a/n Sorry for being absent! Here's a really long chapter for you :) Hope you are all well.
Happy 11k friends! I'm so glad so many people are enjoying this story! Welcome to all the new readers (and old readers I love you guys)!
39.
"Quinn," Emma whines. "Come on, please."
I toss my head back. "I don't want to."
"It'll mean a lot to her though, if both of you came. Plus, it'll be fun," she follows me around the kitchen island to the sink, where I'm washing dishes.
"Harry has his show."
"So come after," she pushes. I huff. "Come on, it'll be fun."
"Halloween is not fun," I declare in protest. "It's creepy."
"Five minutes." She haggles.
"Ugh!" I groan in frustration, slamming the pot I was washing down into our sink. "Five minutes! Fine!"
A small smile of victory twists onto her face. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and waltzes away. I shake my head and go back to washing my dish. Out of the corner of my eye I see Leo perched on the floor. He cocks his head slightly and looks up at me.
"What are you looking at," I snap at him. He lets out a pitiful meow. I roll my eyes again and grab the bag of treats off the windowsill in front of the sink, cracking open the bag and tossing two down to him. "Everyone in this house is so needy," I mumble under my breath, bringing my attention back to the dish.
So Kate's having a Halloween party. I've only agreed to go two minutes ago and I'm already dreading it. I hate that she asked Emma to get Harry and I to come. I have a feeling all Kate really cares about is Harry.
But also Emma's smitten. She comes home some days and her cheeks are still flushed from excitement. She's starting singing songs in the house. It warms me up seeing her this happy. I guess if this is the person to give her that, I have to let it be.
I am excited for Halloween, despite my declaration that it's not fun. I mean, it isn't. But Halloween means Harry's coming back to New York. He's got some big show planned. A couple months ago he had a meeting with Jack, and decided he wanted to perform again, even if he doesn't have new music yet. I'm not excited for Halloween, but I'm definitely excited for Harryween. It'll be his first show I get to attend.
I realize I've been washing this dish for a long time. My fingers are starting to feel pruney. I set it aside and reach for another one. Emma slinks back into the kitchen with a guilty look on her face.
"You have to wear a costume," she murmurs hesitantly, worried she's going to set me off.
"Okay," I smile through my teeth.
"You'll miss me while you're gone" She pouts her lip out.
I smile at her more gently now. "I will."
I finish washing my dirty dishes from breakfast, and grab my suitcase by the door. Before I swing it open, I turn back to the space. Even if she's not in front of me, I feel her presence in the house right now. I smile.
"Goodbye, Emma!"
"Wait!" Her head pokes upside down from the ledge above me. I chuckle as she disappears again, and I hear her feet pounding down the stairs. She collides into me with a massive hug. I hold her tightly back. "Have a lot of fun. Tell Harry I say hi."
"Love you baby," I murmur.
"You too," she coos into my hair. And I pull away and glance back toward the kitchen.
"Bye Leo!"
Silence.
I grin and give Emma a look, before leaving with a click of the door.
The plane ride is relatively quiet. I sleep for an hour, and spend the rest of the time reviewing documents. As nice as it will be to see Harry for a little bit, I was hired for a job. There is a reason I'm heading to LA. I look out the little square window and smile down at the miles and miles of orange and red dust that coats the ground below us. There are long streaks of gray where I imagine highways have been plowed through the desert.
The plane finally lands, and I scuffle out with the other passengers, darting around people waiting in the airport lobby. I brought nothing but a small carry-on, so I sneak right past baggage claim and step outside into the dry LA heat.
My eyes search the line of cars for his. In my peripheral I see a black SUV flash its headlights and I grin, adjusting my bag on my shoulder and making my way to the car. The passenger door swings open with ease, revealing Harry's face behind the tinted glass. A pair of sunglasses hangs low on the bridge of his nose.
"Hey," he smiles at me.
I jump into the car, dropping my bag at my feet. My hands reach forward to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward me and gently kissing him. He grins through it, cupping his hand behind my head, lacing his fingers lightly through my hair.
When I pull back, he has a soft pleasant expression on his face. "Hey," I finally respond cheekily.
