Just wanted to add a little note here. This story was approximately written in 2014/15. Later in this chapter there is a section which references Vladimir Putin and makes a few jokes about him. He obviously has a history of doing horrible things, and the latest unprovoked attacks on Ukraine are horrifying. Please know that I'm not trying to minimize his actions. Fuck Putin.
When Laurel and I were kids it was almost guaranteed that one of us would be staying at the other's house every Friday night, which usually rolled over to Saturday night as well. We never really outgrew this and if anything it only became more constant as we grew older.
Even from a young age I've never been an early riser, sleeping in has always been a talent of mine. Laurel has grown into this but when we were young she'd be up before the crack of dawn.
Laurel isn't a patient person, never has been and I doubt she ever will be, so my sleeping in did not usually fly with her. I remember more than a few occasions waking up with her sitting on top of me and saying "Greta, Greta, Greta," over and over again, poking my cheeks, trying to abruptly pull me from my sleep. If that didn't work she would resort to jumping up and down in the bed, blasting music from her CD player on the nightstand.
Needless to say, I'm very happy she eventually outgrew this trait. And now she sleeps in almost as much as I do.
When I wake this morning I'm thankful that there is no one jumping on my bed or sitting on top of me yelling my name, there is a face though.
Harry.
"Greta," he whispers, a sound barely coming out of his mouth.
He's kneeled in front of my bed, his hand pushing back my hair from my sweaty forehead. He smiles softly as he looks into my opening eyes, whispering something I can't make out. His long hair is pulled back into a bun on the back of his head and he continues to rub my forehead as my eyes flutter open, slowly waking up.
"Hi," I say groggily, careful not to breathe out too much and turn Harry away with my morning breath.
"Good morning," he smiles again, clearly more awake than me. "Umm... so I have breakfast."
"You do?" I perk up a little, my stomach grumbling at the thought.
He chuckles at my excited tone, pushing back from his kneeled position next to me and standing up. I roll onto my back, stretching my arms high above my head, twisting my back in a strange position and watch him as he walks away from my bed. He makes his way to the small table in the room and I look at how his legs move as his feet pad against the carpeted floors.
"Yes," he looks back at me, opening a box. "Went next door to the diner we ate at last night. I skipped out on the coffee myself this time around, but... here."
He lifts up his arm with a paper cup of coffee in his hand and I sit up from my place in bed. I puff out air from my lungs, blowing a piece of hair out of my face, before smiling widely at him. I'm not usually one to enjoy early mornings, but I find it impossible not to when a cute, so sweet, boy is standing feet away from me with a cup of coffee in his hand and breakfast that he got for us to share.
"You're really nice," I sigh out, yawning slightly. "You know that, right?"
"I try," he smiles back at me.
I push the covers away from my body, shivering with the colder air and put my feet to the ground, the coffee and cute boy bribing me out of bed. Walking slowly over to where Harry stands at the table I adjust my t-shirt that rode up over the night.
He hands me the coffee and the cup is warm in my hand. We sit down at the table and silence over comes us, small smiles are exchanged as he divvies up the food. I feel his eyes on me and I have to look down at the wood table, too nervous to look into his eyes for more than a few seconds.
"In case you didn't know," he speaks softly, pushing over a plate for me. "Bed head looks exceptional on you."
I feel my cheeks redden, warm from embarrassment, and I quickly move hands to pat down the curly mess. My fingers tangle in my hair as I try to run them through the knots, hoping to tame the bed head Harry's referring to.
"No, Greta," he reaches out to me, stopping my hands. "I mean it," he smiles again and I know he's sincere. "I like this. You don't need to be anyone other than who you are. I want to know the real Greta Develo, the one who wakes up with wild hair and whispers about her life seconds before falling asleep. "
"Okay," I whisper, moving my head to take a sip of my coffee, wishing I could say more.
I want to tell him the same thing. That I too want to know the real Harry Styles. I want to know his pet peeves. I want to know if he still talks to his childhood best friend and if he's always this energetic regardless of the time of day. I want to know what has caused him to laugh the loudest he's ever laughed before and if he prefers to write with pen or pencil. I want to know every little thing about him, who he really is, but the only thing I manage to say is okay.
"So, I looked at the bus schedule," he interrupts our silence, his cheeks full with food. "There's one leaving in an hour, headed east. Do you still want to go with me?"
