What Goes Around... || H.S. Harry Styles

5.

Harry doesn't even wait 24 hours before messaging Tash, convincing himself that writing to her the moment he got home was far too pushy and judging by what Jamie had told him about her luck in relationships, he really didn't want to make her run from him.  He had written and rewritten the message a hundred times before lunch the next day before he finally settles on something simple but open ended so that she may feel the need to respond.

*Hey, it's Harry, how do you feel about Chinese food?*

*Hi! Well, apart from the fact it's probably my favourite food in the whole wide world... I guess I'm impartial.*

He grins at his phone, her text coming through merely moments after his and he is a little relieved that she's not the type to play long drawn out games of making the other wait and playing hard to get. 

Although he's been sleeping with woman who he meets out or that come into the bar, he hasn't actually dated anyone for the best part of a decade.  The odd one or two dinner dates that Alice had set up being the exception, but he was so disinterested in pursuing anything past that night that he really didn't give a fuck how he acted or how he was received.

*Free tonight?*  He sends, panicking the second he hits the button that he should have been more charming or friendly or something.

It takes a few agonising minutes for Tash to respond and it has Harry pacing up and down his living room in anticipation.

*Sure!* Is all she writes and Harry finds himself fist pumping the air out of pure exhilaration.

*Pick you up at 8 :)* He typed and deleted the smiley face four times before groaning into the air and cursing under his breath at how ridiculous he was being.

Tash's last message saying *Grovely :)* has him chuckling, relaxing his muscles  momentarily before anxiety crashes through his body again.

-

At 7.55pm Harry is knocking on Tash's door with a shaky hand.

"Shit," she hisses, inwardly cursing him for being early and equally at herself for running late.  What she doesn't know is that Harry has been outside the building for half an hour, anxiously watching the clock on his phone tick each agonising minute by until he couldn't physically stand it anymore, telling himself five minutes early is better than being late.

She is quickly swiping her lips with a stick of her favourite lip balm and messing her hair with her hands as she throws the pile of clothes from her bed into the closet and closes the door behind it.

"M'sorry I know I'm early!" He proclaims at the same time she yells, "I'm running a little late!"

Her breath hitches when she sees him.  He looks breathtakingly handsome, tight black jeans and boots adorn his bottom half while a charcoal t-shirt that looks impossibly soft drapes from his torso, a cross pendant hanging from his neck and a tan fedora hiding his messy curls.

In one hand he holds a sweater and in the other a single white rose, no paper or packaging, just causally twirling it in his fingers by the stem before holding it out for her to take.

She's genuinely taken aback, the gesture seeming so unpretentious and not forced and his face is so apprehensive it almost looks scared.

"Harry, that's really sweet, thank you," she tries not to sound too emotional by the simple act when in fact she feels a little teary.  "Come in, sorry about the mess, I'll be two minutes."

She's running around trying to find her other black boot that matches the one already on her foot. Her necklaces hang in the v neck of her black silk slip dress and her heavy boots and huge grey knitted cardigan a complete contrast to her delicate figure and dress.