I let go of his shirt and he leans back, putting the car in drive to pull out of the spot. "I missed that," he murmurs. His fingers push his sunglasses higher up the bridge of his nose.
"Me too," I grin. "How's LA? How's work been?"
"Good," he rolls his tongue between his bottom lip and teeth, staring out at the road. "I've been writing, a lot."
"Mmm," I hum in approval, my eyes still lingering over his figure. I've missed looking at him, it's only been two weeks, but it feels like it's been an eternity. I carefully trace my gaze over his features, seeing if anything has changed.
His nose is the same, slightly darkened in the shade of the car's roof. His same hands wrap around the steering wheel, the rings he's always worn adorning his fingers. His hair seems sloppier, he reaches a hand up to push it back occasionally. He has the same eyes, same lips, neck, ears. I'm happy that everything's exactly the same.
"What are you looking at," he mumbles teasingly. I huff.
"I haven't seen you in forever," I lift my arm up, propping my elbow against the headrest of my chair and holding my chin in my hand.
"Are you saying you forgot what I looked like?" An eyebrow perks up playfully.
"Of course not. I just want to make sure it's all the same as I left it."
He chuckles softly. My heart flutters. Making him laugh makes me feel so good. I run my tongue over my teeth and shift in my seat to face him more. His hand trails down to land on my knee, his thumb rubbing small circles into the fabric of my jeans. I forgot how good that small bit of affection from him felt. Two weeks and I forgot.
When we finally pull into his driveway, I feel a strange sense of peace. This place serves as a home in my heart.
I jump out of the car and swing my bag over my shoulder, grinning up at the house towering before me. Before I can step too far away, his arms loop over my shoulders and bring me closer to him. He's grinning. I have to squint to look up at him in the LA sun.
"Now let me get a good look at you," he murmurs, holding me by my shoulders and pushing me back a little to take in my features. "Looks like you're all the same too, except," his fingers reach up to curl through my hair, tucking it back to reveal my most recent dye job. "What's this?" he rasps teasingly.
Underneath my thick blonde hair, a soft layer of lavender is interwoven. He runs his fingers through it, shaking them out to make the color dance.
"Well that's fucking cool," he blurts out. I let a grin take over my face.
"Why thank you, Emma did it."
"Really?" His eyebrows perk up in surprise. I nod and shrug.
"We got high, meant to do my whole head but didn't have enough dye."
He chuckles and tucks my hair behind my ear to take a second look at the color. Then his eyes dart back to meet mine. "She did a great job."
"I'll let her know," I tease.
He drops his arms down and intertwines his fingers with mine, gently tugging me toward the house. "Come on, let's get you unpacked."
He takes me inside. My eyes immediately draw to the fish tank against the wall by the sleek fireplace. I wander over to it and press my nose against the glass. "Hey, Sunflower," I call our fish by his name for the first time. Harry laughs and comes up behind me, sliding my bag off my shoulder and onto his.
"I think he really likes his new home. He swims back and forth in it like he's exploring a lot." He reports. I nod, my eyes glued to the colorful fish.
"Sunflower is a good name for him." I compliment. I finally pull back and make my way to the stairs, Harry hot on my heels. When I reach the top of the flight, I freeze in concern.
The window at the top of the stairs is shattered. The frame is empty except for a thick piece of plastic taped around its edges. I bite my lip and turn back to Harry.
"Did you have a break in?" I ask gently. His face grows red and his eyes widen. He tilts his head and scratches the back of his neck.
"Ah, no, um. Actually, I did that."
My eyes bulge out of my head. "You did that?"
"Yes," he answers quieter, staring at the damage.
"Why?"
"I was tripping balls I don't quite remember."
The phrase takes me aback. I blink. "Oh, okay," I chuckle. "So you threw something through the window?"
"Yeah," Harry grins. A devilish gleam in his eye. "Something like that."
I turn my attention away from the construction, toward the door of the room I slept in last time I was here. I bite my lip, a sudden awkward silence building between us. He clears his throat.
"Ah, you can stay in the guest room if you want. Or you can stay in my room. I mean, whatever you're comfortable with, you know. I'm fine with either," he rambles a little. I nod and turn away from the guest room, making a beeline for his bedroom door. He chases after me.
