The back of his head lands in her lap, as he continues to roar with laughter, covering his face with his hands.
"You're a literal child, you know that?" Sophie teases with a light chuckle, her own laughter beginning to settle as Harry removes his hands from his face, cheeks flushed with giggly content.
"Maybe," he giggles again, trying to blow a piece of hair away from his forehead with little luck. Sophie rolls her eyes, reaching to move the piece from his skin, fingers landing in his hair, now, for the first time ever. The soft brown locks are smooth beneath her touch, the curly wisps somehow so messy but effortlessly perfect at the same time. She doesn't notice her hands running through his hair until his eyes close and a smile forms on his lips, shaking her from her thoughts, "Mm, that feels nice." He doesn't really mean to point it out, but he still does.
Her hands lift a little too quickly, and her eyes quickly flicker away from his face, landing just about anywhere but his face. The contact is too much. Nothing more than friendly, Sophie, no, no, no.
"Are you okay?" he asks nervously, in fear he's overstepped at her sudden jolt upwards as she stands up, his head lifting from her lap. Every time his confidence builds, he quickly begins to doubt himself.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she clears her throat, before quickly forcing her typical wit back into it, "you have to go to the airport in a few hours, so we should probably get started on this tree."
After an odd phone call at three o'clock that morning, where Harry had declared how intent he was on having the greatest, most extravagant Christmas tree he could find, he'd managed to force his companion out of her house at the ungodly hour of seven AM, in search of a Christmas tree, and a ton of decorations to go with it.
"You're going home tonight," she'd whined in protest, "why do you need a Christmas tree if you're not even here for Christmas?"
"Because, Sophie Ashford, you devastatingly ignorant imbecile," Harry had deadpanned, "it's December 23rd. I fly out tonight, and that means my apartment has a lonely few days without me, until the New Year, and so I at least want it to feel festive."
"You want your apartment to feel fe-"
"Yes I do."
"You do realise an inanimate object can't feel anythi-"
"Yes it can."
Truth be told, she's going to miss him while he's away. But she won't tell him that. Instead she'll fire weak jokes at him, insisting that her Christmas will be just as, if not more merry here.
Sophie had told Harry the moment she'd discovered Alice wasn't coming home for Christmas. The flight prices had risen far too much, and it simply wouldn't work with her school and work schedule. It's well over a month since Sophie found out, but she still can't ignore the sting she feels in the out of her stomach when she thinks about how it'll be her first Christmas without her best friend. Harry knows that. And he nods and listens when Sophie rants about it, and quietly notes the way in which she cuts herself off at the risk of sounding "stupid and childish". He doesn't know where she's got that idea from, as he assures her she's nothing of the sort.
"Right," he stands up now, brushing off the precious conversation, picking up one out of the three boxes of lights that sit on the floor, "white lights, or rainbow?"
"You want to go full out, don't you? Do both," Sophie says as if it's obvious, reaching for another box with a grin.
"White and rainbow lights on one tree? That might not work."
"Oh, it definitely won't work. But it's guaranteed to make the place more festive," Sophie points out, and so Harry nods, in no position to argue with the girl.
The pair start wrapping lights around the pine branches of the tree, scattering the differing colours just about everywhere with zero coordination.
"I love the smell of Christmas trees," Harry thinks aloud, before clarifying, "real ones."
"Mm, well plastic branches aren't always so appealing," Sophie hums, grabbing the step ladder Harry had also bought earlier, and using it to wrap the last of the lights around the top of the trees.
Is this what it's like to have somebody in your life? A friend - or not - somebody? Somebody who you can just hang around with, without much thought, regard, or effort? Simply company, because that's enough?
Harry's never actually had a friend. And he doesn't know if he's managing well at all. If he's doing it right, if he's reading signals right. It's terrifying. But she somehow makes it less terrifying.
Are you my friend? He dares to ask - silently - to her as she loops a string of lights around a branch. Or do you like me like I like you?
"Stop staring," she mumbles, stepping down from the ladder without looking at him, but her tone is teasing, like always.
