"It's better than I ever even knew, they say that the world was built for two."
Waking up to my alarm, I quickly shut it off, before realising my surroundings.
Celia's room.
And then everything from the night before comes flooding back to me. The amount of wine we consumed is absolutely abhorrent, and I wonder if I'll be able to stomach it again.
Til tomorrow Ivy, my subconscious reminds.
I brush my teeth in the main bathroom, and make my way into the main living space, clearing up some of the mess that was made from the night before. I need something to focus my thoughts on, as Harry is consuming them. Is he still even here?
On one hand, I'd love for him to have already left to avoid any awkward morning pleasantries, though what if before he left, if he left, he peeked into Celia's room to witness me in an awkward position. I cringe as I picture it in my head - mouth wide open, drool dripping onto my pillow, possibly even snoring. Oh God.
I peek through the crack of my bedroom to find my bed neatly made, and breathe a huge sigh of relief, as I sit on the edge of my bed.
"I hope you don't mind, but I helped myself to your shower," Harry interrupts my quiet moment, causing me to jump up.
"Fùck!" I exclaim, holding onto my chest in surprise. "I thought you'd left."
He's in yesterday's clothes, only his hair is wet and he smells delicious. Not to mention, he looks delicious.
"Ouch," he exclaims, holding onto his heart in faux offence. "That can be arranged," he jokes, walking towards the door, and stopping.
"Go for it," I laugh, and he's even more shocked at my jokingly blatant disregard for his feelings. "I mean... stay. No. Don't go. Never leave," I add, correcting myself in an overly forced tone.
"Maybe. But only because you were so convincing and all," he smiles back, ruffling his hands through his hair to get it sitting the way that he wants.
Rolling my eyes, I lay back onto the bed with my legs hanging off the edge.
"You hungry?" he asks, and before I even get a chance to respond, he continues. "And don't do that thing that girls do where you pull the whole 'Oh no, I'm not hungry. I ate a grape yesterday, so I'm good' routine, because that's not gonna fly with me," he says, trying to maintain a serious expression.
Shaking my head vehemently, I reply, "God no. I'm fùcking starving. Why do you think I'm being such a bítch?" I laugh.
He looks at me curiously, a small smirk playing on his lips as he sits down on the bed beside me.
"What?" I laugh, using my hands exaggeratedly.
"Nothing," he lies, tapping my knee. "Now let's get some breakfast."
We head out into the kitchen, and he looks a little surprised when he sees me grab my coat.
"Oh, are we not going out?" I blurt.
"Err, I just thought we could eat here," he answers, and I can't quite pick up on where his sudden mood shift has come from.
"Sounds good, we just got a new waffle maker that I've been meaning to try out. Wanna give it a whirl?" I ask, raising my eyebrows suggestively in a joking manner, ignoring whatever it was that happened moments ago.
"Let's do it," he says, rolling up his non existent sleeves, looking as focused as I've ever seen him. I first have to search through the multiple cupboards to find the right bowls and ingredients, and when I'm satisfied, I Google a simple recipe for us to make.
"I really feel a Shrek quote is in order," he explains as he gets some cooking chocolate out of the fridge. "What is it? 'And in the morning, I'm making waffles?'"
"You've forgotten the part about staying up late and swapping manly stories," I correct him. "But good try. Maybe next time, Harry," I joke, shutting him down.
"I think it's fair to say we've ticked off all the boxes then," he nods, satisfied with himself.
"Yeah, you have a point. It wouldn't be so late if you weren't messaging me at such an ungodly hour," I point out, acknowledging the flirtatious texts we were sending back and forth. "Might I also add how juvenile it all was - texting while we're in the same house. But, I mean, I guess I shouldn't really be surprised."
"Hey!" he defends, unable to suppress his laughter, as he jabs his hip playfully into mine as we stand side by side. "Enough of that, I'm fragile. Let's get started on this. How much flour is it saying we need to use?"
"Apparently two cups for four people, so maybe just use half?" I suggest as I read the recipe on my phone.
He carefully measures out a cup of flour, ensuring the cup is precise.
"Here," I say, taking the cup and just throwing in the flour. "It doesn't need to be perfect. Let's just figure it out together."
He's open mouth in shock before he nods to himself, the idea sinking in.
"Sounds good, I'll try it your way," he says, half convinced.
"Do you always do as you're told?" I laugh, rolling my eyes at his level of precision.
"Maybe," he smiles, dipping his finger into the bowl of flour, before wiping it on my nose. "Or maybe I'm an absolute rule breaker - a larrikin of some sort," he suggests, raising his hands up in the air in front of him as if he said something really intimidating.
I scoff. "You are actually so full of it," I accuse, trying to keep a straight face as I crack an egg into the bowl.
"You love it though," he smirks.
"I did like your use of the word larrikin," I laugh. "It's not exactly a word that you hear on a daily basis."
"Welcome to my world, sweetie," he jokes, though I can't help but melt upon hearing him call me 'sweetie', even if he is just mucking around.
I throw in some of the other ingredients, hoping that this goop will taste better than how it looks.