When I turn the knob and step in, I smile teasingly at him. "Much better," I sigh jokingly.
He chuckles back and sets my bag down on a chair by the foot of his bed. "So what plans does the great Quinn Bellini have today?"
"Well," I fall back to sit on the foot of his bed and pull my hair back into a loose low bun with a binder in my pocket. "Work starts tomorrow. I slept on the plane. So for the next seven hours," I glance at my watch and then back up at him, "I'm all yours Mr. Styles."
His face lights up. He grins ear to ear. "I was hoping you'd say that. Change and meet me downstairs." He turns on his heel and practically skips out of the room. I laugh.
"Into what?" I shout after him. He's just passed the threshold of the doorway.
"Something you want to be seen in!" He sings and softly shuts the door.
I chuckle under my breath and walk to my duffel bag, unzipping it to reveal the clothes packed within. Cherry is swaddled lovingly in the center of the fabric. I set her aside and dig through the pieces, trying to mentally put together an outfit. An outfit to be seen in with Harry Styles. If there's one thing I know about this man, he's a fashion icon. The way he emphasized being seen makes me think there might be press. No pressure, Quinn.
I pull out a dress I recently bought, well, thrifted. It drapes delicately down from my hands, a canvas-white fabric that feels soft like silk between my fingers. I grin and toss it onto his bed, before pulling out an oversized, sky blue jacket I've had since high school. I stare at the clothes on the bed for a moment, before nodding to myself and reaching to put them on.
Tying the sleeves of the dress up around my shoulders, I throw the jacket over my shoulders and turn to look at myself in the mirror of a vanity sitting in the corner.
I wish I had thought through what shoes I was bringing, but all I had were my crappy navy blue converse I wore on the airplane. I didn't want to over pack for the trip. Now I kind of wish I had some strappy gold heels to complete this outfit.
But maybe it's for the best. I don't know how much we'll be walking, and I don't want my feet to fall off.
I do a little twirl in the mirror. I feel very "fall in LA" and it makes me happy. I feel sexy. My silhouette makes me grin, a little mole on my skin peeking through the cutout by my stomach.
I snap open my small, travel, jewelry box and pull out two earrings. They're little bears, translucent like tiny golden honey jars. I slide them into my ears and wag them back and forth.
I throw my shoes back on, Cherry and my bag over my shoulder, and head for the door, popping my heel for my reflection in the mirror and blowing her a quick kiss.
I skip down the stairs to find Harry in his living room, sprawled across the couch. His chin is dug into his chest and his eyebrows are creased as he stares at his phone. I clear my throat to alert him of my presence and his eyes hesitate on the screen, before slowly looking up. They immediately soften when they fall on me, his face melting, except for his jaw which sharpens. He sits up a little.
"Well, shit," he blurts out.
"That good, huh?" I do a little spin for him as well. He coughs and sits all the way up, tossing his phone recklessly aside.
"Now I feel underdressed," he explains, his eyes never leaving my figure. I take in what he's wearing; blue bell bottom jeans, a fading, colorful Rolling Stones tee under a loose floral button up.
"You? Never," I shake my head. My fingers dance across Cherry's camera strap, feeling the rough texture. "So," I purse my lips. "Where are we going?"
He drums his fingers against his knee, a tick I've identified in him. He does that when he feels shy or nervous. "Well, remember when we were in New York and you and Emma took me to all of your spots?" He starts slowly. I nod. "And you took me to that thrift store, and we found those yellow pants," he continues to build. I wait for the punchline. "I wanted to do that again, but here."
"Go thrifting?" I laugh. He nods quickly.
"I'm not going to buy anything because that feels pretentious or whatever but I want to go to some of the places around here I think that would be cool," he drops off a little at the end of his sentence. "And Mitch and Sarah kinda wanted to come too."
"Why does that feel pretentious?" I push. He shrugs.
"I don't know. I can afford to not shop secondhand. Some people can't. I don't want to take away the cute clothes."
"You know there are like, second hand vintage and consignment shops that specialize in like, curating vintage clothes at a more expensive price?" I try to explain. He blinks.
"What?"
