10 HOURS AWAY | Harry Styles AU
chapter 06 - the morning after
I blushed furiously and looked at my mug. I hadn't expected him to ask me that question so bluntly.
"That wasn't my intention." I mumbled and touched the rim of the mug with my thumb.
We kept steady eye contact as I heard him tapping his foot on the ground quietly.
Silently, I cleared my throat. "But I wouldn't mind you telling me why." Maybe this was the only chance I was given to ask him such thing, even if it wasn't any of my business.
Harry leaned with his elbows on the table. Whenever we looked at each other, I was reminded of how magnetic his stare was. It wouldn't surprise me if I drowned in the beauty of his eyes. I asked myself if someone ever gave him a compliment. Did he even like to receive a compliment about his appearance?
I was pulled out of my thoughts when he opened his mouth to speak. "It's going to sound silly." he warned me. "But my best friend, who's also my roommate, has the exact same phone. So when I got back from your place, I borrowed his charger and then left to get some groceries. Dylan left thirty minutes later for his flight and accidentally took my phone with him, because he assumed my phone was his work phone." Harry explained. "I wasn't able to make it to the airport on time to get it back, so I simply had to live without my phone for a few days. It felt like I was detoxing."
"That must've sucked." I stated airily.
"Yup. I never knew how badly I needed my phone until it was nowhere to be found." he said, a smile tugging at his lips.
He looked down for a moment, suddenly there was minimal eye contact. Harry forced his lips into a thin line before telling me what happened once Dylan returned from his trip.
"When I got my phone back, I saw you had texted me. I replied immediately." he lifted his face upwards and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "It doesn't surprise me you gave me the silent treatment, too." Harry pointed out.
"I didn't think you'd text me back." I said.
"You didn't?" his expression softened.
"I mean, days passed by and you responded out of nowhere. I didn't know what to say."
"I'm honestly sorry about that." Harry spoke truthfully. "I bet you thought I was a douchebag for a second."
"Maybe I thought you were a douchebag for more than a second." I joked and it made me happy he laughed.
I wrapped my hands around the mug and felt the heat radiate through the ceramic.
"One time I had to live without technology for twenty-four hours. I bet living without it for days is horrible." I declared.
"Why couldn't you use it?"
"My professor wanted us to keep a journal and write down how we felt every hour." I told him and brushed the palms of my hands together. "As much as I wanted to write and kill time, I wasn't allowed to use my laptop."
"Couldn't you cheat and still use it?" Harry asked.
"I definitely could. No one was watching me, but I thought that living without a device for hours wouldn't be a problem." I replied. "I was absolutely wrong." I admitted as I shook my head and stifled a laugh. "But then I left the house and came back with a typewriter."
Harry's eyes widened. "Really?"
"I never spend so much money without thinking twice." I sighed afterward. "It was totally worth it."
"Do you still have it?"
"Yes, but it's at home." I said. "It was impossible to bring it with me."
"So what's better? A laptop or a typewriter?" he asked, genuinely interested.
"Obviously, a laptop. It is much easier because if I make a mistake I can go back. But a typewriter makes the entire experience more real. Whenever I use it, I pay more attention to the story I want to tell." his eyes gleamed as I explained my preference. "It's kinda magical."
"My dad used to have one. It stood in his study, but he never used it. I guess he only bought it to decorate the room."
Carefully, I got up and walked over to the window. I pushed the beige curtains aside and saw cabs parked near the side-walk for those who needed one. Yesterday's blue sky was replaced by a cloudy grey sky and I pondered whether it was going to be like this for the upcoming days.
"Do you miss it?" Harry asked calmly, his voice low.
I turned on my heel to catch him looking at me questioningly.
"The typewriter?" I replied and he mouthed yeah.
I hadn't really thought about it, but when he asked I realized I did.
"I do." I said. "Even if it's just an object."
"Maybe you could buy one?" he then suggested nicely.
"Mmmm." I hummed. "They're expensive. I would hate it if I had to leave it behind."
Harry nodded in understanding, but then he furrowed his eyebrows. "Does it make you write better?"
I recalled all the times I had used the typewriter at home - maybe I did benefit from it. Not only was I more invested in the entire process, but I'd also be on my desk for hours - writing without any breaks. My parents often had to convince me to stop and eat something, because I would lose track of time. It was improbable how much my writing changed because of a small adjustment.
"It does." I said.
Out of nowhere his phone buzzed, causing both of us to be pulled out of our conversation. The delivery guy was waiting outside with our breakfast. Harry looked at me for a second with sympathy in his eyes, but then excused himself and exited my apartment to get our food.
I leaned back in the chair. Realization hit me as I became fully aware of the fact I had just shared more more about my writing with Harry. The night we met, I somehow wasn't afraid to talk about it either. It seemed like I was very comfortable opening up to him.
It worried me, because I scarcely shared anything about my way of putting words onto paper. But with him, not only had I started talking about this topic myself, but he also managed to make me realize that a typewriter was what I needed to create a story I could be proud of – I had never even thought about it myself.
In my eyes, there had always been a great difference between talking to those who have never written a story and the ones who have. I consistently believed that those who were passionate about writing, would be able to understand me better. Therefore, I kept it all to myself because I didn't have any friends who knew what it was like.
But then why did I tell him?
It didn't take long before he was back with two plastic bags in his hands and a happy face. As a result, I suddenly forgot about our recent conversation. It was almost as if his smile made everything disappear.
