Chapter 27
I'd resolved to myself that I wasn't going to sleep. That I was going to stay up all night, alert, and keep my wits about me like I had done the previous two nights here alone just in case that small part of me that was still slightly wary about Harry proved to be right.
Though it seemed that apparently, my subconscious felt much safer in this environment than I did, considering I ended up passing out only minutes after Harry had helped to half-drag me upstairs to the guest bedroom. I'd slept better than I had in days, something that I scolded myself for internally when I was suddenly wrenched out of my sleep this morning courtesy of a loud bang coming from somewhere in the house.
Sitting bolt upright, I pulled the comforter to my chin and brought my knees up to my chest. The noise had woken me up. It sounded like someone had thrown something.
"Oh God," I muttered, reaching over to grab my phone from the nightstand. It was 6:27 am. "Jesus." I ran a hand over my face, letting it rest at the base of my neck – taking solace in the heart that was still beating beneath my fingertips. For now, at least.
Another noise sounded out this time, muffled slightly, but enough that I jumped from the bed and quietly padded over to the doorway. Placing my ear flat against the wood, I listened for any sign of distress on the other side. Not that I really knew what I'd do if I did hear someone shouting or screaming. Nor did I think I'd want to deal with it anyway.
Nothing. There was silence on the other side now.
Steeling myself with a small breath, I cracked the door open a fraction, careful to do it with enough precision that the hinges didn't squeak.
Did Harry have a cat? Or a dog? I wondered as I slowly stepped into the hallway, trying to ignore the slight twinge of pain between my legs with every step. I feel like I would have seen a pet if he had one.
A few more noises sounded out while I rounded the corner to the stairwell, starting my slow descent on shaky legs. If I got killed thanks to a murderer in Harry's home, I was going to kill him. It was about halfway down the stairs that I realized I hadn't properly equipped myself for that specific scenario anyway, considering I'd left my knife upstairs, and would be left only to defend myself with my fists –
Music. There was music that I heard when I reached the bottom step. Something I definitely hadn't expected but I doubted an intruder would go so far as to throw on Running Gun Blues by David Bowie, the tune that currently wafted out from the kitchen and into the hallway where I was currently stood. The volume was low, but loud enough that I could make out the lyrics.
And when I took another few steps, peeking my head through the doorway, my chest suddenly bloomed in relief that the only murderer I currently had eyes on was one Harry Styles, who was facing the open fridge with his back to me.
He was clad in a pair of grey sweatpants and a sweater to match, different from the outfit he'd put on last night. His hair was pulled back with yet another headband and I couldn't help but wonder if he had a collection of them hidden somewhere – something I scolded myself for not trying to find last night when I'd been here alone.
Harry spun around, his face downcast toward the carton of eggs he'd grabbed, and I couldn't help but marvel for a few seconds at the way his brows pulled together and his lips moved silently, mouthing along to the lyrics of the song. He set down the carton beside the stovetop, reaching for the pan to his left, dragging it over in front of him.
My eyes were fixated on his hands, watching as his fingers flexed and wrapped around the handle of the pan, picking it up a few inches. I hadn't even realized his gaze had been drawn back upwards until the pan fell out of his grip and landed on the stovetop with a loud clatter – akin to the one that had woken me up this morning.
"Jesus, River," Harry breathed. A slight bit of annoyance bled from his expression, slinking its way over to me. He braced a hand flat on the counter. "You scared the shit out of me. What the hell are you doing just hiding over there?"
"Bowie, huh?" I took a step forward, unable to help the small smile that crept onto my face. "So you don't hate music after all."
"I never said I hated music," Harry rolled his eyes, popping open the carton of eggs. "You came to that assumption all on your own."
"Either way," I waved an arm, sliding onto the stool across the counter from where his hands were deftly working away to crack an egg. Bracing my elbows on the table, I rested my chin in my hands. "Why the hell are you up so early?"
Harry winced, flitting his eyes from the pan to look at me. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm not used to having other people at the house. I thought the music was quiet–"
"You didn't wake me up," I lied, both surprised and not wanting to dwell on his sudden hospitality. "I couldn't sleep. Just wanted to know if that was the same reason you're up at the ass crack of dawn."
"I normally get up at four to work out," Harry shrugged.
"Four?" I clarified, slightly wide-eyed. "In the morning?"
"Will you eat these eggs if I make them for you?"
