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"You know me, Bexley. I hate it when guys are all closed off. Clinton was never like that, he told me how it was. He told me everything." Mila vented, taking a rather large bite of her medium-well cheeseburger.

"Yeah, but Clinton's also an asshole, and has zero filter. How many times did you call me crying because he told you the truth, but it hurt your feelings? The jerk would even go into detail about his sex life before you, which trust me, was very minimal. It was literally one girl." Bexley replied sympathetically, twirling a long strand of alfredo spaghetti on her fork.

"I know. This is all just new to me. I've been with the same guy for so long that I've forgotten how to even be with anyone else." Mila admitted, rather shamefully.

"Regardless of the negatives, how did your date go overall? There had to be some positive moments." Bexley pressed, desperate to change the subject.

"Course there were. He told me some stories, one about how he made out with Louis' sister and they didn't talk for like three weeks. And we kissed a bit, and enjoyed some food. And then the second I brought up his parents, he went completely cold. It was as if I offended him."

"Maybe you did. Maybe his parents are complete assholes like mine."

"I don't know. It was all too odd. And then that was it, our date was over, and he made it perfectly clear. I don't know what to do, I don't even want to go back to the apartment. I came straight here with you after our date ended."

"I know boo, I know. Just give him another shot, yeah? I mean have you seen the fucking guy? He's freaking gorgeous, and if you don't want him that much I'll take him. I don't need all of that emotional attachment shit, I'd be content with the sex." Bexley spilled, earning a slap from Mila across the table.

"Shut up, Bex. Of course I've seen him, he's the most attractive guy I've ever met in my life. Him and Clinton aren't even on the same scale." She blushed, wondering how in the world she ever even got a guy like Harry Styles in her bed in the first place.

"I'm telling you, Mila. Give it another go. If you have a few more rotten dates, then thats the deal breaker. Give him some time. You have no clue what he's going through, so don't pretend to know something you don't."

Bexley was absolutely right, even though Mila would never admit it. Bexley was always right.


Harry stood outside the tall, maroon-tinted wooden door, his hands stuffed tightly into his black skinny jean pockets, heartbeat heavily excellerated.

It's been well over a year since he's stood on this very front porch, surrounded by an array of flowers and bushes, ranging from lilies to orchards to roses and more. This front lawn used to be the most beautiful garden, but was now filled with half-dead flowers. It was apparent that no one had done any gardening in almost three years.

As Harry observed the place he used to call home, the front door suddenly swung open, causing him to jump slightly from surprise.

A familiar face, standing about a foot shorter than him had appeared. Her identical brown, wavy locks flowed evenly past her breasts, and her eyes were tinted red. She had been crying recently.

"Harry?" Her frail, shy voice croaked, fresh tears threatening to spill from her jade eyes once more.

"Freya?" He breathed, having not spoken her name in ages. His heart suddenly became heavy, and he found it rather difficult to breathe.

"Oh my god, Harry, it's been ages. Please, come in." Freya waved her hand rather frantically, opening the door rather widely so he could enter the premesis.

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