I don't hesitate to respond with an enthusiastic nod and my eyes grow wide with wonderment of how he could even ask that question. Of course I want to go with him. He smiles at my eagerness and I decide to let myself laugh at my reaction, rather than become embarrassed by it. It feels nice not to worry.
"Great," he smiles. "If you said no, I'd be a sad fellow. I like being with you."
...
Sitting on the bumpy bus, slightly queasy from the winding road I'm beginning to think Paradise Motel was onto something when it named itself paradise. I would much prefer to be back there, sitting on a bed, watching Harry try to catch fruit snack in his mouth only to fall right off the mattress.
Instead, I'm here, slouched in an uncomfortable position with headphones in my ear and eyes out the window. Harry's next to me, his arm pressed into mine and his legs stretched out as wide as he can make them in this small space and invading what's supposed to be my leg space.
He's been buried deep in a book for the last hour and I've been trying to figure out how he hasn't thrown up from car sickness yet. I've never been able to read in the car and I can't imagine even attempting it now on this bus.
Travelling by bus is slow. Most of the day has passed by now, the sun slowly setting behind us, and we haven't made it more than a few towns east. Having to constantly stop to let off old passengers and let on the new, prevents us from having a smooth trip.
Harry and I haven't said a word to each other in at least an hour. Not because we don't want to talk to each other, we're just lost in our own little worlds. I find it comforting in a way. I don't feel like I need to prove myself to him. He's perfectly fine if we just sit next to each other in silence, lost in our own worlds. It feels nice having someone there, nice knowing that someone wants to be next to you, it feels nice not to be alone.
With my eyes still focused outside the window I feel one of my headphones rip out of my ear, the music quickly fading away. Seconds later I feel a shaky breath next to my ear, the voice full of warmth.
"Watcha listening to?" he asks quietly. I can feel his smile against the side of my face, radiating something more than a smile should.
"Music," I respond quickly, and I turn my head to look at him.
"Really," his eyes are wide and he speaks loudly, sarcasm heavy in his tone. "I would have never guessed. I was thinking it was more along the lines of the history of Russia. You know, how it evolved from a Siberian wasteland, to a nation of czars, to its current estate led by Putin who sometimes rides horses shirtless."
"You sure know a lot about that."
"Yeah," he smiles again. "I might have a slight crush on Vlad."
"Vlad," I repeat, laughing loudly at Harry's tone.
"What?" he questions, humor in his eyes. "You're going to tell me you don't feel a little bit of an attraction to a balding Russian man who rides a horse without a shirt? I mean, sure he's not the friendliest of guys and he's probably plotting some evil plan for world domination but still, look at the guy."
"You're so dumb," I shake my head, still laughing.
"Actually I think I'm quite intelligent for educating myself on the greater world," he smirks, appearing extremely proud of himself.
"Educating yourself on the rest of the world and having a crush on a middle aged Russian man are completely different things."
He shrugs his shoulders, looking toward the seats in front of us, "It's the thought that counts, right?" he turn back to me, batting his eyelashes quickly.
I shake my head at him, telling him that isn't exactly how it works. He pouts at me, puckering his lip as he tries to convince me otherwise. I can tell from his face that he's joking, already used to his dry humor, but I'm sure anyone listening in on our conversation might be a little more concerned. Not that having a crush on Vladimir Putin is all that bad.
The intercom of the bus rings in and the man driving announces that our next stop is in five minutes. I groan, not looking forward to yet another pause in our trek. It feels like the stops have been never ending today. They haven't been short ones either. More than a few have been half hour or more, sometimes even close to an hour. One took exceptionally long because the bus driver got locked in the bathroom on accident. Which in a way is as funny as it is annoying.
"Harry, where are you from?" I ask, remembering the stop that he got on at. That's when he joined me on this trip, but I don't know where he was coming from or if that was his original starting point.
"Well," he turns toward me again, arms crossed on the arm rest, "If we're getting real technical here. I'm originally from somewhere deep inside my mom, just waiting for that day where it was my time to shine-,"
"Gross," I sigh out, stopping him before he can continue anymore. "That is not what I meant."
"I know," he moves his hand up, rubbing his fingers over his lips. "Figured if I'm going to tell you my life story might as well start at the beginning of my life."
"Right at conception?"
"Yes," he nods. "So it was a cold night, the moon was full and if you were quiet enough you could hear the ocean off in the distance. The problem was my parents were anything but quiet."
"Oh my god, stop!" I interrupt him again, pushing his shoulder. All he does is laugh, far too entertained by this. "Don't you find this a little disturbing? Personally I'd rather not know the details of my conception."
