Nowhere In Particular // H.S.

Eight: First Day Of My Life

"In case you didn't know," he speaks softly, pushing over a plate for me. "Bed head looks exceptional on you."

I feel my cheeks redden, warm from embarrassment, and I quickly move hands to pat down the curly mess. My fingers tangle in my hair as I try to run them through the knots, hoping to tame the bed head Harry's referring to.

"No, Greta," he reaches out to me, stopping my hands. "I mean it," he smiles again and I know he's sincere. "I like this. You don't need to be anyone other than who you are. I want to know the real Greta Develo, the one who wakes up with wild hair and whispers about her life seconds before falling asleep. "

"Okay," I whisper, moving my head to take a sip of my coffee, wishing I could say more.

I want to tell him the same thing. That I too want to know the real Harry Styles. I want to know his pet peeves. I want to know if he still talks to his childhood best friend and if he's always this energetic regardless of the time of day. I want to know what has caused him to laugh the loudest he's ever laughed before and if he prefers to write with pen or pencil. I want to know every little thing about him, who he really is, but the only thing I manage to say is okay.

"So, I looked at the bus schedule," he interrupts our silence, his cheeks full with food. "There's one leaving in an hour, headed east. Do you still want to go with me?"

I don't hesitate to respond with an enthusiastic nod and my eyes grow wide with wonderment of how he could even ask that question. Of course I want to go with him. He smiles at my eagerness and I decide to let myself laugh at my reaction, rather than become embarrassed by it. It feels nice not to worry.

"Great," he smiles. "If you said no, I'd be a sad fellow. I like being with you."

...

Sitting on the bumpy bus, slightly queasy from the winding road I'm beginning to think Paradise Motel was onto something when it named itself paradise. I would much prefer to be back there, sitting on a bed, watching Harry try to catch fruit snack in his mouth only to fall right off the mattress.

Instead, I'm here, slouched in an uncomfortable position with headphones in my ear and eyes out the window. Harry's next to me, his arm pressed into mine and his legs stretched out as wide as he can make them in this small space and invading what's supposed to be my leg space.

He's been buried deep in a book for the last hour and I've been trying to figure out how he hasn't thrown up from car sickness yet. I've never been able to read in the car and I can't imagine even attempting it now on this bus.

Travelling by bus is slow. Most of the day has passed by now, the sun slowly setting behind us, and we haven't made it more than a few towns east. Having to constantly stop to let off old passengers and let on the new, prevents us from having a smooth trip.

Harry and I haven't said a word to each other in at least an hour. Not because we don't want to talk to each other, we're just lost in our own little worlds. I find it comforting in a way. I don't feel like I need to prove myself to him. He's perfectly fine if we just sit next to each other in silence, lost in our own worlds. It feels nice having someone there, nice knowing that someone wants to be next to you, it feels nice not to be alone.

With my eyes still focused outside the window I feel one of my headphones rip out of my ear, the music quickly fading away. Seconds later I feel a shaky breath next to my ear, the voice full of warmth.

"Watcha listening to?" he asks quietly. I can feel his smile against the side of my face, radiating something more than a smile should.

"Music," I respond quickly, and I turn my head to look at him.