"Are you doing anything tonight?" he asks quite lightly.
"Not that I know of," I answer, waiting for him to continue.
"Maybe we can do a dinner?" he suggests, his voice getting higher, and for the first time all morning I get a sense of nervousness from him. I like it.
"Well I can't exactly decline now, considering you know that I'm free," I laugh, while vigorously mixing the batter with a wooden spoon.
"Oh, I know," he agrees, sympathising with me. "You're pretty much locked in," he adds, quite straight-faced.
I laugh which causes a tickling sensation where the flour has set and dried, and I crinkle my nose up and down to get rid of the tickly sensation without using my messy fingers.
"You actually can't possibly look any cuter right now," he says, shaking his head as he, too, cracks an egg. "You look like a bunny. Or that woman off Bewitched."
Stop.
"Elizabeth Montgomery?" I answer.
"Yeah," he nods, impressed. "You have the whole nose twitch down pat. Maybe you're in the wrong industry?"
"So you're saying you think I'm not good enough to be a model?" I ask, trying to keep a serious face as I wave around the wooden spoon in a wild fashion. "You think I'm dried up, and should be kicked to the curb? Is that what you're saying?" I continue, walking towards him, trying to be intimidating.
He backs up slightly, until his bum hits the kitchen bench, nowhere else to go. For a moment I can't read his expression, but he then gets a twinkle in his eye and grabs my arm, turning me around, so that I'm now cornered against him.
"Hand it over," he tries to say intimidatingly; only his voice gives him away with a hint of humour.
"Never," I daringly answer, maintaining my position with the wooden spoon up in the air, challenging him with just a look.
"I just want a taste," he tells me, swiping his bottom lip with his tongue, causing my insides to combust.
His hand remains in place on my arm, and I keep my firm grip on the spoon, unwavering in my stance. He leans forward, his body now fully pressed up against my own, and I feel his warmth radiating onto me. His face only inches from mine, he repeats himself, though his voice has turned soft.
"Hand it over Ivory." His voice is gentler, void of any sense of intimidation, and yet I have never been more intimidated by him. There isn't a sense of fear of Harry himself, but instead what he intends to do to me.
"Just a little," he whispers, and I shake my head.
"You have three seconds," he warns.
"One..." he counts, his eyes flitting between my eyes and mouth as I look up at him, doe eyed. He then places his hand into the bowl, scooping up some mixture.
Shít.
"Two..." he says, and I shake my head slowly, my arm loosening its grip on the spoon, but not letting go entirely.
Time is moving achingly slow, and my heart beats faster in anticipation of what is to come.
"Three," he counts, and from the moment he utters the final number, I drop the spoon, and his arms encompass my face gently, pressing his lips up against mine. His lips move seamlessly against my own, and we're completely in sync as his tongue moves into my mouth, causing me moan from the pure act of it all. My arms wrap around his neck as he lifts me up so that I'm now sitting on the countertop, reciprocating his advances in leaning his hips into mine.
Everything feels so desperate in the sense that we have each other, and yet it isn't enough. I want more. I need more. I don't care that I have waffle batter on my face, I don't care about the mess we've made in the process of this all, I can only focus on him. All I see is him.
It's everything a girl could ever dream of in a first kiss... a burning desire for one another, with a hint of sweetness and longing, and I'm dissolving under his touch. I could drown in this feeling, but the word 'friend' tugs at my brain, and I pull apart, unsure on where things should go. He might not want this like I want this, and the last thing I'd want is for him to regret kissing me.
He looks at me with such intensity and intrigue. A look that if I'm not mistaken, says that this wasn't an accident. It was intentional, and he's glad it happened. He doesn't need to verbalise it, but I feel it. That's what I like about us. That we seem to read each other, and I wonder if he realises it like I do. We're left panting in the same position, and I almost feel like a deer in headlights... scared for my life, and yet unable to look away from his penetrating gaze.
I break the moment once more and do the first thing that comes to my mind. I scoop a handful of batter, splattering it over his face and clothes, taking him by complete surprise.
"You... you!" he threatens, laughing, picking me up into his arms, and almost instantly he loses footing on the slippery floor, taking us both down. He lands so that I fall on top of him, his arm wrapped protectively around me.
We both break into laughter at the entirety of the situation, and it's one of those fits of giggles that leaves your cheeks aching in a nice kind of way. I finally allow myself to relax, and rest my ear against his chest, his accelerated heartbeat beating frantically, giving him away.
"Well, at least it tastes nice," he laughs, rubbing his hand back and forth over my back. "Though I might need another shower."
I can't explain it. I'm so incredibly happy, and yet I have this feeling that this isn't as it seems. That there's something that I can't quite put my finger on. It isn't him - he's perfect, but my intuition is telling me that this may be too good to be true. I'm almost expecting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out from the bushes any moment, telling me that I'm being Punk'd, because surely things like this don't happen to people like me. Amazing job, amazing friends, and amazing boy? Pics, or it didn't happen.
I prop myself up off the floor, checking the bowl for what's left.
"What's the damage?" he asks, standing up to inspect what's remaining of the batter.
