped drastically with the sun, a hint at fall’s inevitability. Her father had lit a fire in the fireplace and the warmth was spreading throughout the room. She no longer needed the blanket, but she couldn’t help but pull it tighter around herself as Harry’s eyes flickered in her direction.

He was dangerous.

It was a thought that she wanted to reject out of hand, but knew in the depths of her was true. It was all too easy when it came to him. She was too comfortable with all of this, slowly but surely relaxing into his touch and clinging to his every word. It was his charm, but it was something deeper. On some level, they were one and the same; and that’s what was most dangerous about him.

More and more often, Charlie had to remind herself that he was in no sense hers to keep. In a matter of days, he’d be gone and she’d be left in the wreckage, dealing with the aftermath. Already, she’d let this go on for too long, allowed herself to get too close.

Though she still couldn’t fathom what his intentions were, she knew he meant well. It wasn’t in him to be malicious, despite what the tabloids may have written to lead the masses to believe otherwise. She felt positive that he wouldn’t mean to hurt her, but it was inevitable that he would. An ache would begin to build in her when she thought of the days ahead in which he’d be gone and she’d be on campus, pretending to be okay with it all. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to depend on his company in the last few days alone, and now time was beginning to run low. It had been low to begin with.

She wondered vaguely of the future as she adjusted her position on the couch. Her foot slipped, her leg brushing against his. He didn’t seem to mind or notice. The stretching of her legs after being tucked so tightly to her body felt nice, and after a moment’s hesitation, she decided to leave it there.

As he continued in his anecdote involving Louis, Niall, and FIFA on X-box, she thought about what would happen once he left. Would he truly attempt to keep up a friendship with her, or would it be just another burden on his long list? More importantly, would he grow tired of her once he was back out in the world again? She wasn’t anything special, held nothing interesting enough to capture his attention for longer than a few moments. She felt positive she’d lose him for good in a matter of months at the longest. And yet, she couldn’t find the strength to fight him anymore. If she was already going to be hurting after his loss, was it worth it anymore to put up the pretense of having her guard up? She was tough only in words and her pretense was beginning to fade.

“Emmett used to be like that.”

The words fell from her lips before she could stop them. The attention of everyone in the room shifted to her and she found herself bringing her leg back in as if it were a shield. She cleared her throat before she spoke again.

“He used to get so intense about things like that. I remember one time, when we were little, he was trying to teach me how to ride a skateboard and he would keep–“

“That’s enough, Charlie,” her mother’s quiet voice sounded at the exact same moment her father clapped his hands together and declared, “It’s getting late.”

She bit down on her lip, blue eyes falling to the blanket she clutched to herself. She studied the texture of the fabric as her parents made comments about the storm, promising it would be no problem if Harry wanted to stay in the extra bedroom through the night, as Charlie would be staying in her old room. It hadn’t been an arrangement they agreed to beforehand, and she wanted to protest their assumptions, but knew she had no way of getting home unless she wanted to splurge on a cab.

She rose from the couch as Harry did, watching as he shook each of their hands in turn. Her mother didn’t hesitate to hug him and he seemed slightly off-put, but otherwise accomidating. Her father pressed his lips to her forehead, his fingers sliding through her hair as he bade her goodnight. Her mother engulfed her in a long hug before leaving the room after her father. Charlie’s eyes followed them as they went. A moment later, she turned to Harry’s curious gaze. He seemed unsure of what to do.

“You should stay tonight. It sounds pretty bad out there,” she gestured to the window. As if on que, a deep rumbling could be heard outside.

“I don’t want to burden anyone. I can walk back to the hotel fine,” he replied, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. Charlie shook her head, biting back a smile as he sheepishly grinned at her. It was obvious he was putting up a fight for the sake of being polite.

“Come on,” she said, inclining her head in the direction of the stairwell. He obliged, crossing the room to follow her as she made her way through the house. His fingers trailed the polished wood of the railing as they climbed the steps. At the top, she paused, glancing his way.

“The bathroom’s at the end of the hall on the right,” she informed him, pointing in the general direction. “My parents’ room is that door across from it.”

She turned then to the left and led him a few steps in the opposite direction from the one she’d just mentioned. She pushed open a closed door and flicked on a light switch.

The walls were painted turquoise. Posters from different events littered the walls, along with a few photos taped haphazardly between. A desk was situated in the corner with an old desktop computer on it. Beside that was a TV on an entertainment center with a few DVDs lined up beside it. On her bedside table was a stack of books and a lamp. Otherwise, the room seemed rather bare.

“This is my room,” she told him. “I took most of my important stuff with me when I moved, but this is what’s left. I don’t miss most of it.”

He nodded as he peered into the room. She hadn’t stepped in, but rather leaned against the doorframe as he examined it. After a few moments, she pushed up and brushed past him, back into the hall. She turned the knob of a door directly across from hers and hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

“This was Emmett’s room,” she said quietly. “You can stay here tonight.”