"It's extremely disturbing," he agrees. "But without it I would not be here, Greta."
"How about you quit it with the baby making talk and answer my original question?"
"I love it when you get snappy," he laughs. "Also, baby making talk is what makes the world go 'round. It's important stuff, you know-,"
"Harry," I sigh out annoyed, glaring at him.
"Sorry, sorry," he leans back, putting his hands in front of his chest, waving them back and forth. He pauses for a moment, staring at me and it feels like he's trying to figure out what I'm going to do next. I impatiently raise my eyebrows at him, which he takes that as his cue to keep going. "I'm from Coos Bay, you know where that is?"
"Sort of on the coast? South, right?" I squeeze my eyes together, trying to remember if I know anything about it.
"Yeah," he nods his head. "South of Portland definitely, yeah. It's a cute little town."
"I've mostly been north when it comes to the Oregon coast... Canon Beach, Manzanita... that area. Never really ventured down much."
Laurel, and her excessively rich parents, have a beach house in Manzanita. Most summers, before everything in our lives got more hectic, we'd stay there for two weeks. It was always something I looked most forward to in the summer. It'd be Laurel and me, the beach and no worries. As we got older the trip shrunk down in time and I found myself not enjoying it as much. It was no longer just Laurel, me and the beach.
"Ahhh, yes. Seems about right," he leans back in, his shoulder pressed into mine. "Coos Bay is beautiful, like the rest of the coast. It was a nice place to grow up. Nothing ever felt too far away, a lot of my family lives there... it was nice."
Despite all the words coming out of his mouth praising his hometown I get this sense that there is something more that he isn't fully expressing. It doesn't seem genuine. It doesn't seem like the cheery, relaxed Harry that I've already gotten accustomed to. I feel this tension underneath his words and movements. I just can't put my finger on what could possibly be underneath it all.
"Jackson and I would always ride our bikes to the park in the summer and swim in the pool they had there when we were kids. We played on the same baseball team when we were young, until he started playing football and I stopped playing sports altogether-,"
"Jackson?" I ask, interrupting him.
"Yeah," he nods. "My older brother. Shit, sorry. I didn't think about how you wouldn't know that. I'm so used to everyone knowing who Jackson is."
"It's fine," I look back at him reassuringly. "So, an older brother?"
"Mhmm," he hums. "I guess we're alike in that sense. Both got a sibling we're somehow supposed to live up to. Lucky, aren't we?"
I see it for only a moment, a small look in his eyes, but with his words I feel like an entire new side of Harry opens up. It isn't very long so I can't be positive, but I have a feeling this connects to his uncertainty with his words about his home. I don't know if it's his relationship with his brother per se, but something isn't right and I can tell he is involved in some aspect.
I've never felt like I've had to "live up" to Pat. Well, that isn't entirely true. He's been embedded into almost every aspect of my life. Every teacher in school had him before they had me. I was always known as "Pat's sister" to almost everyone I've ever met. But I never felt like I had some goal of personhood set by him to reach in order to be considered worthy. I've felt like just being me was okay enough.
Maybe it's because I've never felt like Pat's been this huge role model in my life. He's a decent person and everything, we get along the majority of time, but I see enough of him to know that he isn't someone I aspire to be. He can be cruel and selfish, not caring about what he does and how it affects other people, and somehow still gets praised for it. I've never felt much pressure to be like him and I never exactly wanted to be.
Harry and I might be alike in the fact that we have an older brother but I have a feeling we don't share the same experiences any further than that.
"So, your parents were busy baby making long before you were a thought..." I say quietly, hoping to change the tone of the conversation.
Harry does this funny laugh yell thing, like he's surprised himself with his own laugh, and he quickly covers his mouth when he hears the sound. His eyes widen for a moment and then he starts laughing loudly. I'm able to keep a straight face until he leans over, holding his stomach in laughter.
"That is possibly my favorite thing I've heard you say yet," he manages to get out between breathy laughs. "Baby making. Not sure I've used that word this much until now."
"I mean that is what's happening during... you know."
"True," he nods. "Except the majority of the time I wouldn't say making a baby is the intended outcome. Nature wise, yes. But with the way humans have evolved socially I'd say the reasoning is usually far different."
"Don't you sound like a smarty," I smile.
"Yes, Greta," he smiles back at me. "I'm very much educated in subjects that include Vladimir Putin and baby making. I'm quite the intelligent man. I should probably win some sort of award. I could probably solve all of the world's problems with my knowledge."
