evergreen ↠ harry styles ✓

+21

Eventually—truly eventually since River felt like she aged three hundred years—they retired to the changing rooms. Somehow, it was more silent than it was out there on the field and River had never gotten refreshed and changed so quickly before.

The plan to meet was rushed, and, to be completely honest, it was not truly a plan. It would have required some thought behind the offer, the random call that disturbed River's down time—a glass of white wine on the balcony of her bedroom, watching as the gardener shaped the bushes around the pool—and requested her presence at the Clubhouse.

When she arrived, Harry awaited her at the entrance. He looked fitted to play. Without a word, he turned around and walked towards the entrance to the course and River just had to catch up.

No words were exchanged between them from the time he called her until they finished playing. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable but it also wasn't comfortable. Harry didn't force it but River wasn't going to play herself and fill it with her voice, either. Styles clearly needed something and she was more than happy to wait for him to explain it. As often as she liked to echo it, River was a patient person. Harry was her opposite.

It seemed River still took a little bit longer to get changed than Harry, for he sat on the bench outside, deep in thought. She wore a pair of cream trousers with a white short sleeved shirt, tucked in, with a white and black striped jumper tied around her shoulders and chest. It was warm enough to wear a pair of black slip ons, leather, and the perfect match to the jumper. Harry, ever the comfortable man, wore a pair of distressed blue jeans, another graphic tee, and a button down over it with strange designs that looked like something one would see beneath a scientific microscope.

Once he spotted her, he stood without a word—surprise—and made his way forward. Until they got to the bar, she had no idea where he'd take them but it made sense that he'd want to refuel after the lengthy game.

Whilst River sat on one of the bar stools before the bar, Harry went behind and disappeared further. The quiet of the place made River feel as though she was at home. A head full of short curls caught her attention again and she watched him move like he was also at home.

"The chef usually puts an extra container of soup in the fridge for me when it's on the menu. Would you like some?" he asked casually. Their eyes didn't meet and she couldn't tell if he avoided her on purpose or if he was still deciding how to categorise his feelings.

"I'm not in the mood for soup," she told him.

Harry hummed. "Well, it's either soup or I can put these frozen baguettes in the oven and we can have them with jam. Or honey."

"As long as there is butter, I vote for baguette."

Without a response, he walked away again and didn't come back until he had a tray in his hands, two piping hot, freshly baked baguettes on top of it. A little ceramic butter holder in the corner, a glass of honey, and a jar of red jam balanced alongside each other.

"Come on, then," he mumbled as he walked past River and towards the back door. As she locked her phone, she hopped off of the seat and followed him like he was the pull of the other magnet. Still, words failed to rise between them, though maybe they had no place there to begin with.

Somehow, in some other universe, this could've been the two of them. Strolling across the grass and up the steps to the gazebo. Hearing the tray touch the glass table softly, the soles of their shoes shifting against the floor. Wind in their hair, and sun in their eyes, then a smile that resembled a ghost more than anything solid.

River slotted into her place as usual, and Harry sat beside her. Strangely, it was relaxed and familiar. The smell of the baguette, and the wind, then Harry's perfume, and the sweetness of the honey when she lifted the top of the glass, all melted into something new, something River felt she could enjoy forever.