"There are places that sell more expensive, vintage clothes," I laugh. "So you can have the adventure of discovering the stuff, and pay the more expensive price."
"Well fuck let's do that," he stands up off the couch and grabs his phone from the cushion, sticking it into his back pocket, getting ready to go.
"And I would love to see Mitch and Sarah again," I circle back to the comment he made earlier. He nods.
"They'd love to see you," he turns and smiles warmly at me.
We head out the front door and hop back into the car. He twists the keys in the ignition and turns to back out, his eyes tracing over me.
"I mean, wow," he marvels again at my appearance. I chuckle.
"Eyes on the road, Styles."
"Fair enough." He grabs his phone from next to him and hands it to me. "Will you text Mitch and Sarah and tell them that we're on our way?" I take the phone from his outstretched hand.
"You know I have Mitch's number too, right?" I ask. He shrugs. I tap open his phone and blink.
His screensaver is the photo he took of me. In the park. When we went on that double date with Kate and Emma.
"You think you're slick, huh," I laugh. His mouth twitches and I see his cheeks grow a little rosy.
"Well pose for me, Anna," he demands softly.
"Oh, ah," he glances over and quickly looks back at the road. His hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. He squints at the street before us. I can see the back of his neck warming up. It makes my heart flutter a little at both the gesture of making me his screensaver and him getting flustered about me finding out.
"What's your password," I offer.
He reaches out and taps his thumb against the home button, unlocking the phone for me. I find his message app, and I'm about to tap on it, but suddenly his hand reaches out and snatches the phone away from me.
I flinch and turn to stare at him. He slips the phone into his pocket, his eyes never leaving the road, his lips pressed together in a thin white line. My hands are still held out in the air, void of the object I was holding moments ago. "What was that?" I stare at him, expecting an explanation.
"You said you had his number too," he barely utters, dropping his chin slightly to his chest. He doesn't meet my eyes. I continue to stare at him expectantly. He doesn't say anything more.
"So you rip your phone out of my hands after unlocking it for me?" I prompt. He presses his lips together tighter.
"Would you just text him?" He speaks through his teeth. His grip on the wheel grows tighter, turning his knuckles white.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes more.
"Please," his tone drips of desperation and sarcasm.
I slowly pull my own phone out and unlock it, tapping the message icon and typing out a quick text to send to Mitch. I slide the phone back into my bag and look back up at him. He's sitting like a statue, petrified in embarrassment or maybe fear.
What is on his phone that he doesn't want me to see?
Specifically in his message app I think. Is he texting someone? He doesn't want me to see their messages?
The thought makes a chill settle in my chest. An uneasy feeling rises in my throat. I turn my head to look out the window. I know he's not going to tell me. He's good at evading something he doesn't want to talk about. And I don't want to change the subject. What he just did was weird and I'm not going to just brush it under the rug.
We sit in silence. Finally I can't take it.
"You know, not giving me an explanation just makes me assume the worst." I mutter.
"Which is?" His voice is low, rasping. I turn my head back to look at him again.
"That you're seeing someone else."
His eyes snap to meet mine. "We're seeing each other now?" He challenges.
"Don't change the subject."
"Seeing each other like I can catsit? Or seeing each other like we're just hanging out," the last words drip like fire from his lips. I recognize them as the words I said during the radio interview he helped me through. My mouth parts open, but then I shut it and turn my head to look back out the window.
He didn't answer my question.
We pull up to Mitch and Sarah's apartment I guess. They step out of the doorway hand in hand and grinning. I take a deep breath and plaster on my own smile. Harry brightens a little, but his hands stay gripping the wheel, and when Mitch and Sarah hop into the car, he's dead silent.
"Hey you two," I turn back to grin at them. They clip in their seatbelts and return my expression.
"Harold," Mitch shouts in the seat behind him, making Harry jump. Mitch's hand wraps up over the seat to smack Harry's chest twice. "Wake up."
Harry smiles grimly and reaches his hand back to cup Mitch's face before pulling the car out of park and driving us onto the highway.
Well fuck. Harry's the charismatic one. If he shuts down, I'm going to have to carry his slack in the conversation.
