I shrug.
"I hope you're right," I say. "She did say, however, that I could take Tylenol, the extra strength kind. Hopefully that should help while I come off of the Vicodin."
"I'll go out and get you some," Harry jumps in. "I can go now if you'd like."
"No, no," I cut him off, gently. I place a hand over his which he had put on my thigh. "I'm good for the next couple days. She wants to start weening me off on Saturday so I'm okay for right now."
Harry nods.
"Okay. I'll go tomorrow then. I have to go out and get groceries anyway. We're running a little low on food," he says. I hum in agreement and glance down at our touching hands, my heart fluttering at the sight for no apparent reason. I guess I'm just happy we're back together. "The rest of your appointment went okay though?"
I nod my head.
"Yeah, nothing exciting or new happened. Dr. Rhoades just said I'm doing well and healing better than most," I say.
Harry gives my thigh a squeeze and I look up at him, seeing him smile at me.
"I'm glad you're doing okay, love bug," he quietly tells me. "If you ever feel uncomfortable or in pain, though, please tell me. I'll get you whatever you need."
My cheeks heat up at his words. I don't know why, for it's a relatively simple statement, but it sounds sweet coming from his lips.
"Thank you," I whisper, a stupid blush on my face. I clear my throat, trying to compose myself and gather my other thoughts. "So you had something you needed to talk to me about?"
Harry's eyebrows furrow momentarily, clearly having forgotten what it is he wanted to say, but then they smooth out and his mouth forms a small 'o' shape.
"Yes," he says. His eyes nervously dart over to Louis, who has been watching our whole exchange, for some sort of reassurance. I see Louis give him some sort of silent signal through his facial expression, urging him to continue. "So as you know, because I believe Mitch told you while we were on our break - and if he didn't, then this is going to be really awkward - I'm co-hosting the MET Gala next month."
I purse my lips. Did Mitch mention that to me? I want to say yes, but my mind has been so incredibly hazy over the past couple months that I honestly can't remember.
"I don't recall Mitch telling me," I slowly say, causing Harry's face to fall. "That doesn't mean he hasn't, though. My mind's just been....everywhere," I add. I almost blurted out something about me adjusting to being on anti-depressants, but I leave that part out since Louis is still in the room. "But Harry, that's incredible. That's a huge honor and accomplishment."
Harry shyly smiles, a dusty pink color inking across his cheeks.
"He's quite the fashionista," Louis chimes in, causing me to giggle.
"Agreed," I say.
Harry definitely has an eccentric sense of style. Around the house he opts to wear sweatpants and random t-shirts, but when he goes out or to events, he completely transforms. Recently he's been into fancy shoes, I've noticed. Minus the same dirty white pair of vans he insists on keeping around, of course. He's also into fisherman caps and jewelry, and sweater vests. I caught him perusing a selection of them last night on his phone before we went to bed.
"Thank you," Harry bashfully responds. "But I - uh - I don't bring it up to gloat. I bring it up because I was told that I'm allowed to bring a plus one and well, I know the timing is awful with it coming up so soon, but I wanted to know if you would go with me," he asks, looking directly at me.
