This Thing Upon Me [Order The eBook] [Harry Styles]

Chapter 25

He would watch me shower from the bed in our rooms sometimes, and whenever I sensed him looking, I would take extra care to put on a show of washing. There was nothing sexual about it, just sheer exposure and vulnerability. He liked to cook shirtless, his faint singing filling the kitchen like an island breeze. I missed the way he would say "whoopsie daisy" whenever I fell or dropped something around the house. And I missed falling asleep on his lap whenever we stayed up late watching movies and playing video games. He was serious and meticulous about his games, and typically zoned me out anytime he embarked on a solo excursion into the console.

The last door in my memories of him led to the gifts. There had been several little ones throughout the years from both of us, but the ones that appeared to me were the most significant. The first thing I saw was the vintage Cartier watch I'd bought him in 2014, which I once thought about engraving, but couldn't think of anything to say. Shortly after he had brought me a vintage polaroid camera, and although I never purchased film for it, I liked the way it looked in my office cabinet, among my leather journals and other Zayn-inspired keepsakes.

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After a while of catching up with him, I got up and wandered around the lounge and studied his record player and vinyls. There were tons of Bob Marley and Gregory Issacs. I took the liberty of keying up "Natty Dread" and felt deeply satisfied listening to the crackling static of the player as "Lively Up Yourself" started. The music transported me right away. I shut my eyes and vibed around the room as he checked his phone and took a few calls on the patio. I fell into the bass, playing air guitar, bobbing my head and swaying my hips. Then my hat was off, flying across the floor and skidding to a halt against a far wall. I ruffled my hair and drifted away with the vintage sound. When "No Woman No Cry" came on, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to find him staring at me from across the room, quietly amused. He had slipped back in and posted up against the sliding door, and had been watching me for a while now. I laughed and plopped back on the couch in embarrassment.

"Don't mind me," he laughed. "I was enjoyin' the show...seriously."

"M'sorry. I lost it for a minute there. I missed this so much."

"Me too." He stepped into the kitchen and there was the sound of the fridge opening and shutting. Soon he reemerged with two beers (Stellas) and I watched him open each with the backside of a plastic lighter. Before we drank, we toasted to old friends and new paths, to our success, and to whatever else the future may hold for the both of us. Before drinking, I lost myself, watching his lips part and slowly wrap around the brim of the bottle. Then I caught myself and followed his lead. I wasn't fond of beer, but this one was decent. A Belgium lager. Light, summery. I curiously swished it around my mouth, rocking my head to "Rebel Music", then watched Z grab a coaster for our drinks.

"Sick tune," he said off-handedly, falling back onto the couch with a thud.

"Since when do you drink beer?"

"I know right?" he chuckled weakly. "Ant' and the boys got me into it a while agoh. I just sort of picked it up from there, y'know?"

"I remember you hated drinking."

"So much. Still kinda do, if I'm honest." He shrugged, lifting the bottle for another sip. "I'm what they call "a social drinkah." At that we looked at each other and laughed. I had become the total opposite of a "social drinker" of late. I liked to get f—ked up sometimes, and he was the last person on earth I could fool by pretending otherwise. He had fielded so many late-night drunk calls from me in the band that it made me nervous to look him in the eye just now.