Note To Self (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter Seventy Two.

Eleven o'clock was when Harry gave up and sought out the privacy of the basement, where he'd been shown the bed that was deemed his for the night. Placed against a cement wall beneath a tiny window that peeked from the home's foundation, submerged in darkness but with just enough light from the street lamps outside to keep the creepiness from setting in. The ceiling was paper thin and he could hear the television upstairs clear as day, but with his head planted between the pillows he managed it drown it out. Drown everything out. His guilt for never returning home that night, his sorrow directed toward no one other than himself in the form of self pity, and the obnoxious presence of the voice that rattled his brain every time she spoke too loudly from upstairs.

The cold of the underground kept him curled into himself on the small twin bed, and the overbearing weight of the world crushed him into slumber. A light sleep, his mind too busy to fully let him submerge in the bliss of unconsciousness. He still heard every noise, was still aware of his surroundings, and he tried his very best to ignore the sound of bare feet stepping down the creaky wooden staircase after what felt like hours by himself.

Facing the wall, his eyes never once opened to see when the creakiness disappeared and was replaced by gentle steps on cold cement. He knew exactly who it was when small fingers brushed against the back of his shirt and shockwaves were sent through his system.

"Go away."

"Move over," she muttered, just barely managing to perch herself on the tiny space at the edge of the mattress.

"No," he refused. "Go away."

"We're sharing a bed tonight, move over."

Harry's face was ripped away from the wall and he looked over at her in the low light. She'd removed his hoodie, thank god, but the light graced her features in an all-too-familiar way and he hated that it had the ability to take his breath away. "You're joking, right?"

"No."

"You really think I'm going to share a bed with you?" He stared at her while he waited a few short seconds for a reply that never came. "Go sleep on the couch."

"They're still up there."

"Sleep on the floor then for all I care."

He turned back to face the wall again, and his words lingered in the cold, damp air of the basement. Aubry sat in her minuscule space on the bed, and Harry was stubborn enough to not move a single muscle in hopes of hogging as much room as he possibly could. He even scooted closer to the edge in attempt of taking up even more room, and she sighed. "Harry."

She received no answer. He ignored her.

When she reached out and touched the space between his shoulder blades, his skin felt as though it were on fire and he turned to face her again. "Leave me alone."

"Stop," she breathed.

"No, you stop," Harry spat. "You can't just toss me aside and treat me like shit, and then pretend nothing happened. That's not how this works."

She sighed again, and her eyes fell to the cover of the blankets he'd covered himself in. He wished they served as a better barrier from her painful presence. "Look, I said some stuff I didn't mean."

"Well I meant everything I said," he dismissed. "At least one of us can be truthful."

"You called me a whore."

The bitter laugh that blew past his lips didn't sound right coming from him. "You can't throw that in my face, you're the one who calls yourself a whore."

"You pissed me off, okay?" Aubry's fingers touched the surface of the blankets, and she successfully managed to slot her rear end fully on the extra space of the bed that Harry had stupidly forgotten to hog. "I said the things I said because you made me mad."