Maybe I shouldn't have gotten so frustrated with his strange reaction. Maybe I should have waited until we got home tonight to unpack what he did. But also, what the fuck was that reaction? My heart's beating a little faster at the thought of him texting someone else.
"Where are we headed first?" Sarah pipes up.
"Jenny's is what it's called I believe," Harry coughs and taps the GPS feature in his dashboard. The screen lights up, giving him directions. The car grows silent except for the occasional directions delivered in a soft british accent from the GPS.
"So, Mitch, Sarah," the names feel uncomfortable in my mouth. I haven't seen them in a while. I don't know these people like he does. "How are you doing?"
"We're doing well," Sarah glances over at Mitch to confirm this statement. He nods softly, his eyes pensively meeting mine. A thought pops into my head and I almost jump in excitement.
"How's Monkey?" I ask about their cat. I remember them telling me about him when we got dinner after working on Lights Up. Mitch's eyes brighten.
"He's so good," Mitch gushes. "When y'all drop us off later you can come up and meet him."
Harry's head shifts so he's staring at me. The action catches me off guard a little bit. "Let me know if you need a cat sitter these next two months. I'll be here." He says while staring at me.
I look numbly back at him. His voice is so cold, devoid of emotion. He's clearly hurt about something, but not communicating what. I turn to look out the window again, severing our eye contact.
"Will do, Harry," Sarah calls out timidly, unsure if his statement was genuine, or just a snide comment directed at me. It was probably both.
We park next to a small little brick building with two green awnings. Between them the word "Jenny's" is situated in white neon letters. I grin at the aesthetic of the building and hop out of the car when it's stopped, dragging my bag and Cherry behind me.
Mitch and Sarah walk in before us, hand in hand. Harry clicks his keys in the direction of the car and follows after me into the building. The door is painted yellow, but it's fading in some places to reveal cracks of blue paint. Around the frame blue paint is splattered sloppily. A bell jingles with each of our entrances. Three times. The lady at the counter looks up at us. Her name tag reads "Jenny."
"Hey there, folks," she smiles warmly. I nod in acknowledgment to her. Harry passes by me, making a beeline for a rack of dresses in the back and standing blankly in front of it, his hands in his pockets.
I approach him from behind. His jaw is clenched sharply, his eyes staring daggers into the rack before him. He's looking at the clothes, but not really seeing them. I stand next to him, staring at the dresses myself, my arms folded gently over my chest.
"Alright, what's going on," I murmur. My hand reaches out to lightly flip through the rack.
"Nothing," he whispers sharply. I huff.
"Come on, Harry."
"I'm embarrassed," he whispers again, his own hand reaching out to feel the fabric of a dress between his fingers.
"Why's that," I push again.
"Because, I--" he stops himself and rolls his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it here."
I take a deep breath.
"I'll stop being difficult. I'm sorry," he looks down at his feet.
"It's okay, I just want to know what's going on. But we don't have to talk about it here." I pull out a dress that catches my eye. His eyes glance over it and he bites the inside of his cheek.
"I'll get over it. I'll be good," his eyes flick up to meet mine.
The phrase is familiar. I can't remember where I've heard him say that before. I nod and bring my hand up to rub it reassuringly across his cheekbone. Beneath the pad of my thumb, his skin is warm, soft. He closes his eyes for a second at the touch, but then blinks them open. And in an instant a fake smile has grown across his features.
"I'm going to go look at the pants," he begins to walk away, but turns to look at me. "Please, try that on," he points to the dress I'm holding.
I look back over the dress I'm holding and roll my eyes. But a small smile fights its way onto my face. The dress is electric lime green, zebra stripe cutouts along the arm holes. The fabric seems like faux snakeskin. I almost gag, instantly hanging the dress back on the rack.
Although maybe if I dyed my hair black I could pull it off.
I move away from the rack and head for the jewelry case. My head leans down to take in everything behind the glass barrier. "Let me know if you have any questions," Jenny grins. Her phone rings and she jumps a little, running to grab it. "Hello," she answers the device.
"What are you thinking?" Sarah mumbles behind me. I turn back to look at her and smile.
"I kind of like this little gold ring," I point down into the display at a thick gold band, a darker pattern of flowers worn into the surface of the metal.
