Broken Misery (H.Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"How was school?"

I take a first bite of the cheese and spinach ravioli soaked in tomato sauce that Harry delightfully prepared for dinner. He casually fills up my glass with white wine, pouring a good amount of it into his own afterwards, and he sits across me.

"School's school," I admit with a sigh. "Last week before tests, so it's basically revision only. What did you do today?"

Making sure that he doesn't stain his white shirt with the sauce, he hunches over and leans a little bit over his plate as he takes his first bite. He doesn't bother swallowing before talking. "Did some Christmas shopping. I put some gifts already under the tree. It's great, by the way," he rants awkwardly. "The tree, I mean. It's great. Very Christmas-y. Because, uh, you know. It's Christmas... You like Christmas, right?" A long pause is taken that allows me to giggle. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"School," I simply reply, covering my smile by biting down some food. "You?"

With a shrug, he takes a long sip of his drink and chews his food at the same time, blending both of them in the cavern of his mouth. "Hanging out. I like Christmas."

It was seven thirty in the evening when I walked in the house and was welcomed with the delicious scent of homemade food and wine. Harry was standing in the kitchen with an apron tied around his neck and stomach, and was cutting vegetables on the island as a side for our dinner. The water was boiling on the stove and the sauce was slowly cooking in the saucepan, but it already smelled incredible. He'd even thought of playing background music and he was singing along the romantic lyrics when he noticed me standing in the doorway.

He welcomed me with a smile and wiped his hands on the apron to help me carry my school bag and books to the living room. He placed a gentle but hesitant peck on my cheek and motioned for me to go shower before dinner. By the time I walked back down to the kitchen with my hair air drying and my pyjamas, I felt underdressed for the kind of dinner we were having.

Nonetheless, Harry pulled the chair for me and opened his best bottle of wine. I was extremely surprised with the amount of thought he'd put into this, but it didn't feel like the type of dinner we should've been having at this point.

"If you want to have lunch tomorrow, I'm free," I inform him. It hadn't been my intention in the first place to blurt this out, out of nowhere. But after the declined offer this afternoon and the dinner he prepared anyway, my brain decided to make up for the lost time. His eyes brighten but he holds back his grin, so I go on not to give him false hope. "Alfie and I are supposed to study after class but I'm sure he won't mind I cancel our plans. It's not like we can't study on our own."

It takes him a few moments to reply. I watch him bite down a couple of pieces, drink two or three sips, before he even opens his mouth to reply. "Alfie seems great," Harry mutters with a forced, tight smile, not answering my question. "You two have known each other for a while?"

I shrug. "Since school started; we met on the first day. I'm sure you'd get on really well with him, Harry."

As he takes in this information and visibly struggles to hold back a comment, I bite my bottom lip that has started quivering with laughter. Jealousy is written all over his features and my stomach does acrobatics at the thought of him still having feelings for me even after all those months. Even after all those girls.

Or maybe it's just the food that Harry poisoned.

For the next twenty-minutes, we hardly exchange anything other than quick fire questions with no developed answers. He asks a yes or no question, and I reply with a yes or a no. I ask him the same type of questions but he doesn't even bother answering; a quick nod or a shake of head are his only responses. By the time we're done eating and drinking, we wash the dishes quickly together - he cleans and I dry - head to the living room where I sit on my end of the sofa with my books scattered over my lap while he sits on his end with his fingers drumming on his black clad stomach.