a/n: the name is a play on words. 'roasted nuts', oh you will see further in the text. :P - dani xo
c h a p t e r f o u r
Concentration is a key skill needed to fully involve yourself to Netflix.
The characters must be understood, felt for, and treasured until the series ends, with no regrets. I'm used to focusing on The Office in my free time, but there is no use even trying.
I've spent my only day off this week in front of my tv, washing in and out of the malicious thoughts of him. He has spoiled nearly every episode; a single dialogue from Michael and his subliminal jokes remind me of his faulty request to dinner.
I still can't believe he actually suspected I would accept. Ugh.
Regardless of this, his features won't remove themselves from my mind. Those piercing emerald orbs, reflecting his strong sense of confidence, while specks of chestnut float on the outer corners. His tousled brown curls, paralyzing me every time his fingers run through the unsorted mess. Everything about him appeals to the perfect potential boyfriend, but his personality sprouts obvious hassle in future altercations.
There is something seriously wrong with him.
I huffed in oppression, scooping up the leftovers of chow mein that were kept in a glass dish. With the help of my customized chopsticks, the noodles were being slurped and pulled to suit my appetite.
Jim was in the middle of timing Dwight for his personal disputes and breaks when a shattering knock collapsed into my ears. I shuttered at the sound, my eyebrows kneading together.
One last slurp of my noodles, and I was clutching the door knob of my apartment. I braced myself, the idea of checking the peephole slipped my mind.
"Ms. Blacke. Hello," His voice projected, my eyes widening at the sight of Harry Styles.
In this circumstance, there are several problems. One: why is he here? Two: how did he find out where I live? Three: who gave him my address without my permission?
While going through the possible suspects and pinpointing the nosy secretary, Katie, he invited himself inside.
I didn't notice before, but his attire was different than the usual suit that he has worn the last two encounters. His lower half was clothed with dark jeans, tightening around his thighs and knees. The gray, cashmere sweater was over a white tee, and to match the cold weather, his boots and brown beanie covering his curls were ideal.
He was parked in the center of my living room, holding a suspicious brown paper bag.
When I closed the door and secured its lock, he turned to me, a smirk appearing.
"How did you even get my address?" I questioned, hands on my wide hips.
"That part is not of importance, Ms. Blacke."
"Vegas."
"What?"
"My name is Vegas, not Ms. Blacke," His mouth tugged to form a smile at my assertiveness before he began to speak.
"Okay, Vegas, I've come to have dinner with you, since you do not want to go out," He strolled towards the dining room to place the brown bag down, unrolling the top to reveal its contents.
I said no more, wandering to the table next to him. I couldn't help but see what kind of food he brought. I am a die heart foodie, people.
"I have Zucchini noodles with vegetables, garlic bread, and a bottle of Petrus wine from France," He finished his detailed menu, rotating to face me.
"I already ate," I honestly murmured, my arms crossed over another.
In a matter of seconds, I swear I could see his heart shatter into a million pieces. He dropped his hands to his sides, preparing to pack up the special cuisine he might of cooked himself.
Vegas, don't be a horrible person.
"But, I'll make room for your food," I flashed him a small subtle beam of appreciation, cracking the corners of container to inhale the lime scent that was released. My stomach was leaping with joy to indulge in this type of fare.
As a habit, I grabbed two plates from the top shelf, my pair of wine glasses, and forks to swirl the decorative pasta as I always do.
"If I may ask, what can I do to spend more time with you, Ms. Blac-"
He paused, to correct himself.
"Vegas."
"For starters, don't touch me until I tell you to," I stated, "And, take things slow."
"Slow? Please explain, Vegas." He seemed oddly confused by the word as he took his seat serving a suitable amount of pasta to me, then to himself.
"Get to know me..Don't force yourself on me. You are guilty of that, Harry," I held a silver fork in my fingers, swirling the pasta as I intended to.
He was silent, thinking of something I couldn't place my finger on.
As a normal human with a growing appetite, I ingested the pasta, slurping. I continued from the delicious undertones of lime that I smelt until a sensation rose in my throat.
The food burned sliding down, a crunchy crumb of the food scratching the inner parts. Suddenly, my nails scratched against the exterior of my neck, while the feeling ignited into flames.
Peanuts would only cause this sort of bodily function...