"Wasn't," he mumbles back, a little embarrassed as his cheeks flush bright red, and he quickly turns to look at the wall. He reaches over, picking up a box of decorations and tearing the packaging from it, "White decorations?"
"All the colours you have," she declares, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, "we're going full out, Harry."
Somewhere along the way in the past month, the nickname of 'Camera boy' has been dropped. She hasn't even realised she's dropped it, but he has.
Nothing could beat the small pang of affection he would feel in his chest whenever she used the nickname. But at times, he didn't mind the absence of it either. His actual name sounds nice coming out of her mouth anyway, he's decided.
"We need music," Sophie claps her hands together suddenly, making the blunt declaration, before turning to face Harry, "where's your record player?"
"I never told you I had a record player," Harry frowns.
"I know, but I can tell you do," she grins, as Harry points up to where his dresser is, and the machine is surely sitting. She heads for the stairs, making her way up into the open space, "S'just you, Harry. All photography, cool clothes, record players and good hair."
Harry's cheeks flush, sheepishly pushing his thick curls away from his face as he bites back a smile, looping his third decoration around one of the upper branches.
"Hurry up and put one on," he calls up to her, "though I don't think you'll find much Christmassy."
"Yeah, but you've got the Beatles," she calls back triumphantly, and there's some shuffling, a little crackling, and then All You Need Is Love is echoing through his apartment, and a smile forms on his lips.
"Is this from the album or is it just the single?" he asks.
"Just the single," she tells him, reaching the bottom of the stairs and heading to stand beside him and the tree. "I wonder how many times we can listen to it before we hate it."
"I'll never hate it," Harry insists stubbornly, without an ounce of doubt in his mind as he continues to hang directions.
"Well, I'm going to hate having to run upstairs to reset it every time it ends."
"It plays five times on the individual vinyl," he explains, "so technically, you'll only have to change it after it's played five times."
Sophie changes it a total of three times - as she sets it on for the third time, she's ready to put on a different album, but Harry shouts upstairs to declare that he still isn't sick of it, and that 'the masterpiece must continue to be played.'
"Let's take a break," Sophie suggests, flopping down onto the couch, as Harry sends her a teasingly disapproving glance.
"Breaks are for quitters," he says.
"No, breaks are for people who have been spending an unspeakable amount of time on an unspeakably large tree. You couldn't have gotten the smaller tree?"
"Go big or go home," Harry says simply, padding over to take a seat on the couch beside her.
"Can't believe it's about to be Christmas," he sighs, "Christmas in New York sounds like a real experience."
"It is," Sophie says, hoping that if she's discreet enough he'll be unknowingly convinced to stay. "But you'll have fun at home."
"You're right. It'll be good to see Mum and Gem, and everyone else."
"Exactly," Sophie smiles a little sadly. Though she's glad to be spending Christmas with her mother and brother - it won't be quite the same without her best friend. It's almost as if Harry can read her mind, as his lips twitch a little - but he doesn't say anything.
"Does it snow at home?"
"Hm?" Harry is snapped out of his trance. He was staring again.
"In England, does it snow as much as it does here?"
"Not really," he shakes his head, "it just gets really bloody cold. But hopefully when I get back after New Year I'll catch some of the snow here, yeah?"
"It's overrated," she laughs, tilting her head slightly to lean her temple against the couch cushion, "just very, very cold and very, very bitter."
"Sounds like you, then."
"Ha ha," she says sarcastically, grinning at his joke all the same, and pursing her lips in a teasing manner.
Harry can't stop staring at her. He knows she can see but he doesn't care. And that's scary - he should be scared, but he isn't. Instead, when silence fills the room for nearing ten seconds - he's content. He doesn't mind. More time to study her - only this time, she's aware. And she's staring back.
He can tell there's a million and one thoughts running through her mind, just by her facial expression - but he can't tell what they are. And he's aching to know.
Their faces are inches apart. He's going to do it. There are goosebumps arising on his skin simply due to the close proximity of their bodies. He's inching a little closer, and she doesn't even seem to be considering the idea of rejecting him. He's never felt so sure of anything - they're going to kiss. Her eyes are burning into his, as they search each other's in desperation, and she makes no effort to move.