"I don't like eggs," I scrunched up my nose. "They make me nauseous. But thank you – also, wait. Don't change the subject. How do you get any sleep? We didn't even make it upstairs until almost midnight yesterday."
A small inward wince accompanied my words and I immediately wished I could take them back, not entirely ready to divulge what the two of us had done last night so early in the morning. Harry though, much to his character, just smirked.
His eyes dipped once to my neck, to where I was sure my skin was now dark and bruised again if I'd chosen to look in the mirror this morning rather than coming right downstairs. "How are you feeling this morning, River?"
"Probably a lot better than you considering I actually slept more than four hours," I retorted with a small snort, shifting to cover my neck with my hands and feeling my face heat.
"I slept," Harry rolled his eyes. "What are you going to eat if you're so against eggs?"
"I'll eat when I get home. I have a bit to do before I go to the studio anyway and we have to get your car–"
"You're gonna eat before I take you home," Harry instructed, turning the heat down on the pan. "Because I'm not so sure you even ate anything while I was gone. The whole fridge is still full–"
"I was nervous," I scowled, dropping my hands to grip the edge of the counter. "I can't eat when I'm nervous."
"Well, you need to force yourself to because it isn't good to just not eat–"
"Oh, and you're so concerned about my well-being?" I shot back, jumping up from the stool. "Maybe you should have checked in with me then rather than keeping me locked up here for two days."
Harry and I stared at each other for a few seconds. Finally, he blew out a small huff and tilted his head to the ceiling. "River, you have to eat–"
"And you have to sleep." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Don't be a hypocrite. Worry about your own health, not mine." Stalking over to the fridge, I yanked it open and scanned the contents inside before reaching forward to pull out a container of blueberries. "You want me to eat?" I whirled around, shoving a handful into my mouth before mumbling, "Here. I'm eating. Take me home."
Harry just stared at me again. He was leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, with the spatula he'd been using to stir around his eggs balanced precariously between his fingers. On his face was an amused grin, something that pissed me off to no end.
"You done?" He asked, arching a brow. When I didn't respond, he sighed and turned around to plate the eggs before finally muttering, "Look, I shouldn't have left you here, okay? It was a shitty thing to do, I get that, but I wasn't thinking."
"Don't do it again," I said, popping another blueberry in my mouth. "I have a life, Harry. A job. A cat. I need to be able to leave."
"I know," he conceded annoyedly, "I know that. I won't do it again."
After letting him simmer for a minute, waiting until he began to fidget, I nodded. "Good." I walked back over to sit on the stool. "And?"
Harry knitted his brows, grabbing his own plate and walked around the counter to slide onto the stool across from me. When he turned, our knees brushed against each other. "And?" He asked, taking a bite of the toast and eggs.
"And... You're going to stop bossing me around. Telling me what to do."
A cringe. An actual cringe was what I got in response. "I don't do that," he muttered, and suddenly leaned forward, running a knuckle over my neck. He pulled the hem of my shirt – his shirt – back a fraction so that his eyes could skirt over the hickeys he'd left. "You need to put on pants."
"You do boss me around," I glanced down to my bare legs that were squished onto the stool top. I'd ditched the sweatpants sometime last night when it'd gotten too hot. "I'll put on pants before we leave."
"Mm," Harry hummed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He dropped his hand, letting it graze over my knee before pulling it back into his own lap. It was an effort to keep still and not to fidget under his touch. "Fine. Yeah. Less bossing you around and shit. I'll try."
"And fill me in on the stuff you're doing." I reached over, abandoning my blueberries to grab the extra piece of toast from his plate before promptly bringing it to my mouth and taking a bite.
Harry eyed my hand the entire way. "No."
"Yes."
"Why?" He let out a sharp breath through his nose. "Why do you want to know?"
I shrugged, taking another bite of his toast. "Because I'm curious."
"Not a good enough reason," he said flatly. His eyes dipped to my legs, watching while I readjusted my sitting position. He cleared his throat before continuing, "It's just cartel shit. You don't want to know about that anyway–"
"Who beat you up?" My gaze lingered on the cuts over his face, on the ones I'd split back open yesterday, paired with his now blackened eye.
Harry hesitated, and for a split second I thought he was going to tell me to fuck off, but then he quietly admitted, "Just some fuckin' assholes got a little too cocky for their own good. Tried to rip us off. We were supposed to pick up from them on Tuesday but then they called saying that they'd only be able to get the shipment to us Monday."
