a simple favor (h.s.)

five

"That's kind of ironic coming from you, isn't it?" I point out.

Harry stares at me blankly. "Why is that ironic?"

I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. When a minute passes and he still hasn't given me a grin to indicate he was making a joke (I guess that really was a one-time thing, then), I inform him, "You're never in a good mood. I don't think I've seen you smile ever."

Harry's jaw ticks as his mouth curves into an even deeper frown, only proving my point further. "That's not true."

"Maybe you smiled at the wedding." Once again, he flinches, and I try not to join him. "But that was only for show. Aside from that, I've never seen you genuinely smile. I've never even seen you laugh, do you know that?"

Harry stares at me for a moment before asking, "Have you ever considered the fact that you might not be funny?"

My lips unwillingly twitch at his question, but I force myself to roll my eyes. "Whatever. To answer your question, I'm in a good mood because I'm happy."

He blinks, as if the word is unrecognizable to him. Maybe it is. Judging by the expression on his face, you would've thought I'd just delivered a slew of Russian curses, or some other unfamiliar language. "Why are you happy?"

It's a bit of an abnormal question to ask, but then again, the situation we're in is far from normal, so I don't think much of it. "Because I'm officially enrolled in school. I have my first day tomorrow."

He considers me for a long moment, his brows furrowed and his expression entirely unreadable. Finally, he says, "Well, I guess that is exciting, then."

I roll my eyes again, but I'm smiling. He isn't, of course. "Yes, it is. You know, this is going to be my first time back at school since I was seventeen." I have no idea why I'm continuing this conversation with him, especially when he's still in his boxers. I should just take my stuff and go upstairs to my room, but for some reason, I'm in the mood to talk.

Unlike me, Harry is rarely ever in the mood to talk, which is why I'm so surprised when he asks me, "Are you nervous?" He doesn't ask it in a cruel way; instead, he seems genuinely curious.

"A little," I admit. "I know that I'm probably a little rusty, so I'll need to work extra hard. I got my schedule last night, actually."

I wait for him to ask me what classes I'm taking, but he doesn't. Instead, he picks up two of my boxes and says, "I'll show you to your room."

I stare at him, slightly taken aback. I have no choice but to follow him upstairs. The entire walk to my room, I tell myself that just because I'm his wife now, doesn't mean that anything's actually changed between us. He's still going to treat me the same way he did when I was his assistant—invisible. It's not that I expected him to worship me at my feet, but I at least hoped that we'd be able to carry out a complete conversation. Clearly that wasn't going to be the case.

My room is at the end of the hallway, right across from Harry's, and it takes everything I have to keep my mouth from dropping open at the sight of it. It's bigger than my entire studio apartment—bigger than any room I've ever had. The ceilings are high and the tiles are glossy, and there's a massive walk-in closet that has my mouth watering a little. My eyes immediately travel to the empty bookshelf and the desk perched next to the queen-size bed. There's even a balcony. I might faint.

"If you need any other space, there's a few more guest rooms down the hall, so feel free to use those," Harry says, completely oblivious my astonishment. "The bathroom is right outside your door. You get your own."

I have no idea what to say. Should I thank him? Probably. But when I say those two words, he shakes his head quickly as if he's trying to erase them. My neck heats up slightly, and I busy myself with opening up my boxes. Okay, then.