Harry stepped hesitantly into the room behind her. It looked like any other guest room, any personal remnants of Emmett’s long gone. Here and there were a few vaguely boy-ish trinkets, but they had been integrated into a theme. If he hadn’t known better, he never would have known these things had once belonged to Charlie’s older brother.

He watched her as her eyes darted around the room, taking it in. There was no doubt that she was searching for him somewhere in what was left of it. A burst of sadness weighed down his heart.

“Are you okay?” he asked her. She turned to him, plastering on a smile.

“Of course.”

He shook his head, not buying it for a minute. Her eyes were still too dark for her smile to be genuine.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” he assured her, making his way into the room and sitting down on the edge of the bed. He folded his hands on his lap before peering up at her from beneath long lashes. Her eyes looked glassy as she gazed back.

“You can tell me if you want,” he finished.

Charlie’s smile became genuine as she plopped down on the bed beside him, tucking her legs beneath her to sit criss-cross applesauce. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, but didn’t look over to him just yet.

“You’re startlingly good at reading me,” she commented, eyes finally flickering to his face.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I could say the same of you.”

She let out a shaky laugh and it was then that he realized her hands were trembling. Harry said no more, giving her time to collect herself. It was still an option for her to simply bid him goodnight and slip out of the room, leaving him in her wake and unable to sleep, but something told him she wouldn’t. On some level, he felt confident he was getting through to her. Something in their relationship had shifted ever so slightly, and it seemed to be in his favor. Still, he was cautious not to push too far, but rather just enough that she would give in slowly.

“I just get so frustrated with my parents,” she finally admitted. Her fingers were picking at each other in a nervous habit as she spoke. Charlie’s words came out quietly, but were firm and honest. Harry waited for her to continue on.

“They’re hurting still, and I know they are. They regret a lot when it comes to Emmett and what happened in the past with how quickly they lost him, even before he died, but they’re going about it wrong again. They deal with it by pretending it didn’t happen. His name is like, taboo or something. There’s no way to right their wrongs, but they could at least recognize that he was here, that he was a part of this family.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and Harry was acutely aware of the fact that Charlie hadn’t looked up at him once in the last few minutes. Her small frame was still trembling and he contemplated reaching out for her.

“I feel his loss everywhere,” she stated after a moment. A sound like a stifled sob escaped her and he could no longer find the restraint within himself to keep from taking her in his arms.

She gave into him without protest, immediately burying her face into the crook of his neck. It was the most physical contact the two had ever experienced with one another, and he wondered vaguely if the same thought ran through her mind before he dismissed it as a selfish idea. Of course she was focusing on her pain rather than Harry’s arms wrapped tightly around her.

He couldn’t be sure that anything he was doing would help her as the wetness of her tears soaked through his shirt. Even though she was still shaking in his arms, she felt surprisingly strong to him. Her small frame would have suggested otherwise, but it was evident that there was more to her than what met the eye, even in her physical aspects.

Charlie was desperately trying to calm herself. The words spoken aloud had broke her, but she had to pull it together. She felt ridiculous, unable to stifle her sobs or control her emotion. Harry was running his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to comfort her. He hadn’t said or done anything to suggest her outburst bothered him in the least. Quite the opposite, he had coaxed it from her, sensing the need within her before she even had in herself.

She couldn’t deny how undeniably good he felt. He overpowered her senses, somehow soothing her by simply existing beside her. His scent filled her nostrils, a sweet smell like green apple mixed with sweat. His touch left goosebumps in its wake and it was all she could do to pray he wouldn’t notice. He spoke lowly to her, softly assuring her all was well, and sensing her embarrassment, telling her that was okay, too.

Charlie stayed there in his embrace for much longer than she deemed appropriate, but felt unable to move. Her breathing slowed, the tears coming less and less frequent as she pressed her lips together into a hard line, gathering her strength to sit up. Harry’s grip on her never lessened, though it was apparent she was coming down from her hysteria. His steady heartbeat against her ear gave her the strength to finally move. Harry allowed her room to sit up, but didn’t release her completely, peering down at her as she slowly turned her eyes to look up at him.

“Sorry,” she apologized lamely.

He shook his head at her immediately, eyes full of concern.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize about. You don’t have to pretend to be okay, especially with me,” he insisted.

She lifted a hand to run her fingers through her hair. Inhaling a large breath, she braced to stand and Harry’s arms fell from her. Slowly, she turned to look at him as she backed toward the door.

“I think that’s probably what I’m most afraid of,” she admitted with a half-smile. A moment later, she disappeared into the dark hallway. Across the hall, Harry could hear her door as it quietly shut.

There was nothing left for him to do but fall against the mattress, rub his eyes, and wonder what exactly it was that she meant.

-

Harry awoke after a short restless sleep to a light tapping on the door. He grunted in response before realizing where he was. Remembering his manners, he responded with a more audible, “Yes?”