"Why didn't you just tell them no?" I chewed the piece of toast in my mouth, resting my elbow on the counter. "Tell them to just fuck off and wait till Tuesday?"
Harry made a noise mixed between a snort and annoyed scoff. "Because then they would've cancelled the deal and we would have been out tons of product that had to be sold later this week. They only did it because they knew we would have trouble getting the funds together last minute and would have asked to do multi-shipments, which would have ended up costing us more."
"Mm," I nodded slowly, trying to act like I was following. "So these people, they're clients of yours then? And they're located in Brazil? Do they work with Damien?"
"Jesus, one at a time, River," Harry leaned back, eyeing the small bit of toast left in my hand. "Finish your food and I'll tell you."
I popped the last bite into my mouth, mumbling, "You're fucking annoying."
A satisfied half-smirk was all I got in return. "No, these guys don't work with Damien. They buy and sell under my jurisdiction, which is better because then I can do whatever the fuck I want without having to report back to him. And yes, they're in Brazil."
"Still doesn't explain why you're all beat up," I muttered. "Or how you managed to smuggle what I'm assuming is a shit ton of drugs into the country in a matter of 48 hours–"
"I killed four of their men. Some of them tried to fight back."
The bluntness of his tone made me wince. Harry's eyes were on me – on my face – waiting to gauge my reaction. With a harsh swallow, I nodded once more. "Okay... Right. Um, why?"
"Because they were being fucking pricks and thought they could get us to agree to whatever they wanted. To their terms." He levelled his gaze. "In this line of work, you have to hit first before they strike you from behind."
As much as I wanted to just smile, nod and be done with it, my mind went running rampant at his words.
What if they had a family? What if they were providing for someone? What if they hadn't even wanted to be there and had gotten dragged into it –
"River." I tore my attention from my lap, where I'd been wringing my hands together, to look back up at Harry. His eyes roamed once over my face. "I told you that you didn't want to know."
"Right," I swung the stool to face the counter. "That's on me."
Harry grabbed hold of the bottom of the stool and spun me right back to face him, our knees knocking against each other once more. "Ask me something else," he said, angling his head to the side.
I furrowed my brows. "What, now you're willingly wanting to answer my questions? What happened to–"
"I'm trying to–" he shook his head, blowing out a sharp breath, "–distract you. I know you're gonna fuckin' dwell on this if I don't."
Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.
He wasn't wrong.
"Fine," I shifted slightly, trying to ignore how his fingers had materialized to my leg and were slowly tracing circles over my knee. "Why did you choose to live in this big, ugly house? It's terrifying. You're one person and this place is like a fortress that could house twenty."
"I don't like it either," was the response I hadn't expected to get from him. Harry shrugged. "Damien bought it for me when I was 18. I just haven't moved out. Too much work."
"Wait, he bought this place for you? When you were 18?" I ran a hand over my face. "Jesus, you've worked him since you were that young? Wait – how old are you now?" The question struck me suddenly and I realized I hadn't ever asked him.
"25," he responded, not meeting my gaze. "I've been working with Damien since I was 15."
"15?" The shock was probably evident on my face because Harry winced. "Jesus, Harry. He had you selling drugs as a fucking kid? You were a child."
"I didn't start selling drugs until I was 20," Harry's fingers had paused on my knee, his thumb almost instinctively brushing over the scars on the back of his hand. His gaze was focused toward the ground as he shrugged, "It's not a big deal."
"That's a huge deal. What did... I mean, what did you do for him? Before that?"
Harry lifted his gaze to mine. His expression clouded over. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
The small hitch in his breath, the way he seemed to stiffen a fraction, made me assume otherwise. Taking any liberty that I could get, I slowly reached out toward his hand that was still braced on my knee. He tore it away before I had the chance to offer any sort of comfort, letting it drop into his lap.
"Leave it, River." He muttered, grabbing his plate. He pulled his legs away from mine, our knees knocking together with an exaggerated ferocity, before stepping off the stool.
"Did your family know?" I asked, hating myself for pressing. Images burned unbidden in my mind of a young Harry, somehow acquiring those scars through whatever work he'd done as a fucking child. It made me sick. There had to be someone that cared about him enough not to let him get involved with that shit – at least not willingly.