"Potentially enough to make one," I answer; only looking at him for a second, before looking away.
I plug the waffle maker into the wall, switching it on, and pour what's left of the mixture into the device.
Closing the lid, I move over to the sink and wash my hands, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. I take a deep breath before turning to look at him, and when I do, he has the biggest grin plastered on his face.
"What?" I laugh, watching him bite his lip as he shakes his head.
"Nothing," he lies.
"No, what is it?" I press, needing an answer.
"You," he answers. "Just you."
My voice hitches in my throat, and he leaves me speechless once again, and I look away, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze.
Fùck.
"I think the waffle's ready," I announce, changing the subject from something that I truly can't comprehend because of the rawness of it all. It was truly the best kiss I've experienced - without question. I know this to be true, but I'm still unsure of how to proceed as I know how I feel, but how does Harry feel about all of this? What does he want?
I open the lid of the iron to reveal a perfectly golden brown waffle. I use a fork to remove the dough from the maker, and quickly add it to an empty plate.
"Want to split it?" I offer, piecing the waffle in two, and passing half over to him.
I lean my back against the cupboard and slide down to the floor, to which he mimics.
Taking a bite, he moans in satisfaction, "Oh, this is so good. I had my doubts when you were throwing everything in, but this is incredible," he remarks with his mouth full.
I nod, whilst taking my first bite, and sure enough, he's right - it's delicious. But I can't even concentrate on the waffle when I still feel him on my lips, still tingling from our exquisite kiss.
I feel him watching me closely while sitting beside me, and he breaks the silence.
"So are we going to pretend that the kiss never happened or..?"
I blush at his directness, unable to look at him.
His phone begins ringing from his pocket, and he takes a look at the screen, and his entire demeanour changes. His body stiffens, and he hits ignore.
"I don't mind if you take it."
"No, it's fine, it's not important," he mutters, setting the phone down, but the moment just isn't the same anymore. He seems frustrated more than anything, and I truly wonder what could have changed in these few moments to change his attitude so drastically.
His phone begins ringing again, and I stop his hand from hitting ignore again.
"Take it," I urge, getting up. "I need something from my room anyways."
I leave the room, and while facing the mirror, I wipe the excess goopy batter onto a used towel. I can't help but listen closely to the phone conversation that ensues.
"Hello," he mumbles.
I freeze in my place, unsure or not if I need to close the door to give him privacy, or do I stay where I am and listen? Curiosity gets the better of me, and I stay rooted to where I am.
"Fine... yes.... I don't know...... Not now... I can't...... I just can't alright?"
Shít.
Who could he be speaking to that has had such an immediately negative effect on him in this way? A side I've yet to witness, and unsure of where this is all coming from.
"Fine... I don't know? Thirty minutes or so. Okay... Bye. Yep, bye."
I wait a few moments before I reappear in the room, trying my best to show I hadn't been eavesdropping.
"So I'm thinking that we maybe try out this new spot in Camden for dinner? They make the most amazing tempura prawn bao - or so I'm told."
He looks down at his phone, and I instantly know that none of this is happening. A gut feeling, and I know I'm right, just by the look on his face when he looks up to face me.
"Sorry Ivory, something's just come up that I need to deal with," he informs me, his voice quite gentle, as well as his demeanour, which now seems plain downtrodden. "I don't think I can make it anymore," he explains regretfully.
Okay then.
"That's alright," I smile as best as I can to show I'm fine. "Is everything okay?"
"It will be," he nods. "I just need to do something I've been putting off for a while."
Whatever could he mean?
"Sounds full on," I comment, speaking only to keep the flow of things going.
"I had a nice time... a really nice time," he adds quite genuinely. "But I need to go."
"Will I hear from you this time, or are you going to fall off the planet again?" I joke, causing a small smile to form on his beautiful face.
He closes the distance between us, and takes me in his arms, pulling me into a tight hug.
"I'll message you later," he tells me, his chin resting on the top of my head.
When we pull apart, he kisses my forehead, and we say our goodbyes. I have faith in Harry that I'll hear from him again, but I can't help but feel a little lost in all of this. What could have been said in that phone call that would cause him to leave in such a rushed manner?
As unplanned as it was, the kiss was... indescribable. The kiss only confirmed the connection I felt, and now I'm left here feeling more confused than I was to begin with. But I can't ignore my feelings.
Is it enough for me to remove the walls I've put up in order to respect our so called friendship? I guess I'll soon find out.
Author's Note: What did you all think of the kiss? Is it something you're for, or against? I hope there isn't any criticising of Ivory's actions, because we have to remember that she doesn't know anything about Ebony at this stage.
I also would like to point out that WWA has ended, but I'm actually pretty excited because it means we're closer to the Australian leg of the tour. And bless Niall for saying Australia was the best country on the planet - we now have it in writing!
Dedication: teacher1direction - Your comment was really lovely, and I also love the fact that some people's opinions on both girls are constantly changing. It's a lovely compliment.
07/10/14 | 50.8K Views
The lyrical quote at the beginning of the chapter originated from the song 'Video Games' by Lana Del Rey