"Ooh me too, simple but pretty," she offers, leaning in to get a closer look.
"Okay, well just go get the kids from school," Jenny bites her lip, leaning back against the counter. Her phone is stuck between her shoulder and ear. I see Harry looking over at us curiously from above a rack of jackets. I smile when our gazes meet. He gives me a soft expression back.
Whatever sadness is in his heart right now that he's covering up, it's making mine break a little. He's so good at pretending too. So good at dodging a question, hiding, retreating into himself, putting on a mask, plastering on a smile.
I just wish he would talk to me, but I get it.
I end up buying the ring. I don't usually get myself jewelry, as I have a roommate and best friend who makes it for me for free. But for some reason this piece was calling out to me. I slide it onto my finger and let my hand dance back and forth to observe all the angles.
Mitch buys a fucking baseball hat.
We waltz out of the store and get back on the road to head to another. Harry flicks on the radio for this drive, probably trying to cover up his mood a little bit. He hums softly to the music and sways his head back and forth. Mitch and Sarah don't hold back, rolling down the windows to belt out the lyrics to every pop song.
I try to think of something to say. Anything to alleviate his mood. Even if it's just a little bit.
"Hey," I hit him gently on the shoulder to get his attention. He glances my way before his eyes dart back to the road.
"Mm."
"Look how blue the sky is today," I suggest. He chuckles.
"Welcome to LA, Quinn," he murmurs. Despite the comment, his eyes glance up to take in the color. I see a little smile worm its way onto his face.
He puts on a good front for the rest of the day. I'm kind of annoyed that he let that one little interaction mess with our entire outing. But at the same time, this is honestly how he's feeling. And that's the most important thing to me. I just want him to be honest.
Which is why the concept of him keeping something from me is so unbearable.
We go to a few different consignment shops, boutiques, vintage stores that I look up. It's a very spontaneous day, which is fun. Harry keeps the radio on for the rest of the car rides. Mitch and Sarah have no complaints. They seem to know every song (which I guess makes sense if they're studio musicians). They continue to belt out the music at the top of their lungs.
Harry smiles up at them in the rearview mirror, but doesn't say much. Occasionally I catch him humming. But he's quiet. It reminds me of when I got dinner with them and Harry last time I was in LA. He likes to take a step back when he's with them I think. As much as he loves being the center of attention, there's something about these two that shuts him up and makes him want to listen.
The sun starts retreating behind the hills when we pull back up to Mitch and Sarah's apartment.
"Alright, now you have to come meet Monkey," Sarah commands. I laugh and slide out of the car with them. Harry pulls out the keys and sticks them into his pocket. He coughs into his hand and trails after us.
We climb two sets of narrow stairs, before coming out into a hallway with green trim and red, hardwood floors that make our shoes echo. Mitch turns a key in their door and swings it open, encouraging us to follow after him.
I duck in and look around, partly curious as to what their apartment looks like.
It's smaller than I would have imagined, quainter perhaps. There's a purple couch covered in a thick patchwork quilt against the wall. A TV on the opposite. Around the corner is a kitchen, and a hallway where I assume a bedroom is. Right in front of me is a dirty back door leading to a balcony. From here I can see a mountain of plants covering the surface. It smells like home in a very odd way. Harry makes a beeline for the couch, smashing his face into the cushions. He's not able to hide his grin.
"Monkey!" Sarah sings and dances down the hallway to find the cat. Mitch drops two bags of clothes they bought by their front door and kicks off his shoes. I follow his lead, leaving my converse on the welcome mat.
"Do you guys want water or anything?" He turns to Harry and I. Harry nods enthusiastically. I shrug. Mitch takes in our reactions and heads for the kitchen, disappearing behind a wall. I sit down on the couch next to Harry's legs dangling off the arm.
"You like this place, huh," I chuckle at his reaction to entering the apartment. He nods again.
I wonder if he likes their apartment so much, because it feels more like a home than his own house. That's why he liked Emma and I's old apartment anyway.
I won't say that out loud though. I cough and sit back a little, trapping his legs against the sofa. Mitch comes back with two glasses of water and hands one to each of us. Harry lifts his head up a little to take a sip. I do the same.