The door cracked open to reveal Charlie in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a gray hoodie. She poked her head in hesitantly, and after her eyes settled upon him, she blushed and immediately looked away. Harry suddenly remembered that he’d stripped down to his boxers before falling asleep. Though his lower half was tangled in a mess of blankets and sheets, his chest was exposed.

“My mom made cinnamon rolls, if you’re interested,” she told him after clearing her throat. He couldn’t help the grin that spread to his face at how flustered she clearly was. As if sensing this, her eyes flashed to his face. Despite the roll of her eyes, the redness in her cheeks deepened before she left the room.

Harry stretched, twisting his back to relieve his muscles from some of the soreness there. He’d been tossing and turning all night and finally landed in an awkward position as exhaustion took over and he drifted into unconsciousness. A moment later, he was pushing himself up and out of bed, forcing on his clothes from the night before. He made his way over to a mirror on the wall and shook out his hair, running his fingers through it in an attempt to make it a little more presentable. He sighed, finding it to no avail, and started toward the door.

The sweet scent of fresh baked pastries wafted up the stairs to the second floor. He was reminded automatically of his days working at a bakery, before he’d filled out an application for the X Factor. He followed the smell to the kitchen where he found Charlie sitting cross-legged on a kitchen counter. In the dining room, her father was speaking lowly into the reciever of a phone, typing furiously into a Macbook Pro.

“He works from home,” she explained before popping a piece of cinnamon roll into her mouth.

“And your mum?” he asked, glancing over to her as he walked toward the plate of sweet rolls.

“She’s outside gardening. She works on Saturdays, so she gets Mondays off,” she shrugged in response.

Harry nodded as he leaned against the counter space beside her. A moment later, he took a bite from the pastry.

“Do you want something to drink? We have coffee, orange juice, milk...” she was trailing them off absently as she picked off another piece of the roll. He watched her with interest as she did so before requesting a glass of orange juice.

Charlie hopped down from her spot on the counter, landing rather unsteadily on her feet. Thoughtlessly, Harry reached out to steady her at her lower back. Her head turned in his direction and he immediately dropped his hand. She thanked him quietly as she turned toward the fridge. A moment later, she handed him a glass filled three-quarters full.

They fell into a comfortable silence then, listening to nothing but the quiet yet firm voice of Charlie’s father as he spoke on the phone. Harry’s eyes landed on the window that led to the sunroom. Bright light filtered in, lighting up the room naturally. Beyond the window, the world seemed vivid and revitalized in the storm’s wake.

“So when do you fly out?”

Charlie’s voice was nonchalant, but upon turning to her, she seemed determinedly focused on picking apart her breakfast. His heart swelled momentarily with hope before deflating at the realization that she was asking about his inevitable departure. He cleared his throat before answering.

“Thursday morning.” He paused a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, actually. What are you doing Wednesday night?”

Charlie laughed, reaching out for her own glass of orange juice. It was just beyond the reach of her fingertips and Harry moved to pick it up, easily handing it over. She smiled at him.

“You’re not tired of me yet?” she asked in jest. Harry froze as he watched her. She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Do you expect me to?” he questioned, suddenly serious.

Charlie shrugged, not meeting his eyes. Harry inhaled deeply, doing his best to hide the hurt he felt.

“I won’t,” he assured her.

“You don’t know that,” she responded automatically. She looked over to him, raising a brow as she popped another piece of cinnamon roll into her mouth.

“I won’t,” he repeated adamantly. Charlie smiled half-heartedly.

“A discussion for another time,” she dismissed. “But to answer your question, I have nothing going on Wednesday night. What are we doing?”

Despite himself, he found a sheepish grin spreading across his face. Charlie watched him with amusement, waiting for his answer.

“I heard The Naked and Famous are in town. Thought you might want to go.”

She smacked his arm in reply, a giddy laugh escaping her. He chuckled as he stepped back from her touch.

“Shut up. Why would you do that?”

“I like them.”

“Do you even listen to them?”

“You listen to them.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I like what I’ve heard, which is what I’ve listened to with you. I think it’ll be fun,” he answered.

Charlie shook her head in content disbelief as she crossed her legs beneath her again. Harry moved back to his previous space beside her to finish his second cinnamon roll.

“That was really thoughtful of you. Thank you,” she said, her happiness seeping into the sound of her voice. His grin broadened.

“It was mostly Zayn’s idea, but I take credit for choosing specifics.”

“You told Zayn about me?”

Harry felt suddenly shy. The connotation of telling his band about her was laid out in front of them and he wished he’d thought through his response better. He was suddenly ten years old again, trying desperately to hide his crush on Gemma’s best friend. He’d almost forgotten what it had felt like.

“I was trying to think of a way to impress you,” he admitted, much to his surprise.

After a moment’s hesitation, he finally raised his eyes to hers. She seemed thoughtful, biting down on her lip. As time dragged on, it became more apparent that she either had no response, or purposefully decided not to make one. He returned his eyes to the bright morning beyond the windows, wanting beyond anything else to know what was running through her mind but too afraid to ask.