"I wouldn't doubt it."
"Actually, my knowledge on Vlad is pretty minimal besides his shirtless riding of horse. Baby making on the other hand," he raises his eyebrows. "I'd say I'm an expert."
My eyes go wide. I wouldn't be surprised if my mouth is hanging open as well. I don't even try to hide my shocked expression, unsure of what to say next. Harry finds it absolutely hilarious, laughing loudly to himself. I just stay sat next to him, blinking my eyes quickly, and try to figure out how to say something that won't end up digging me into a deep pit of embarrassment.
I find my mind wandering to depths that it normally doesn't venture to, curious what he means by being an "expert". I want to ask so many questions that are highly inappropriate and extremely awkward and I have to fight myself not to let any slip.
When you say expert do you mean in the anatomical and scientific way, or as in your very skilled in the actual task?
What qualifies as being an expert? What is the checklist for achieving such a thing?
Do you actually have to achieve making a physical baby to be an "expert"? And if so, does that mean you have a baby? You don't really seem like a father.
My mind is racing. It's going every which way and I feel like with every second that passes it only digs itself deeper, asking questions that are progressively more and more off the wall. I'm in no way a baby making expert. I understand the technicalities of it of course, we had a very good sex-ed course in middle school. In practice though, not so much.
Harry continues to laugh, his head tilted back. I glare at him for a few seconds, hoping it will stop his laughter at my shocked reaction. After that doesn't work and he only starts laughing harder, I smile at him. I feel this surge of happiness as I watch him be happy and even though it's slightly at my expense, it's nice to be around someone with that much joy.
It takes him a few minutes to calm himself down and I mentally pat myself on the back for not letting any of my awful, ridiculous, questions slip from my mouth. I know it would only cause another fit of laughter to erupt from him.
When the bus pulls into the station, marking our next stop, I'm surprised that we're here already. Even though the driver warned us it still feels like it snuck up on me, arriving before it should have. The feeling between Harry and I quiets down, no longer feeling giddy with dumb conversations. We watch as people collect their things, leaving the space we shared together for the last two hours. New passengers make their way on, climbing up the stairs and I feel Harry's elbow go into the side of my arm.
"Do you ever think about what it would be like if a certain person was never in your life," he whispers, his humorous tone from minutes ago is gone. "Like if you just woke up one day and realized they were never there, how it would change the person you are."
I nod my head, humming. I've thought about that more times than I can count. At times I'd even think about what it would be like if I was that person who was gone. Not like in the sense that I didn't want to live, I've never thought that. Just, I would think about what people would be like without me, how I influence their lives.
I've been thinking about this more than ever the last few days since in a way this has become a reality. The people I've been around my entire life woke up and realized I wasn't there anymore so they are living this thought in Harry's head. I still don't know what to make of it though. I don't know how they are dealing with this, if they are feeling anything more than disappointment and confusion.
"Sure," I reply. "I think everyone you meet has an influence on the person you are, every interaction you have shapes who you become. It's hard to imagine who you'd be without certain people."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I breathe out.
"I think you're the opposite," he turns to me, looking me in the eyes. "Well for me anyways. I woke up one day and you were here, you came out of nowhere Greta. Sure, it's going to take more than a few days before you leave this lasting impact on the person I am, but I can already feel it..."
"Feel what?"
"That you're important," he continues to look into my eyes. And normally I'd find myself looking down, not being able to handle his intense gaze, but I can't look away. "I don't know exactly, that it's not going to be the same after you."
Again I find myself wanting to say so much more than I can physically produce. I want to express how I know exactly what he means. That I feel like I have this connection with him and I find it both intriguing and terrifying at the same time. I want to say so much but I know that my words would only get jumbled up and take away from what I mean. So instead I keep it simple.
"I can tell you're important too," I whisper.
And it's true. I could tell from the moment he stepped onto that first bus that he was going to change my life. I've already done a significant amount of life changing on my own, but he, he's going to flip my world around at least three more times. I just know it... it's not going to be the same after him.
...
Hellloooo! So obviously Harry's family is structured a bit differently than it is in real life, no Gemma (as much as I love her), but an older brother instead. I definitely think that's important with things to come, there isn't much of a connection between his real life family and this one... which shouldn't be too much of a surprise since it's an AU fanfic.
Alrighttttt, well as always I love to hear what you think! Thank you so much for all of the support.