"Voilà!" Sarah exclaims as she reappears from the hallway, a big brown cat in her arms. She sets him down on the floor, and he lets out a low meow, making his way to the stranger on the couch. "Behold, Monkey."
"Hey there little guy," I slide off the couch to sit on the floor, holding my hand out to let him sniff it. He does so, and then rams his head against my wrist in an endearing action. I chuckle a little.
"He's the king of the castle," Mitch declares, sitting back in a wicker rocking chair next to the TV. Monkey turns and wanders to Harry's hand hanging off the couch. He butts his head against it, looking for attention from him. Harry takes a sip of his water and turns his fingers around to scratch the cat on top of his head. He likes it a lot, an immediate purr escaping his lips, his eyes blinking closed. I smile at the two of them.
"Harry's probably his favorite," Sarah divulges. Harry rolls his eyes. "It's true," she reassures.
"It's just because whenever he comes over all he does is play with the cat, and Monkey's an attention whore," Mitch explains lightly. I chuckle.
"But anyway, how's Leo, Quinn?" Sarah flips the conversation on me. I watch Harry's hand softly pet the cat, all of his love and attention directed towards the animal before him.
"Leo's good. He's an old man. Emma and I were worried he wouldn't like the new place, but he seems to be adapting well. He's found quite a few spots of sun he enjoys sleeping in," I smile warmly at the thought of the two of them at home right now. He's probably curled up next to her on the couch. I imagine she's sitting on the floor in front of him, piecing together earrings on the coffee table.
I feel a hint of guilt for buying that ring, thinking about how hard she's working on new pieces.
Monkey playfully nibbles at Harry's hand. A soft chuckle escapes him as he reaches for a toy on the rug in front of them and begins dancing it in front of the cat's face.
"How long have you had him?" I watch the two of them play. Monkey's eyes light up and stay trained on the small feather hanging from the stick in Harry's hand.
"Ah, I don't know, whenever we moved in, I guess?" Sarah looks to Mitch. She's standing between the kitchen and living room, her hands on her hips.
"About a year and a half," Mitch answers the question. He leans back in the chair and holds his head in his hand, propping his elbow up against the wall. I take another look around the living room, really soaking in the space.
The rug beneath me is woven in red and white fabric. Above the purple couch is a small photo wall. There are frames of all textures and shapes. I lean closer to get a look at the different photos within.
My eyes flick up to one hanging high in the small gallery. It's a picture of Sarah. She's standing on a street, the summer sun beating down on her. In her arms is Monkey. There's a soft smile on her face.
"That's my favorite picture of her," Mitch announces. Sarah scoffs and rolls her eyes. "It is," he turns to meet her gaze. She blushes a little and tucks her hair behind her ears.
"Hung up high in the gallery," Harry whispers to the cat. He glances up at Mitch, like they just spoke a secret language to each other. Mitch scratches the back of his neck and looks away.
"Should we order a pizza?" Sarah pipes up.
We sit around their coffee table, empty pizza boxes strewn about. Harry holds Monkey in his lap, occasionally looking down to make a silly face at the creature. His fingers constantly petting the cat's head. Mitch makes Sarah laugh so hard she tips her head back and falls over.
I grab another slice from the last box, looking between all of them. I feel content in this apartment. There's something about how small and cluttered it is. It feels lively, like home. They are so down to earth. I would never have imagined these are what Harry Styles' friends are like. But at the same time, I'm so glad they are.
The balcony door shows us just how dark it's gotten. I blink in shock and sit up, glancing down at my watch. Harry observes my behavior carefully.
"We need to go," Harry decides, watching me. Mitch is laying along the length of the coffee table. He sits up at the declaration. His eyes snap to look at the darkness outside.
"Oh, fuck," he laughs and runs his hand over his hair. "Yeah , you probably should."
We say our goodbyes and walk out the front door. Mitch and Sarah leave us with a chorus of laughter and waving and promising to get together again soon. As soon as the door swings shut, a silence falls over Harry and I. We stand before the door for a moment, and then slowly turn and wander towards the stairwell.
