The next few days fall into a routine.
I stay at Harry's for three nights, until he says he is able to get my key from Aaron today, Friday. I've told him again and again that I can go get it from him myself, but he always gives me a look I can't quite decipher and says very sternly, "no."
Harry has also been driving me to and from work as well, and again, I've told him I can drive myself, but he always smirks and says, "Rosie, don't you care for the environment?"
And of course, Harry always has the last word.
Every night, we come home at about five, Harry constantly complaining about rush hour traffic and me rolling my eyes at him. He cooks dinner, something different every night, and whenever I offer to help him cook, he blinks at me and says, "Rosalie, get the fuck out of my kitchen."
So I do, smirking at his vulgar language.
We always have animated conversations over dinner--more like civilized arguments. It always ends with one of us laughing too hard, and more often than not, that one is me.
We watch the Office every single night after we eat--comparing notes on how many times we've seen the episode playing. In these past few days, I didn't think I've ever seen Harry smile so often and so big.
And at the end of each night, Harry bids me goodnight as I settle into my couch-bed, but I always stay awake for about an hour before sneaking into Harry's room and sliding into bed next to him. He never asks me what I'm doing, he just wraps his arms around me and sighs sleepily, tangling his legs with mine.
We haven't kissed since the first night, though, but I always catch him staring at my lips when I talk.
It almost seems to me like these past days have been a vacation.
I sit on Harry's couch now, reading a magazine as I wait for him to get off a phone call with Louis. He told me he's going to get my key tonight, but it's past six and I'm considering just going my own.
He finally emerges from his room, running a hand through his hair.
"Alright, I'm going to go," he says, pocketing his phone and grabbing his key off the coffee table.
"Explain to me why I can't come with you, again?"
"Because, Aaron is a son of a bitch and I don't want you near him," Harry says easily. He wears a blue plaid shirt and his usual jeans, his cheeks flushed in a healthy pink.
"Harry, what if hurts you?"
Harry raises an eyebrow. "I'll hurt him back, twice as hard." He smirks.
I sigh. "Can't I just come?"
"No. Now, go back to reading that magazine that showed up in my mailbox again."
I roll my eyes. "Let it go, will you!"
He smirks again before opening the door, turning back to me. "I'll be back in an hour, don't do anything stupid."
"I should say the same to you."
"Me, stupid?" He scoffs.
"Just go," I say, smirking as I wave him off.
He smiles again before shutting the door behind him.
I consider following Harry just to make sure he'll be okay, but I have a feeling he would have my head if I pursued him again.
Then, I consider following him just to piss him off, but decide against it.
My phone suddenly lights up on the coffee table, and I bring it to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Rose. You busy?" Zayn asks.
"No, not at all. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's fine. Has Harry left?"
"Yeah, he just left. Did you need him?"
"No, I'm going to meet him now, just to make sure Aaron isn't a bitch about things."
It continues to make me laugh at how Niall, Liam, Harry, Zayn and Louis make fun of Aaron whenever we meet. They constantly call him names and make jokes about him; and, looking back at our relationship, I don't know what I ever saw in him at all.
"Zayn," I say.
"Yep?"
"Do you know anything about Violet Watergate?" I have no idea why I'm asking at all, but the subject of Violet has barely left my mind since Harry told me about her.
"Violet Watergate?"
"Yeah."
"Well, she's the lead on some daytime soap opera Perrie watches now."
"Is that all?"
"Hmm...well, I think she had a thing with Harry a few years back, but she's a known whore. I mean, sleeping around and shit. I think she's been to rehab, too. Petrie's always talking about her fuck-ups." Zayn chuckles.
Whore? Sleeping around? Rehab?
Does Harry know about any of this?
"Oh," is all I can say.
I had a picture of Violet as this divine figure, someone worthy of Harry's affection, but now I see her in a complete different way. In a sickening way, it makes me feel at ease.
"Thanks, Zayn," I say.