"H-Harry.." I croaked out, the walls closing up with every fastening second.
"Vegas? Are you alright?" My nails moved furiously, itching the hives that were appearing. There must of been peanuts!
"W-Were there peanuts in here?"
"Yeah, I assume so..Why?"
Bloody...I-I can't breathe..
"Vegas! You were allergic?!"
Call the ambulance..where's the epipen?
I can't speak..
"Vegas! I'm calling the ambulance, don't worry! Stay with me!" Harry was frantically moving, shifting to hold my head up once my body buckled to the floor below.
In moments like this, my world closing in, I wish I wrote my will..even though I have no money..
. . .
London Bridge Hospital
4:56pm
"Vegas..I'm sorry.."
5:03pm
"I didn't mean to add peanuts to the food. In fact, I had no idea that you were severely allergic.."
7:34pm
"The doctors said that you got here just in time..any moment later, you would of been gone.."
7:45pm
"I swear I'll make it up to you, I swear."
8:20pm
"Your eyelashes are fairly long, Vegas..I've never seen something like that before."
8:26pm
"You are sleeping quite peacefully. I'm sitting here staring at you like an idiot."
9:12pm
"The doctor that is helping you is very intolerable. She keeps checking up on you for no reason."
9:44pm
"Cafeterias are supposed to serve edible food, right? If so, why does the mashed potatoes smell like ham?"
9:47pm
"I'm not eating this.."
10:17pm
"Martha is calling...I'm recording this on my cellphone if you are wondering..I'll play it back for you later. You might not want to hear it, to be honest."
11:45pm
"I missed a meeting to stay here..It's my fault anyway..It'll be wrong to leave."
12:00am
"It's midnight, I suppose. You haven't woken up just yet."
12:04am
"Is it weird to be this worried..?" *soft, nervous chuckling* "Because I am.."
12:33am
"The gift store has a small collection of roses to choose from. I mean, who doesn't supply Rose 'Ingrid Bergman'?"
1:11am
"When you wake up, I'll be by your side..Vegas. Don't move your hand. Its helping me sleeping."
1:39am
"Goodnight, Vegas..I'm sorry..again.."
. . .
In the bright hours of the morning, I woke to the sound of a muffled voice. At first, I thought it was some doctor chattering away their break, but it turns out to be the television, showing this horrible soap opera.
Annoyed at the camera views, I rolled my eyes at its attempts to be dramatic. There was a weight on my hand that I did not notice before.
Harry's body was tensing up these hospital sheets, snoring to his heart's desire. His hair was tousled as usual, lying on one side of his head, covering those tanned eyelids. The sleep was somber, his hushed breathes easing his slow departure into a deep sleep.
Before all of this, I thought of Harry as a self conscious person, only dealing with himself. I did not put much effort in believing that he would even give me a chance.
Just by gazing into his eyes, I could see the mounts of women he has been with. The typical beauty queens; blonde hair, brunettes if he's lucky.
His books do entail an African American woman such as myself, but why does that seem as if it is a fantasy of some kind?
I am a victim of self-pity, sulking in my own consequences for being addicted for eating. My round hips and large bum are to prove for it.
Behind his flexing and shifting figure, a bouquet of roses could be seen. The vase that held them was wrapped in a magenta ribbon. Soon, I recognized a flood of them, roses of every possible shade of pink.
The sight of such a kind gesture tugged at my heartstrings.
Harry has done all of this..
To repay him, my stiff torso leaned forward, careful not to wake him. I lowered the surface of my lips to breeze against a portion of his forehead that was showing only because of the direction in which his hair was going.
Upon his skin, I pressed a kiss, a delicate one that my energy could manage under the loads of medication they presumingly put me on.
"Thank you.." The whisper was subdued by the harshness of my voice.
For the remaining of the hour, my fingers flushed and combed through his locks, comforting his mumbles between each breath.
I have no idea why he finds me the slightest bit of captivating.
But, there is no doubt that I find him every bit of enticing, even if he is weird.
. . .
That is the fourth chapter! its a bit shorter than the other chapters. only by three hundred words. don't worry, the next will be longer!
what do you think of harry and his voice memos? aren't they just cute?
thank you for reading, and i hope you tune in for the next chapter. :)
a new character will come in, and help these weird people out.
thanks again,
dani xo