As we climb down the stairs, his hand reaches tentatively for mine. I let him grab it as he follows me down the stairs. He doesn't say anything, but slowly tightens his grip around it. I push open the door, and I'm met with the dry heat of LA at night.
He comes up beside me, still clutching my hand tightly. I turn my face to look up at him.
"Are you better?" I mumble. He nods, not meeting my gaze. He stares out at the street before us. The night is quiet, peaceful. It's such a sharp contrast from the laughter happening upstairs. "Do you still want to talk about it?"
"Not here," he murmurs. I follow his eyeline across the street. There's a woman holding a camera up to her face. It's trained on the two of us. Harry's deathgrip on my hand, if possible, grows tighter. It's like he's afraid I'm going to let go. Like he's afraid I don't want us photographed together.
"Let's go home then," I peel my eyes away from the photographer. He nods, still staring across the street as he leads me to the car and opens the passenger door for me. Only when he's about to close the door does he finally let go of my hand.
He climbs in on the other side and starts the car, taking a deep breath before pulling out of the parking spot and driving away. The buildings blur as the car picks up speed, blending with the pitch black sky. I sit back and buckle my seatbelt, turning to face him.
He takes steady deep breaths, tapping his fingers lightly against the wheel to the music floating from the radio. In the dark, I can only see the outline of his face lit from the dashboard and headlights. He's shadowed, occasionally brightened from a yellow street light we pass by. His eyes look tired, like he's been propping himself up all day, and now he's finally relaxing.
I reach a hand over to fit in between the car seat and the nape of his neck. Slowly, I begin rubbing his hairline, letting my fingers rise and tangle themselves in the curls on his head. His lips part and then quickly close again, pressing together. He stares ahead at the road, letting me play with the hair on the back of his head.
"When the long days knock you down, when the cold winds turn me 'round, take me out into the night, 'cause the only way to spend our time," the voice from the radio sings. Harry seems to know the song. He's humming softly along.
"Used to be lonely, lonely," he quietly sings to himself.
We pull up to his house and climb out of the car, the door slams echoing throughout the garage. He locks the car doors and hits the garage door button as we step into the living room. I carry a paper bag with a few items I thrifted today. He didn't buy anything. There's been a lot on his mind.
I leave the bag by the door, as well as my shoes, bag, and Cherry. The only thing I carry up the stairs after him is my phone. We walk past the broken window, a soft breeze noise filtering through it. There's a slight dip in temperature when I pass it.
We brush our teeth and change into pajamas, stealing glances of each other from across the room. I slip into his shirt that I kind of stole. I watch him peel back his own. We only turned on the side lamp by his bed, he's a shadowed silhouette in the dim light. The shirt goes over his head, revealing the tattoos along his torso that I haven't seen in weeks.
He sees me staring at him, which causes a small smile to grow across his face. I quickly look away, down at my socks I'm peeling off. He moves to the bed and slides under the covers, watching me intently, waiting for me to join him.
I stand up straight once my socks are off and take a few steps to sit at the foot of the bed. I pull my legs up onto the mattress and cross them in front of me, my arms falling back to hold me up from behind. He purses his lips.
"Can we talk about what happened now?" I murmur.
a/n
Song: "Used to be Lonely" - Whitney
Hey guys! I just wanted to take a moment to say something.
TW - weight/body shaming
I know for a lot of Quinn's outfit inspiration pictures, the women modeling the outfits are, well, skinny models.
I want to take a minute to make it clear that Quinn is not a skinny model. Quinn is modeled off of Florence Pugh. Who is in my eyes, a beautiful, healthy woman that eats well, loves herself, and fits her body in such an empowering and perfect way. She is not 115 pounds soaking wet. She is not a skinny model.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. I say this and I did this because I feel like every fan fiction I read is based off the same blonde haired, blue eyed skinny-legend protagonist, which is not representative of the Harry styles fandom at ALL. There are people of all sizes, ethnicities, backgrounds, and cultures in our family.
Of course you can envision Quinn however way you want. But it's important to me that I say this. In the author's eyes, this woman is healthy, she loves herself, and she is NOT what the media portrays as the ideal body size.
(Perhaps I am saying this now because it is important for the plot in the future? Muahahaha)