Dealing With Absence » h. styles au

29ᵀᴴ CHAPTER

"Uhn-ghn," he growls sleepily. "'s the cold. So- nghn - knackered."

Harry's sentences don't make sense. Nothing besides the low rumble coming from his chest as he speaks gets past Leesh's ears to reach her brain. Her fingertips are numb and tingly from the contact with someone else's, and she really, really wants to move and reach to touch his face, explore the softness as she bombards him with questions about yet another trip.

She can't, though. Really can't, as in physically incapable of doing so.

It can't be earlier than three in the morning, and so her circadian rhythm demands sleep more than her soul seems to demand the curly one's attention.

Leesh will deal with it later. Right now she'll give in to the dark.

--

There's an itchy spot bugging her ankles and she keeps trying to ignore it until the moment it goes from a mere itch to a full-on, incessant bugging. And it's not even hurting; it's just that- fucking Jesus. Leave her alon-

Harry's toes are nudging her, but she doesn't actually acknowledge him just yet. Firstly, her eyes blink open to find a single bed fitting a single person, which, okay, that's the logic, but. There was someone else struggling to fit there, too, and now what's left is an already cold, empty spot next to Elisha.

Then she looks at her foot and finds Harry sitting on the very edge of the mattress, squeezing himself as much as his body allows him so he won't fall off the bed, but not disturb Leesha's space, either. (She pulls her legs closer to her chest just so he can adjust himself).

Harry's got his back against the wall and his feet tucked up underneath Elisha's shins, wrapped by the cover. It's the only tissue separating their skins from touching where their bones should supposedly meet.

He's wearing this bright, astonishing smile on his lips and it's just annoying, how damn smug he looks at - one single check on the clock and - freaking eight thirty in the morning. The morning!

Wait.

"Oh, shit. Shit, Harry, we're la-"

"They let us skip a few hours," he cuts her off midsentence, still smiling. Then, there's a genuine frown between his eyebrows and Elisha bites back the urge to stand up right then and smooth it off with her own lips. What the actual fuck? "It's not like they're busy or anything."

She's still biting her lips when she smiles at him, too. Busy is certainly not one of the words Leesh would use to describe their routine, at all. How Harry's talked to Dora and Edwin, though, is beyond her. She refuses to believe he's gone there and back just to ask for a few more hours in bed.

As Leesha lets her sleepy mind float over useless topics, Harry raises the mug trapped between his fingers in a silent cheers and then moves his gaze to her bedside table, where she finds one of her own. Next to it, there are pictures of his latest trip: images of blurry skies and endless trees, ruins of something Leesh can't quite figure what once was.

"Where's this?" she asks, curious. They hadn't had the time to talk about it before he drove away Friday night, what with Harry being too busy talking to Zayn and figuring things out. Probably another trip for another weekend.

Instead of answering, the curly haired only purses his lips together and shakes his head, lips wrapping around the rim of the mug and testing the liquid briefly, pulling away as if it burns.

Elisha frowns herself, not quite getting it. "What? You're not telling me about this one?" her tone is faux incredulous, and as she slips the words past her mouth, she sits straight and reaches out for her own mug.

The Sun is completely absent, but the morning light is coming through the window either way, that hazy, blurred glow casting shadows of the furniture all over her mouldy walls. Harry's face is washed out by it, the angle just right to brighten up his features and give him this angelical look.

There should be a limit for beauty. With or without one, Harry's definitely crossed it.

He keeps smiling down at his hands as if he knows something more, his mood way too gleeful on a Monday morning for one to handle. Elisha sort of wants to push him out of the bed, just for the fun of watching his uncoordinated body fumbling to get off of the floor.

"Nope, not this one, no." As if denying it with words three times already wasn't enough, he keeps shaking his head fiercely, not daring to look her in the eyes. "Think you can wait a bit so I'll explain why later?"

Leesh doesn't like the mischievous tint to his voice, but it's not like she has any other choices, is there?

As a reply, she sips her tea for the first time, contemplates its British art.

Tea is mostly a religion by now, one she follows blindly without further questioning. And if she also believes disgustingly much on this certain boy sitting just by the foot of the bed. You can't really blame her.

(He's just like a God).

--

Author's Mind (?)

Comments: 1. Guys! I posted the introduction for my next fic already. It's going to be a Louis one and it'll be called 'Wind Writing'. If you could check that out, it'd mean the world. Love you xx

Dedication (to the best comment): {@aimluvs1D} Aw, love! Thank you so much :) I do make my best to create unique characters and I'm glad to see it's paying off. I'm definitely going for the writer career, but I'm not sure it's really going to work. Either way, thanks for the support! :)

Next Update: Saturday; May 24th

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