"Just–" Harry dropped his plate into the sink, the clatter echoing through the kitchen. He braced a hand on either side of the counter and shook his head, "–leave it? Okay?"
The urgency in his tone was enough to have me shutting my mouth with a small nod. "Okay. Fine."
His gaze was trained over my shoulder when he finally looked up. He was staring out the far windows in the living room. It looked like he was thinking hard about something, the small bit of scarred skin between his brows creasing with an unwelcome thought. What I didn't expect was for him to softly admit, "I don't like how big this house is either."
Not exactly sure how to respond, I spun around on the stool to face the windows with him. The bright, expansive view of the city greeted us. The trees swayed as if they were waving, laughing at the two small people gazing at the large world before them – knowing they were nothing more than mere specs in this vast, vast world.
"You could move," I suggested, choosing my words carefully. It was few and far between when Harry seemed to want to talk and the last thing that I wanted to do was have him retreat.
A few seconds of silence passed. When I finally braved a glance over my shoulder at Harry, he seemed to be in a trance. He flitted his eyes over to me once before pulling back from the counter and clearing his throat, turning away.
"Get dressed," he said quietly, already halfway out of the room. "I'll drop you off at the studio in ten."
And that was that. Conversation over. With a sigh, I jumped off the stool.
--
"Jeans," Harry commented as I strolled across the garage over to Moira. He was leaning against her hood, cigarette propped between his teeth. "Where did you get those?"
"Jeans," I clarified with a small nod, putting both of my hands in my back pockets. "They were in Moira's trunk." With a small roll of my eyes, I added, "Something I haven't actually been able to access since you got here. Nice to be in clean clothes that actually belong to me. Where are the keys?"
"I'm driving," he responded colly, throwing open the car door. I let out a small huff but didn't object and instead just slid into the uneven passenger side seat. He slammed the door shut after me and I watched him walk around to the driver's side.
"I thought we were done with bossing me around," I commented when he got in beside me, noting how he waited to shut the door until he'd finished his cigarette. Small victories.
"It'll start tomorrow," he gave me a mocking grin, whirring the engine to a start and cursing slightly under his breath when Moira stalled for a beat. He glanced over when I leaned forward to pop open the glove compartment. "What are you doing?"
"Don't worry," I rolled my eyes, sorting through the assortment of loose bills, napkins and coupons before retrieving an old, battered scarf that I'd bought second hand. "I don't hide guns and cash in here like you do." I wrapped the material around my neck, pulling down the sun visor to adjust it. "Just... making sure I'm presentable in case I see clients today."
"Mm," Harry hummed, looking quite amused. His eyes darted to the bruised skin I'd just covered. "Your clients wouldn't take lightly to a few hickeys? I wouldn't wanna sell art to a bunch of fuckin' prudes anyway–"
"My clients," I retorted, snapping the sun visor shut and turning to face him, "wouldn't take lightly to me looking like I've been mauled. I mean, really–" I twisted in the seat, pulling my shirt down trying to get a clear view of my back – something I'd noticed when I'd gone up to shower was also covered in marks, "When the hell did you even get back here?"
Harry's eyes darkened at the question, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a smirk. Before he had a chance to answer, I quickly shook my head, covered myself back up and slumped down in the seat. "Rhetorical question. Don't answer that."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked casually. His fingers brushed against my shoulder as he turned to place his hand on my seat, reversing out of the parking spot. His thumb brushed lazily over my shirt while he murmured, "I'd be happy to go through with you the very details of what went on last night and what I hope–"
"Oh my God, it's 7:30 in the morning," I groaned and leaned away from his touch, placing my forehead on the window to cool me down. "You have got to stop doing this."
"Doing what?" Harry shrugged with a small grin, his earring glinting in the rising sunlight as we pulled out of the garage.
"Eyes on the road," I grumbled and reached forward to grab the aux cord. Harry ran his tongue along his inner cheek in amusement, shifting in his seat a bit before running his palm flat along his thigh. I had to look away, clearing my throat once. "No complaining about the music."
Surprisingly, Harry only rolled his eyes but didn't object. Instead, he asked, "You got any gum?"
"I think so," I reached for my purse right as I pressed play on the first song I had queued up. Rock 'n' Roll Suicide by David Bowie. "I had to download this on my data, you know," I turned the volume dial up a fraction, my other hand paused mid-search through the purse I'd now dragged into my lap. "Considering you didn't give me your wifi password."
