Memory (Harry Styles)

Chapter 40

The song for this chapter is Sunday Morning by Maroon 5! One of my personal favourites :) I hope you all enjoy!

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I awaken in a sweat-tangled in the heated limbs of Harry's body. The sun peaks out through the dusty blinds of my window as I struggle to uncoil myself from him. Checking the old alarm clock that rests on my bedside table, I notice that it is almost seven-thirty. My dad usually wakes up around eight.

"Harry, wake up!" I nudge his sleeping figure as he lets out a throaty groans and rolls himself into a ball with the covers.

"Harry..." I shove him a bit harder but he still refuses to move. I then move on to a slightly harsher measure and grab one of the pillows off of my bed and whip his head with it. He finally begins to stir.

"What?" He moans into the blanket he clutches to his face, obviously annoyed with my jolting him awake at seven-thirty in the morning. "It's still early, go back to sleep." He reaches his arm around me and attempts to pull me to lay back down with him but I persist.

"Come on, my dad is gonna wake up soon and if he doesn't find you downstairs we're both gonna be in trouble." I tell him. He opens his eyes slightly so they look like little slits on his face as he looks at me before sighing and slowly rolling out of bed.

We sneak our way quietly back down the stairs, which is much easier than when we snuck up yesterday as we are no longer moving in the pitch-black darkness with the sun already up. I head for the kitchen and begin to brew up a batch of coffee while Harry follows close behind and slumps himself onto a chair at the kitchen table. He props his elbows on the wooden table and rests his head sleepily on his fist as he closes his eyes and drifts off.

I pour the black brew into two china mugs and sit next to him, sliding one of the mugs over to him and taking a sip out of the other. He uses his free hand to grab the handle and lift the mug to his lips to take a sip, his eyes still closed. His eyes shoot open and he makes a sour face before putting his cup down and shoving back across to me.

"Ew! You know I hate coffee," he says as he sticks out his tongue in disgust.

"Oh that's right, I forgot you didn't like it." I take the cup and dump the contents into the sink. "I'll make you some tea then." I quickly rinse the cup before filling it with hot water and grabbing a tea bag from the cabinet. The box it is in is still sealed. No one ever drinks tea around here.

"How could you forget? I never order it when I go to Starbucks." That's true. Whenever he orders from me at work its always either a creme frappuccino or some other sort of decaffeinated beverage.

"I don't know, maybe it's because I love it so much and I still can't understand why you don't like it." I say.

"I told you, it's too bitter. And I'd rather not be caffeine addict like some people."

"You mean, most people. A lot of other people have to have their daily coffees too." I defend, knowing that we've had this argument one too many times before.

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean it's good for you." I don't reply as I finish making his tea and bring it over to him. He takes a sip and doesn't make a face this time.

"Well?" I ask. It's my first time really making tea outside of work, so I'm not so sure it will taste exactly right.

"It's okay. Not as good as Nan's but it'll do." He shrugs as he takes another sip. I wouldn't expect it to ever be. His grandmother's tea is out of this world! Probably because she's from England. Aren't they like known for their tea there?