"I instantly get more hungry when I smell food." he said as he put the bags on the kitchen counter. "I got some chicken soup and sandwich. Is that okay?"
"Absolutely." I said. The fact he even ordered breakfast for us was incredibly kind.
We stayed in the kitchen and continued talking – not about my writing, thankfully.
He told me he had been occupied with work for the last couple of days. There were some issues with the location he'd be filming at very soon. The more we talked, the more he explained in detail what was going to happen in the upcoming weeks.
I'd never thought he'd be so busy with this Alzheimer's project, but it was beautiful to see how his eyes sparkled and pride lingered in his voice. This was more than just a simple job.
After we finished breakfast, I shot a quick glance at the clock. Apparently, the hours had passed by in a blur, because it seemed like he had just arrived at my place. I asked him if he wanted more coffee, and it made me smile from the inside when he said yes.
"So you live with your best friend, right?" I asked while adding milk and sugar to my beverage and keeping his black. "How is that working out for you?"
"It can be difficult at times." Harry said. He quickly thanked me for the coffee when I handed it to him. "There are moments Dylan annoys the shit out of me, but I'm also grateful he wants to live together. I'm glad we don't share a bedroom because that would've been hell."
I stiffened a laugh. "That does sound like the worst thing ever." I said.
Harry observed me; his olive-colored eyes looking at me in a way I couldn't explain. "What about you?" his voice was delicate.
I sat down on the windowsill – holding the mug in my hands. "This is my first time living on my own."
"You never moved out of your parents' place?" he asked curiously.
"Nope. It has always been very unnecessary for me to move out. Although I'd love to have more space and want to be left alone sometimes, it'll cost me a lot of money." I confirmed. "I'm not that rich." I said in a voice that was barely audible.
"Do you pay the rent for this apartment?" Harry began to observe the kitchen we were in.
"Yeah, but it's not a lot. After I got accepted into the program, they told me I could stay in one of the buildings for the participants. I managed to get this one." I looked around myself. Out of most apartments and rooms they had offered, this was definitely the best I could get.
"What do you think of it so far?" I heard him asking me.
"It is weird to be on my own, since I've to take care of myself now. I have to build a new life here and..."
"It isn't as easy as you thought it would be?"
"Exactly." I mumbled.
"Do you like it here though?"
"I've got mixed feelings." I said.
"Why?" he asked softly.
I exhaled deeply. "You see, I find this place beautiful - this city is alive and mesmerizing. I've been given the chance to live on my own, become independent, and make my dream come true. If anyone had ever told my younger self I would be here one day, I would've laughed." I started to twist the ring around my finger - my palms were getting sweaty. "Sometimes, I struggle with being away. I'm used to living with my parents and brother, having my friends nearby, and knowing where to go or what to do." I knew sadness clouded my features, but it was impossible for me to hide how I felt about this. "Now and then, it makes me feel lost or lonely."
I had no idea why I was sharing so much. Why did I reply to his questions so effortlessly when I usually preferred to avoid certain subjects or keep personal information private? I wasn't used to exposing myself so easily – especially not to a guy.
But there was something about Harry and the way he treated me. I stopped second-guessing every answer I could give. As of right now, I didn't know if that was the right thing to do. This was only the second time we were hanging out together, and he already knew more than all the boys I had dated in the past combined. It was uncommon for me to be so upfront and descriptive about how I felt. Normally, I'd have already run away if a guy suggested spending time together.
"I-"
He wanted to continue talking, but someone knocked on my door. I told him I'd be back in a second as I rushed to the front door. I wasn't actually expecting someone to pay me a visit. However, once I unlocked it, I was met with Mia.
"We lost Isaac last night." she said dramatically as she stepped inside voluntarily. "Apparently he went home with a girl he met at the pub, but we didn't know until it was 6 am – 6 fucking am! So Carter and I walked around the city for hours, extremely drunk, looking for Isaac who hadn't bother to tell us where he-" she stopped talking mid-sentence when she saw Harry sitting at the dining table.
For a moment it was completely silent in my apartment.
Harry got up and walked over to Mia.
"Hi." he said.
"Hey." she replied.
"I'm Harry." he introduced himself politely. It was clear she was confused about him being here.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Mia." she eventually shook his hand, but a line appeared between her brows once she let go.
I had no idea what to do or what to say. We were standing in the living room and I was convinced I was the only one who felt beyond awkward.
Was it my turn to start the conversation? Were they both going to talk? I was put in a position where I had no idea what was the right thing to do. Particularly, because Harry and I were in the middle of a conversation we hadn't had the chance to finish properly.
He searched for my gaze before we locked eyes. "I should go home, so you two can catch up." Harry said.
I almost wanted to tell him he could stay, but I didn't – obviously.
"Yeah." I whispered.
Slowly Harry walked over to the front door, so I decided to follow him. Mia slipped me a curious glance before motioning she'd be in the kitchen.
He reached out for his jacket. Apparently, he had placed it on the chair next to the couch. He held it in his hand instead of putting it on. I noticed how he licked his bottom lip and then bit on it – as if he was trying to keep himself from saying something.
I parted my lips – on the edge of asking what was on his mind.
"I'll talk to you later then?" he said.
"Sure." I half-smiled.
He drew in a long breath. "Bye, Liz."
"Bye." I muttered faintly.
With his right hand he turned the doorknob around and left the apartment. Somehow, the entire atmosphere changed once he was gone.
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