"You didn't ask," Harry shot me a look, a small grin playing on his lips momentarily before his expression morphed into one of disbelief. "And you're telling me you had no fuckin' Bowie downloaded before you heard me listening to it?"
"Consider this a gift," I flashed him a mocking grin, throwing my phone into the cupholder before finally withdrawing the small package of gum I'd been searching for. "There's only one piece left," I frowned, looking over at Harry.
He slid his eyes to mine, staring at me for a second before letting out a small huff. "Have it."
"It's fine," I jerked my chin at him. "Gimme your hand. You need it more than me after that fucking cigarette anyway. It's a disgusting habit."
Harry held out his palm long enough that I could pop the tablet out of its foil and into his hand. "Could be worse," he shrugged, his jaw flexing as he took the first bite. "Could be drugs."
"Nicotine is a drug," I scrunched my nose, trying to hide my sudden surprise when he suddenly reached over to turn the volume up even further.
"Not one of the worst ones though, yeah?" Harry turned his head and winked, throwing me off completely.
"Mhm," I hummed, leaning back and lulling my head to the side, watching the buildings fly by to my right. "That's what they all say until suddenly you're dying of lung cancer."
"Wouldn't be the worst thing to take me out, honestly," Harry fired back right away.
I winced, turning a fraction to see him mouthing along to the lyrics of the song. His hair was no longer restrained by a headband and hung loosely around his face; still slightly damp from the shower he'd taken before we left. The flush in his cheeks, the way his head bobbed ever so slightly to the music, made him look younger. I quickly looked away, not wanting him to notice that I'd seen him and ruin the moment.
"How's your face?" Was what I settled on, gaze ahead toward the morning traffic before us.
I could feel Harry stiffen beside me and I knew right away it was the wrong thing to say. "It's fine."
"Did you ice your eye–"
"River," Harry warned. "Stop."
"Sue me for wanting to be a nice person," I rolled my eyes. "Felt I at least owed you that much considering I was the one that split your cheek back open yesterday–"
"Yeah, and that was all it was," Harry fired back hotly. He glanced at me briefly. "Sex. That's it. And you said you were fine with that too. So don't turn it into a huge fuckin' thing–"
"I'm not," I interrupted, "Why even bring that into this? All I wanted was to make sure you were okay–"
"And I fucking said that I was." His tone was clipped – had completely shifted from just a minute ago. "Leave it, okay?"
"Fine," I slumped back in the seat, crossing my arms over my chest.
Neither of us spoke for the rest of the way to the studio, Bowie playing harmoniously in the background of our otherwise palpable tension. My first instinct, of course, was to apologize – to take the blame and tell Harry that I hadn't meant to start something by asking if he was fine, but upon how ridiculous that reasoning sounded in my head, I resolved instead to stay silent.
Another cigarette was perched between his lips the moment he pulled along the curb behind his own car across from the studio. He still didn't say anything as he threw the door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk, leaving me to sit momentarily in what remained of the somehow horrendous atmosphere that I'd managed to conjure up since the start of the ride.
With a steadying breath, I let my eyes flutter shut for half a second before I threw my own door open and stepped outside.
"River!"
The voice that called out to me made my blood run cold. Mainly because, as much as Harry and I were in the middle of this stupid fucking spat, it wasn't his voice. It was another one, so familiar, that I winced upon turning around where I came face-to-face with Raven who was in the middle of jogging across the street toward me and Harry, who had materialized at my side.
"I was looking for–" she stopped herself short, slowing to a walk once she was a few feet away, glancing between Harry and I. "Oh my God." Her mouth parted and she threw her head back with a loud laugh, bracing a hand on her leg. "Oh my fucking God. No way this is why we haven't been able to get a hold you, Riv. Because you've been hooking up with–" she pointed brazenly at Harry, "–him?"
"No," I blurted at the very same moment that Harry casually shrugged, "Yeah."
I whirled to look at him. He only shrugged, tipping his head up to blow out a cloud of smoke from the corner of his mouth. He seemed relaxed, composed, but I could read in the way his eyes clouded that he was warning me not to say anything else – in case I let slip the actual reason we were together. The hood of the car groaned as he leaned back against it.
"We aren't really hooking up–" I started to defend but Raven cut me off.
