After Life

19

I watched his expression as a long silence passed between us. I had made up my response on the fly, knowing that while part of it was true, and that he had assumed I was asking for his story without actually asking for it, I lied when I made it sound as if that hadn't been my intention. It had, although I had hoped to be a little more delicate in my delivery. Of course, when it came to Harry, even walking on egg shells wasn't delicate enough some times.

His eyes regarded me intensely for a long while, their green hue deepening as his anger bubbled beneath the surface. The fact he hadn't just shouted at me and walked away did not escape my notice, and I had to admit I was proud of that small progress we had made.

Finally he bit his lip harshly, shaking his head as it dropped between his shoulders.

"I can't do this," he muttered, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to me, or to himself.

"Do what?"

"This," he said softly, his eyes down to the ground. "I'm sorry, Lane. I don't even know what I am doing."

He moved to stand then, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.

He was leaving? Now? He can't be serious. He invited me here, to see the images. I thought we were just going to talk, and hang out like normal people our age. But yet again, nothing was normal when it came to Harry. Within minutes we had been back and forth, hot and cold. Cryptic teasing with hostile challenges. And now he was just going to get up and walk away?

Hell fucking no.

I reached out quickly, grabbing his forearm.

"Harry, no," I said firmly, moving to pull him back into his chair. His eyes shot to me quickly, before flickering to my hand on his arm. In his hands was his wallet, and his motions froze as he was pulling bills out to toss on the table.

I waited, meeting him glare for glare, waiting to see what he would do next. Knowing him, he would pull away from me, and storm out. But until that moment, I wasn't going to let go of his arm. For some reason, I didn't want to let him go. I wanted to hold on to him, to show him he wasn't going t push me away that easily. Even thought we weren't anything, barely even acquaintances, he wasn't going to walk away from me like this.

When he made no motion to either pull away or sit back down, I forced the issue.

"Harry, sit down," I said sternly, giving his arm a gentle pull. "Please."

He paused for a moment, before slowly sinking back down into the chair. He seemed genuinely surprised by my commanding tone, something I had never really displayed with him yet in our exchanges. I wasn't usually a pushy person, but right now, he had pissed me off. And when pissed off, I tended to be more forceful than usual.

Once he was seated, his hands still wrapped around his wallet, his eyes on me intently, I spoke up.

"I don't know what's going on with you, or what happened to you," before he had the chance to get angry again, I quickly continued. "And I don't need to. It's none of my business. But I do want to know you. Despite the fact you're always pissy with me, I actually like hanging out with you," I teased, smiling to myself when the corner of his mouth twitched. "I'm not asking for you to spill your history to me. Because I certainly am not going to spill mine to you. Everyone has secrets, and they are entitled to them. I'm grateful that you are helping me with this assignment, I really am. And if you would be willing to help me write my project statement, I would love that. Because I want to write it in a way that is respectful to you, and I am afraid of not doing so. But I understand if you aren't comfortable with that. But beyond this agreement between us, I don't see why we can't just be friends. I'm not asking for life long commitments, pinky swears and pillow talk. I'm just suggesting someone to talk to, commiserate with, and listen. Just someone to have as a friend."

When I finished speaking, I surprised even myself by my honesty and long winded confession. I hadn't even realized myself how much I wanted this strange, anger ridden man in my life until I found myself sitting in this tiny diner begging him not to leave. Normally, moody people pissed me off. Especially when they were passive aggressive the way Harry could sometimes be, telling you off or silently storming, without every telling you why. I was raised that if you had a problem, you put your big girl panties on and you talked about it. Even two year olds were taught to 'use their words', so as adults, it should be an easy thing to do, right? But apparently, this wasn't a skill many in adulthood had mastered, and Harry seemed to be one of them.

But despite that, I still wanted to know him. Not his secrets and his history, but him. What music did he like? He was studying literature, so what were his favorite novels? What drew him in to the written word, what enticed him? What did he do in his spare time? What did he want to do after graduation? All the things any normal person would want to know of a new friend.

They were all such simple questions, but I had no doubt that there was no such thing as a simple answer with Harry Styles. Whether he was willing to give them or not, I sensed they would always be laced with caution and a guarded veil.

Harry stared at me silently, his facial expression completely unchanged from the moment he sat down. I couldn't even be sure if he had actually heard a word I had said. His hands were still wrapped around his wallet, his head still turned towards me with his jaw tight.

Part of me wanted to say something more, something to evoke a response from him, but I thought I had said enough. It was his turn to talk. His turn to 'use his words' so to speak. So I waited.

As usual, a long silence passed, before he seemed to absorb everything I had said to him. His eyes looked down slightly, before the corner of his pink lips twitched into a smirk. Yet again, I witnessed another mood swing before my eyes.

Finally, he looked back up to me.

"So, you want to be my friend?" he asked, his voice teasing.

Rolling my eyes, I sighed with exasperation. "Are you going to make this difficult?" I snapped.

For the second time that afternoon, Harry laughed an honest laugh. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his dimples popping in his cheeks. For such a naturally guarded and cautious man, this fleeting side of him was beautiful. It was one I hoped to see more of.

"Well, friend," he snickered as he reached out and put an arm over my shoulders for a quick, awkward hug. "you better get used to me being difficult. I've been told I am very much so."

"Isn't that the truth," I muttered, smiling down into my bowl of soup.