Do you want this as much as I do? Harry doesn't have the courage to speak his thoughts aloud, but her hand hasn't moved from his arm, although he doesn't remember it landing there, and that's enough of a sign. Weeks on end, of back and forth - maybe this is it.
He edges a little closer, scraping every single morsel of confidence he has. He's shaking a little, he's certain he is, but he's okay with it. It's taking every inch of his willpower to push his nerves away and not let them control his actions now, and he's managing. He's doing it. His eyes are just about to flutter shut; their lips are just about to meet - but then the silence is filled.
"Harry.." Her voice is slow, reluctant, and when he opens his eyes properly he notes hers are full of hesitance, "We can't."
Harry pauses for a moment, staying in the very position he had been in for a few seconds longer, before he straightens up quickly, sharply. He feels a sharp ache in his chest as his heart falls to the pit of his stomach, and his lip begins to shake in humiliation. He bites it, his eyebrows arching into a soft frown.
"N-No, of course," he stands up, running his hands over his face and clearing his throat as he desperately searches for his composure, "I was just being stupid - um, of course. Yeah. M'sorry." Every ounce of confidence and strength he'd managed to collect only moments previous has now been distinguished. He feels like he's in a room with a stranger now - at a loss for words. How could he have read this so wrong?
"Harry, it's not that-"
"No, no, don't be silly," Harry brushes it off hastily, his cheeks bright red with humiliation, "I got caught up in the moment and I shouldn't have. It doesn't matter." It does matter.
"H, I really-"
"I'm tired, Soph," he tells her, yet to meet her eyes. He can't bear to make eye contact. He had tried to kiss her, and she doesn't want him. "I should get some sleep before I go."
Sophie's face falls, her eyes full of sadness, "Harry, I really didn't mean-" He's not listening. His thoughts are muddled and there's a large, dark cloud of misery and embarrassment drawling over his brain.
"I'm sorry. I'll go," Sophie says now, and all Harry can do is nod. His eyes are anywhere but her, and he just wants the ground to open up and swallow him. Sophie pauses, as if she's about to change her mind, but then she pulls her coat on, slipping her bag onto her shoulder and walking out of his apartment.
Harry screws his face up in efforts to stifle the tears threatening to fall, but to no avail. He can't believe it. He finally, finally found the courage. He's wanted to kiss her since the day he met her, and when he finally thought he'd got it right.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he murmurs to nobody but himself, burying his face in his hands as he slouches against the kitchen counter. How could he believe she'd ever want him? He's him. Nobody like Sophie Ashford ever falls for someone like Harry Styles.
He's a nerd; a loser. He can barely hold a conversation with somebody he doesn't know, and he fidgets like a kid in a car seat. He's terrified of trying new things, lacks spontaneity, and would rather waste away in a darkroom then go outside into the real world. He's crazy. But he's so, bloody crazy about this girl he's known for a mere three months.
These words repeat in his head for hours on end. He'd been so sure. So sure that she felt the same. And now he's ruined his friendship, with his favourite person in this city he'd begun a new life in. He likes her an unspeakable amount - he admires her from the way she walks, to the way she talks - the way her eyes crinkle when she grins and throws her head back in laughter, or the way her lip falls between her teeth and her eyes narrow when she's deep in thought. He admires her so, so much - but she doesn't feel the same. He feels stupid for believing she would - she's far, far too good for him. And he's what? Weak. Sensitive. A point of ridicule. That's what comes to his mind.
He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, shaking his head slowly. His eyes land on the half-finished Christmas tree, the lights glimmering upon it in bright arrays of colour, as the record from upstairs continues to blare through the apartment.
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
And now, more than ever - he just wants to go home.
-
thank u to harryyniall for helping me through my mental breakdown w this chapter, i love u vvvv much.
leave ur thoughts, i love hearing them <3
i hope you're all having a good day/night wherever you are! mwah <333