"No problem. I'll talk to you later, Rose, I'm almost there."
"Alright, Zayn."
I hang up and pull up the internet on my phone, typing in 'Violet Watergate.'
Sure enough, there she is, smiling to the cameras the same sultry, seductive smile that was grinning in Harry's photo.
I think about how hard this must have been for Harry, seeing Violet rise to stardom, forgetting about him. My affection deepens for him at the moment.
An hour passes, and I occupy myself with watching TV, flipping through the channels. I'm eager for Harry to get back, and to ask him how everything went with Aaron.
I decide to cook dinner, even if I'm staying back at my apartment tonight. I peruse Harry's pantry, finding a box of mac and cheese.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I put a pot of water on the stove, cooking the pasta.
I can already see Harry's taunting smirk.
It's past eight when the door finally opens, and Harry enters.
I look up from the TV, gasping at his appearance.
His right eye is circled with a bruised purple color. His lip is split, trickle of crimson blood running from it. An open cut is sliced just below his left eye, still bleeding. His eyes, his beautiful green eyes, seem almost grey.
"What---what the hell happened?" I manage to ask.
"It was a set up," he says. His voice sounds like broken glass. "Aaron brought ten men with him, and I only had Zayn."
"Is Zayn alright?"
"Zayn's fine, he has a couple of bruises, but we're both fine." He reaches into his pocket and retrieves my key, tossing it to me. "Got your key, though."
I furrow my brow, standing and walking over to him, assessing the damage to his face.
"Harry, this looks bad," I say, touching the bruising around his eye lightly. He winces and I draw back, my eyebrows knit together.
"I'm fine," he says, trying to walk past me but I stop him.
"No, you're not. How many hits did you take?"
"I don't know, I--"
"How many?"
He looks down. "I lost count."
I cluck my tongue, shaking my head. "Let me clean you up."
"No, I'm fine---"
"Harry, will you listen to me, for once? We're talking about your physical health, here."
He sighs in defeat and I sit him down on the couch, venturing into the bathroom to find first aid supplies.
It scares me that Aaron anticipated Harry so well that he brought so much back up. Maybe he's more cunning than we suspected.
I emerge from the bathroom with bandages, Neosporin, and a cloth.
I sit by Harry, still in shock from his wounds.
I dab Neosporin onto the cut on his face, recoiling when Harry furrows his brow in pain. My heart aches.
"I'm sorry," I breath and he shakes his head.
"It's fine."
I finish putting Neosporin on the cut and move to clean his lip.
His pink, plump, wet bottom lip is split straight down the middle. Visions of those lips in my own invade my mind, but I push them away, focusing on cleaning up the blood.
"Do you have band aids?" I ask him.
He scoffs. "No, I don't need band aids."
I roll my eyes and reach into my purse, pulling out a band aid. "Luckily, I carry them with me wherever I go," I say proudly, earning a weak smile from Harry.
"You would."
"Hush." I unwrap the band aid, carefully sticking it over his cut.
"There," I say, unable to fight the silly smile on my face.
"What's so funny?"
"N-nothing." I clean up the trash around me, trying to contain my laughter.
"Rosalie, I swear to---" He stops when he sees his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I double over in laughter.
"Winnie the Pooh? Are you fucking serious?"
I continue to laugh as he returns to the living room, the band aid on his face dotted with little yellow bears.
"Winnie the Pooh is cute," I say.
Harry sighs and sits beside me again, rolling his eyes playfully. "You're annoying."
"Not as annoying as you." I nudge his leg with mine, and he smiles.
I can tell it hurts his lip to grin, but he does anyway.
"Harry, go to bed. You need sleep."
"No, I need you."
The words seem to slip out of him, and he looks away right after he says them, his cheeks turning pink.
I blush too, a smile making its way across my face.
I lean over and kiss his cheek, knowing it would only hurt him to kiss his lips.
We stare at each other for a few moments after that, Harry's eyes slowly regaining their gorgeous emerald color.
