Snowfall [ h.s ]

nine

I was well aware of my position ; in a tight spaced car with none other than the teenage heart throb of the century. There was a whole lineup of girls who would sell their first born in the blink of an eye just to be in my place - I was living out the dream of every teenage girl in the world .. which is why I felt obligated to feel something other than complete discomfort. Even if we'd seemed to have reached some kind of common ground - and understanding of sorts - it didn't make conversation any easier. If anything, it made it much harder. 

He was sat less than 5 feet away from me, and the tension that surrounded him was so strong my shoulders were starting to cramp up from simply being around him. His right hand was tight around the wheel and his fingers drummed loudly against the window pane. His body language practically screamed to leave him alone and for the first time I understood when people said silence was deafening. I'll admit that since his return our relationship has been far from smooth, but I wasn't the one to blame for his sour mood, not this time. I owed all credit to the anonymous caller.  

Anyone who was able to make Harry lose his cool should have been more than alright in my books, you know the whole your enemy's enemy thing, but for some reason I wasn't enjoying it as much as I should have been. 

          "What a thrilling discussion we're having," I muttered, breaking the silence to avoid thinking too much about the alternative. "I have to hand it to you Styles, you're one hell of a conversationalist."

No amused smirk, no witty comeback, not even a half-assed attempt to start some banter. If there was a chance that my attempt at conversation had even affected the brooding pop-star, he wasn't showing sign.

          "Do you ... want to talk about it?" 

I'm not sure who was more surprised by my question - me or Harry. For a full two seconds the car was quiet again, but it was a different kind of silence. Instead of the air being charged with one sided tension coming from Harry, the roles were reversed and I was left torn between wanting him to answer my question and wanting him to ignore it. I tried to keep as much composure as I could, fighting to keep an air of nonchalance. In the drivers seat Harry tensed and his eyes met mine through the rearview mirror for a fraction of a second. 

Finally he looked away, focusing once again on the road. "There's nothing to talk about." 

His voice was hard and flat, void of any kind of emotion which was new for me. The Harry I'd been experiencing for the past week and a half was suave and sharp and cheeky. He walked with a skip in his step, a smile on his face and was so irritatingly charming I didn't doubt he could spark up conversation with a wooden bench. At the time I found it annoying and daft, but now I wondered how much of that was real and how much was faked. 

So, naturally, I had to go with my instinct. No matter how much I would regret it, which I was sure I would, in the very near future. 

          "You, my friend, are so absolutely full of shit." 

I'll be the first to admit it - I could have been a tad gentler. Telling someone they're full of shit is definitely not the easiest way to get results but it was the fastest and I was running out of options that didn't involve some kind of heart to heart that I wasn't about to have with Harry. I didn't want to hear his sob story because I cared, I just wanted him to stop pouting about it. Or so I kept telling myself. 

Harry turned to look at me so quickly I could have sworn I felt the car swerve. 

          "What?" 

I slapped his arm, "Oi mate, mind keeping your eyes on the road?" 

He grudgingly complied, but I could tell this conversation wasn't over from the way he glowered at the car in front of us.