About (Harry Styles)

24.

What a bizarre question to ask a stranger.

Unless ... He's not a stranger.

My prediction to who it is appears right before me as I turn to face him. His reaction is confused, in part between aghast and incredulity.

"I am not a stalker and what the hell are you doing in my room?!"

"Your room?"

Noticing for the first time that he's half naked, a towel wrapped snugly around his waist, I slap my face with my hands, my fingers covering my eyes from the sight. Not only obscuring my vision but how much of a tomato I must be looking like right now. I hear him laugh, and I separate my fingers slightly to catch a glimpse of him, irritated that he's finding this amusing.

"Get dressed and get out!" I demand, his laughs halting.

"Why? This is my room. Why do I need to get out?" He inquires. His room? That's impossible.

"I think you're mistaken. I do have a key to this room and no, I did not steal it or bribe someone to give me this," I say, showing him my key card putting down any suspicions he might have. "Get dressed, please. I can't talk to you like this." I storm off into the direction of the bathroom until he finishes putting on some decent clothes.

"Well, since you said please," I hear him say as I close the bathroom door behind me. I pace back and forth in the tiny bathroom, trying to make sense of the situation. When nothing comes to mind, I sit, flustered on the toilet.

Five minutes pass and a knock appears on the door, causing me to stand on my feet. 

"You okay in there?" He asks, his voice muffled through the barrier. I don't answer. Instead I open the door, provoking him to flinch. He jumps and clears his throat. "I've thought about this through," he starts. "And I've realized that you, too, also have a key to this room. I can't indict you as a stalker when I don't have enough evidence to do so. And that, I don't know, maybe this is fate toying with us."

"Fate?" I say the word out loud. His gaze seals on mine as he raises his right arm, showing me the bracelet. "You believe in that stuff?"

"You don't?"

He's confusing.

"We already talked about this," I remind him.

"Yeah, but I didn't finish my thought," he says. "Someone came in and interrupted us, remember?"

My mind flashes back to the intimate moment when Harry Styles stood incredibly close to me. His body was practically on me. The odd sensation of him being so close, almost scares me. And I'm even more afraid that it might be a different kind of scared. I feel my heart rate increasing and I'm not sure if I'm hiding it from him really well. Returning to reality, I see that he's said something I didn't catch.

"Do you want to finish your thought?" I ask.

"I didn't believe in fate. It was nothing but a meaningless concept to me, to fool us, to keep us naive. But I don't know anymore. I've questioned my own thoughts because I've met you under so many bizarre circumstances. Maybe fate is trying to tell me something."

Every one of his words ... My gut's telling me he is actually being sincere.

"We need to sort this out," I say, changing the subject. I step pass him and stand a few feet away from him, the air much more breathable from over here. "Maybe we can talk to the captain or something and you can get another room. Because this is their mistake for booking two completely different people in one room."

"Yeah, right," he mumbles as he looks towards the ground. He looks deep in thought. Even though I can't see his face, I know he's suddenly ticked off by something I had said. "Wait, why do I need to transfer rooms? I was here first."

"Because ... " I can't come up with a good reason why he should be the one to move. I'm thrown off, my thoughts are muddled by his sudden disgruntledness.

"I'm sorry," he says. He closes his eyes and pinches his nose bridge as if he's extremely frustrated with something. "I don't mean to be such a prick."

"It's okay," I say, surprising myself. 

"Can I tell you something?"

His question is simple, yet I'm struggling to give him an answer. Why would he want to tell someone like me something? We barely know each other.

Exactly. We barely know one another. A very good reason to tell me these things. Tomorrow, we may have nothing to do with one another. Despite earlier instances, I have a feeling we'll never meet again after this.

"Sure," I say.

He moves closer to me, but his steps bring him to the sliding doors. He stares outside for a brief moment before he turns to look at me again, his expression is hard for me to read.

"Have you ever felt pressured?" He asks.

"Yes," I say hesitantly. I can tell he's not satisfied with my response, but he takes it anyway.

"Do you ever feel like .. you're stuck?"

"Why are you asking me these kinds of questions?"

"I don't know," he breathes in a deep breath. "You know what, forget it," he brushes it off with half a convincing smile. "I'll just call someone and arrange a different room for me."

I stay silent as he exits the room. For whatever reason, I'm feeling sort of ... bad for taking his room. Usually I wouldn't care, if it was anyone else, even if it was Harry Styles. But on some kind of level, I feel bad.

We haven't known each other long. We're only acquaintances. And even though I don't want to admit it, I'm afraid we might be more than that now. We're not exactly friends nor are we more than that. Are there even labels for our kind of relationship? Do we even have a relationship?

I'm sitting on one of the couches when he finally reenters the room, a sullen look on his face.

"What is it?" I ask, standing to my feet.

"I'm afraid we're gonna have to share this room," he says, his phone still in his hand.

"Excuse me?"

Dun. Dun. DUN.

Happy late thanksgiving to those who celebrate it. I ate so much I think I gained like ten pounds. Seriously.

Re-editing this and omg, i'm so sorry for anyone who is reading such an awful story...