"I made mac and cheese," I finally say and Harry turns around to look at the kitchen, laughing loudly.
"Mac and cheese, eh?" He stands and walks over, looking into the pot of pasta.
"I make fan-fucking-tastic Mac and cheese, so you'd better shut up and eat it before you judge me." I cross my arms over my chest playfully.
Harry smirks. "I wasn't judging."
"Yeah, right. I see that look. You think because you're British and attractive and a great cook that you're better than everyone else."
"Attractive, hmm?" He smirks as wide as ever.
I blush furiously. "I---I..."
Harry laughs and pours a plate of pasta for each of us. I'm still flushed pink as I sit with him at the table.
We eat in relative silence for a few minutes until Harry speaks up.
"I'm glad you didn't come with me."
"Why?"
"They were expecting you to. If you had, they would have..." He trails off, looking out the window.
I swallow. "Well, I didn't."
He nods, looking down at his plate.
"Are you in pain?" I ask him.
"No," he lies.
I roll my eyes. "Cut the crap. Are you in pain?"
He shifts in his seat. "Minor pain."
I sigh. "This is all my fault," I mutter. "If I hadn't given him a key in the first place---"
"Stop, Rose. It's not your fault Aaron is a bitch ass douche face, alright?" I detect humor in his eyes and fight a smile.
Harry smiles wider at my smile. "You like it when I make fun of him, don't you?"
I don't answer.
"Alright, well let me tell you that he's a little slut that eats dick burritos---"
"Harry!" I laugh. "That's enough!"
Harry laughing too, his eyes finally regaining their vividness.
"I should go," I say, gathering the empty plates of mac and cheese from the table. "Thanks for letting me stay here, Harry. That was really nice of you."
He shrugs. "Are you sure you don't want to...stay another night?" He looks up at me sheepishly.
I smirk. "I have my key."
"But...what if my band aid comes off in the night..."
"You're a big boy, Harry. I think you can handle it." This is too much fun.
"But what if I can't handle it?"
"Harry, are you asking me to stay another night?"
"I don't know, am I?"
"Alright, I think I'll just go home, then. I've missed my own bed, anyway---"
"Well, I could stay over there, if you miss your bed..."
I'm laughing now, at his childish tone.
I sigh. "Alright, Harry. You can stay over, but only because your band aid might come off in the night."
His eyes light up and he stands abruptly, a childish smile on his face.
I gather my things from his room, making sure to get my key, too, and Harry follows me like an excited puppy over to my place.
"It's fucking freezing in here," is the first thing that comes out of my mouth as I race to the thermostat.
When I enter my bedroom to begin unpacking things, I find Harry studying the pictures on my dresser.
"Is that you? With Elizabeth?" He asks me, pointing to the picture of my sister and me in Central Park.
"Yeah," I say.
"How old were you?"
"Well, I was seventeen, so that means Elizabeth was..thirteen."
Harry nods, still studying the photo. "You don't look any different."
I shrug and hang up my clothes.
When I'm finally done unpacking, I turn on the TV in my room while Harry changes into his pajamas back at his place.
So much has changed between us in so little time. I feel so strongly for this boy that I previously hated to death--I can only wonder what he feels for me.
I'm half asleep by the time Harry reenters my bedroom.
"Here's your spare key," he says, putting it down my dresser.
"Keep it," I say groggily. "I trust you."
He smiles slightly and nods. I feel the bed to dip down next to me as he slides in next to me, his scent engulfing me.
"What are we watching?" He asks me.
"Nothing, I'm exhausted." I switch off the TV and rub my eyes.
"Party pooper."
"Excuse me," I retort, flipping my pillow over to the cool side. "I've had to put up with you this whole week, I have the right to be exhausted."
Harry laughs and scoots closer to me, his face nuzzling into the crook of my neck.
"You smell like vanilla," he says onto my skin.
"Yeah, that's kind of what lotion does." I giggle and he laughs along,