The Guest [harry styles]

1

Isaac calling

I watch it ring out. There are few people in the world that I have little to no time for - but Isaac Kim is definitely one of them.

Missed call: Isaac (8)

Not today, Satan. In fact, not ever.

I inhale deeply once and then drum my fingers on the table top. Punctuality has never been my best friend's strong suit, instead religiously following the mantra of Queen Clarisse Renaldi - 'A queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early.'

The glass double doors of the diner open and I stretch up and peek over the booth in front of me to get a glimpse at the arrivee. It takes a few seconds for him to come into view, but once he does - I can't help but roll my eyes. Tom is effortlessly glamorous in his black duffle coat and tan Chelsea boots, and I'm not naive to the numerous heads that turn his way as he passes the tables. With a bone structure to die for and a jawline that could slice bread; he transforms the sticky linoleum flooring into a New York fashion week runway. He smiles when he sees me - eyes crinkling at the corners, and I raise my eyebrows in greeting.

"She lives." He comments; throwing his arms up in the air as he slides into the seat across from me. "It's been what ⁠— a month since I last saw you?"

"Meh." I shrug, eyeing the skull emblazoned fabric draped around his neck. "I've been busy. Is that an Alexander McQueen?"

Tom frowns. "Sure you have. It must be exciting only socialising with yourself." He lowers his gaze to the accessory in question and nods nonchalantly.

"Oooh, someone's doing well." I smirk and slouch backwards into the cushioned seat as he shrugs his arms out of the duffle. After folding it into a neat pile beside him, he returns his eyes to my face.

"And how are you doing?"

My least favourite question, along with how have you been? Or how are you coping?

Everything is fine until people start asking questions ⁠— prying into a topic that I have no interest in discussing and haven't had for the last six months.

"Fine." I shrug and fold my arms across my chest. "Just peachy."

Tom watches me for a moment ⁠— eyes blazing with a look that tells me he doesn't believe a single word that's left my mouth since he walked in. I know he's looking at the bags beneath my eyes; deep purple semi-circles that look more like bruises than the aftermath of little sleep. But Tom also knows that I don't like to talk and that he'll do well not to pry.

"Your brother is calling."

"Hm?" I follow his gaze to my mobile phone sat in the centre of the table; edging itself across the plastic top with each vibration. Sure enough, it's ringing for the ninth time this morning.

Isaac calling

We both watch it ring out in an awkward silence until Tom clears his throat. "Will, I need a favour."

I shake my head in disbelief and watch a waitress pass our table; menus wedged in her armpits and four tall glasses of sparkling water in her hands, before I turn back to my friend. "What could you⁠—" I gesture to the designer fabric dangling from his neck and then to the worn out camel teddy-bear coat adorning my body. "⁠—possibly need from me?"

Tom smiles wickedly and cracks the knuckles on his left hand as if he's about to step into the ring and go ten rounds with me. "I have a friend who needs somewhere to stay." Oh no. "He needs to lie low so he can get some work done, and I was thinking⁠—"