"You two literally just showed up in the same fucking car," she rolled her eyes, shoving my shoulder. "Hey, don't stress. I knew something was up anyway when you texted me to feed Meatloaf. You're never not at your house, all you do is hang out with that damn cat when you aren't with us–"
"Okay," I interrupted, clearing my throat. "Maybe a bit of an exaggeration there, Raven." I shot a glance at Harry, who was now struggling to contain his own amusement. He cocked his head to the side, his cheeks hollowing out as he took another drag of the cigarette. "What can I say," I managed through gritted teeth, not breaking eye contact with him, "Him being a total, complete and utter fucking douche to me the first night we met must have apparently been a huge turn-on for me."
Harry's eyes only flared with more amusement. He blew out a sharp breath of a laugh, tipping his head to the side to exhale the rest of the smoke. Raven hissed as soon as he did so and when I turned to look at her, her face was pinched in concern. She was staring at his face.
"Jesus," she breathed, taking a step closer to Harry. "Who the fuck beat the shit outta you?"
I was sure that it was instinct, but the moment Raven advanced Harry, he dropped the cigarette between them – despite it only being half done – in order to let his hand gravitate behind his back, where I knew his gun was tucked into the waistband of his pants.
Neither of them looked at me as I made to quickly step between them both. When Harry finally dropped his gaze in my direction, his hand slackened and instead took up residence on the hood of the car. He ran a blunt fingernail over the chipped paint, his rings clinking together.
His jaw flexed and for a split second I was worried he was going to cuss Raven out, but then I realized a moment later that he'd gone back to chewing his gum. He'd just fucking kept it in there while he smoked his cigarette.
"Got into a fight," was all he offered.
Raven's entire demeanour had changed. She stood a little taller, had broadened her shoulders. The tattoos along her exposed arms flexed when she reached forward to grab my elbow in order to pull me toward her. "Mm," she hummed, eyes narrowed in his direction. "I'm sure."
And suddenly there was a strange bit of tension that passed between the two of them. Harry straightened himself as well, pushing off the hood of the car, and stared Raven down. His eyes dipped to her hold on my arm, his nostrils flaring slightly.
He was mad, I realized a second later. Angry that Raven thought he was the one to be wary of in this current situation.
I turned toward my friend, readying to tell her that as much as Harry was a dick, he wasn't going to hurt me when something else suddenly had me stumbling in the other direction. Harry had grabbed hold of my other arm, pulling me toward him with enough force that I almost collided with his chest.
"Just wanted to say bye," his gaze was still over my shoulder at Raven, who he shot a mocking grin at before averting his attention to me. The hand that had closed around my arm dipped down to trail over my waist before he slipped it into my back jean pocket and pulled me even closer.
"Um–" Completely thrown off by this change of pace, I wracked my brain to try and find something to say – something that wouldn't be me cursing him out about quite obviously putting on a fucking show to piss off my friend. "Bye?"
Harry's other hand reached up to close around my jaw. He squeezed firmly, lifting me up to look at him before suddenly dipping his head down to kiss me. His tongue parted my lips and he hummed softly in my mouth, pressing himself even closer – the warmth of his body flush against mine. If I hadn't already been so thrown off by the sudden shift in course, I might have laughed at the entire situation, but instead, I was left only with the ability to be slightly dazed and confused when he pulled back.
For a few seconds, I was breathless, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened when –
I closed my mouth, my brows furrowing, as I felt my teeth come squishing down on something. His gum. He'd put his fucking gum in my mouth.
Harry's mouth was parted with an amused grin, his lips a little swollen and his cheeks slightly flushed. His hand was still firmly wrapped around my jaw. "Maybe this can be our thing, yeah?" He asked tauntingly under his breath, giving a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand. "Consider it a gift. Later, Riv."
And then he spun on his heel, his car chirping as he unlocked it, not once looking back at Raven and I before sliding into the front seat of his car.
--
A/N:
hey hi, i know i said this was going to be another triple update but I'm not entirely done/happy with the other two chapters yet so I'll hopefully have them up tomorrow or the day after. don't kill me that this is so short! ily. thank you so much for reading and all of the kind comments. it literally means everything to me.
how have you all been??? hope you're taking care of yourselves. <3
- v
also ah! thanks for 51k reads. :) and 341k on introspective strangers wtf????