Harry's POV
I watch her chest rise and fall as she sleeps next to me. I woke up fifteen minutes ago and I have had to piss ever since but I can't bring myself to wake her. She looks so peaceful, calm. She looks like an angel.
You're going to ruin her. I frown at my subconscious because though I know it's true, I wish I didn't have to.
I don't want to see her upset, not like the night she came running to me at that party. I remember the relief that washed over her frightened face, I remember my heart racing as I saw her ripped shirt and mascara all over her face. I never wanted to beat the fuck out of someone so badly when she tried to explain what happened. I wanted to make her feel safe and take away her pain.
Look at me now; I am going to be causing it.
I smile slightly as she puts her hand on my arm, she's still sleeping but longing for me? No. Can't be. I am just overthinking. Or does she like that I am next to her? Maybe I am not overthinking? What the fuck is going on with me?
She should not mean anything.
She doesn't mean anything.
The moment is gone far too soon when her eyes flutter open. Her deep brown eyes looking around before looking at the tattoos across my arm and following them to my face. She smiles sleepily at me before she closes her eyes again.
"Good morning, kitten," I say softly, bringing my hand to hair to push it out of her face.
She hums in response and nuzzles herself closer. I chuckle slightly as she whispers that she is cold.
"Are you still scared of you having bad morning breath?"
She smiles and nods her head.
"Go in the bathroom, there is an extra toothbrush in the cabinet, weirdo," I laugh.
She swats her hand at me before getting up and making her way to the bathroom. A few minutes later she comes back.
"Better?" I ask.
"Much better."
I don't think I have ever met someone so self conscious about their breath in the morning, then again, all of the girls I have slept with don't really care about much. And I have never given a fuck either. It's new to me, I guess.
She sighs as she sits down, "What time is it?"
I tap on my phone, "It's nine."
"Has the rain stopped?"
"I don't know. Are you hungry?"
She nods her head and I get up from the bed and pull a shirt on before I start making my way upstairs. I don't bother to look to see it she is following me because if she is hungry enough, she'll come.
I walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, I open one of the blinds to reveal the morning fog and slivers of sunlight peaking through the tree line.
My mums house has always seemed like a different world. Sometimes I feel like we're not even in Washington, but somewhere that doesn't exist to the public. Just to my mum and I.
"This is a pretty view," Ariana whispers, like she could break the glass if she spoke too loud.
I nod my head in agreement and sigh before I start breakfast. I watch as she stares out the window before her eyes observe everything. When I say everything, I mean everything. Her eyes trail so fucking slow over the pictures on the wall, the chairs, the books, even the flowers my mum placed on the small table between the two chairs. Her eyes flicker over to the door.
She looks over at me and by the look in her eyes, I can already tell what she is going to ask. Her curiosity is amusing to me. Usually, my mates would just sit in the living room and wait for the food. Ariana wants to explore every inch of this house.
"I'll let you know when it's ready," I dismiss her.
Her grin is evident in the reflection of the glass as she opens the door and slips outside. The sunlight makes her golden hair strands shine as she moves about. I wonder if that's natural or she had it done.
What the fuck? Did I seriously just ask myself that?
Just shut up, Harry. Stop thinking.
I quickly finish making our pancakes and set our plates on the table before I go to the door. I see her looking up at the trees holding on to the branches, no doubt she's trying to figure out the best way to climb it.
I open the door, "Ariana."
She looks over at me before letting the branch go and making her way over. I step aside to let her in.
We eat our breakfast in silence, her eyes still wandering around the room, only taking the time to ask for the syrup or butter.
I bet she has this whole house memorised.
Around noon Ariana and I leave a note for my mum and make our way back to campus.
I can tell she's not the happiest about missing all of her classes today but she also isn't all anxiety and panic filled like she usually would be. She seems... relaxed? Content? Maybe I actually did help her. For once.
"Is your favorite place in the world also your home?" she breaks the silence.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, people have favorite places that they like to visit, you know, New York, Paris, Rome. Get what I am saying?"
I nod my head, dumbfounded and confused.
"So let's say your favorite place is England, is that where you feel at home?"
"Are you asking that because that's where I lived for seventeen years?"
She laughs, "No! I'm just using it as an example. Which was a really bad idea. What is your favorite place?"
"I don't have one."
"Really?"
"Yes."
She hums, "Okay. We will use mine. My favorite place in the world is Alaska. I love that it has the midnight sun, the whole state is dreamy."
"Is that your home?" I question.
She smiles softly before answering, "No, I can't say that it is when I have never been."
"Where is your home then?" I'm genuinely curious now.
What does she want out of this?
"Well, here's the thing, I don't know. I could say that being in the forests make me feel at home because that's where I felt most comfortable as a child. But, I don't know. I don't think I have found my home yet."
"So the trees back at my mum's house, did you feel kind of at home there?"
"Your mothers house is a whole other universe, Harry." She laughs.
"Where is your home?" She questions.
"I don't know," I answer truthfully.
England isn't home. Washington doesn't feel like home. Everything feels stale. What's it like to feel at home? I want to ask so badly but in the end, it doesn't really matter.
"You're kidding," she acts surprised.
"I'm not." I sigh, "Why are you even asking me this anyway?"
"I don't know," she sits back in the seat. "I think I like knowing people have homes they can go to, whether it be figuratively or literally. I also thought that it was better to ask you something deeper than what you're favorite color is."
"Why?"
"You have a wall, Harry. I can tell. I can also tell that you're not as mean you make yourself out to be. You're a kind soul, and I mean that."
I laugh, "I am not kind, Ariana."
"Oh, whatever, Styles." she giggles.
She looks out the window, watching the trees pass by us.
"We're going to find you a home, Styles." she states.
There's a part of me that wishes that it could happen, that it could be a reality.
But then I am reminded:
I have ruined all the homes I've ever had.