~Cassidy~

“I literally can’t wait,” I spoke into the phone later that night.

Matt chuckled, “You are so impatient.”

“Whatever,” I scoffed, rolling over to the opposite side of my bed. Matt just laughed, and a moment later, I heard someone else call his name on the other side of the line.

“Shit,” Matt swore, and then sighed, “I’ve got to go Cass. Night. Call me tomorrow.”

“I plan to,” I told him, smirking, and he laughed, hanging up.

I groaned, turning onto my back, and stared up at the ceiling, thinking of nothing in particular. Random thoughts swooshed through my brain, opening doors and leading to new situations and problems for me to think about. I wondered about everything and anything, who were my parents, what Matt was up to, even why the fucking sky was blue. I couldn’t help it; I was bored.

Just then, the doorbell rang. I let it ring, thinking maybe that if nobody went to answer it, and the person would just leave. After the first ring, there was silence, and I was beginning to actually think that for once, the tactic worked, before there was another series of loud, obnoxious sounds.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I groaned, rolling off of my bed and standing up.

The sky outside my window was dark, and it made me slightly on edge. I studied myself in the mirror, hoping to look somewhat presentable. My hair was tied in a messy bun; my eyes were alert, yet decorated with bags. I wore a pair of sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and decided that I looked fine. If people wanted to judge me, they could go right the fuck ahead, I didn’t care.

I slipped out of my room and padded downstairs, making my way towards the front entrance.

The loud ringing of the doorbell continued, making me want to pull my hair out, and I wrenched open the door, completely ready to scream at whoever was behind it.

What I saw shocked me slightly, even though I know it shouldn’t have. Harry was standing outside on my porch, wearing black skinny jeans and a black blazer with a white top underneath. He wore black Converse and his hair was pushed up off of his forehead; his cross necklace hung messily against his chest.

He reeked of alcohol. As soon as I caught a whiff, I almost slammed the door in his face.

He grinned when he saw me and took a step forward, wobbling slightly, “Didn’t think you were home,” he slurred, making me cringe.

Oh fuck.

What was I supposed to do now? He was drunk. A part of me told my brain that it wasn’t my problem, I wasn’t his keeper; I didn’t need to be bothered with this shit. But another part of me told me to actually try to be a decent person.

Fuck it.

“You’re drunk, Harry,” I noted quietly, gazing up at him solemnly.

He broke into a wide grin, “I know!” he squealed, “Isn’t it great?”

I laughed at how childish he was being, and then mentally kicked myself. What was I doing? I hated this guy. Then again, it would only be for tonight. And he was piss-drunk anyways, so it’s not like he’d remember it, right? I could at least help him try to sort himself out and get his messed up shit together.

“Get in,” I groaned, grabbing his forearm and pulling him inside.

He giggled lightly and kicked off his shoes, stumbling inside. I helped him take off his jacket, and hung it up for him, and then looped his arm over my shoulder, helping him walk into the kitchen. I sat him down at the table and looked at him sternly, “Don’t move. I’m going to get you some water.”

He grinned up cheekily at me, making my stomach twist into knots, “Okie-dokie.”

I smirked, wishing that he was sober right now, so that he would see how incredibly stupid he was being, and then I could tease him for it.

I turned and walked across the room, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a water bottle. It was cold, overloading the nerves of my fingers, making it feel as though I’d been touching an open flame. Or maybe it was just the situation I was in. Here I was, in my kitchen, with a man that I despised, yet I was being genuinely nice to him. Why was my brain so fucked up?

It’s just one night, I told myself. Just one night, that was it. I would go back to hating him tomorrow. It wasn’t like he was going to stay the night anyways, and I was ninety-percent sure that he wouldn’t remember anything; he could barely walk.

I walked back over to him, my arm outstretched, and he took the water from my hand, trying to open the cap, but his vision must’ve been so distorted; his fingers simply kept on slipping, as if they’d been covered in oil. I snorted and snatched the bottle back from him, opening it with a slight crack, and then handing it to him again.

“Thank youuu,” he drawled out the last word, bringing the water to his lips and chugging it happily. I made an unattractive snorting sound and just shook my head, closing my eyes. I turned away, walking to the sink and resting my palms on the counter beside it. God, my life was so messed up.

There was shuffling behind me, and I turned around, only to find Harry trying to get back up. I cocked an eyebrow, walking back over to him, waiting to catch him if he toppled.

“What the hell are you doing?” I questioned dryly.

He smiled widely at me, “I want to watch the telly.”

“Telly?” I asked, waiting for an answer.

He giggled lightly, making me smile and stare at the ground, “Television?” he said, as though trying to jog my memory, and I nodded, finally understanding.

I sighed, grabbing his arm and leading him into my living room. He fell onto the couch and I sat beside him, careful to put at least two feet in between us.

I reached for the remote, “What do you want to watch?”

“Can we watch a movie?” he asked me timidly, now playing with his fingers.

I stifled my laugh. This was actually so funny. Here was calm, cool and collected Harry Styles, piss drunk, sitting on my couch, acting like a three year old and staring at his fingers as if they were most marvelous fucking things in the entire world. I really should’ve videotaped this.

“What movie?” I inquired, waiting for him to enlighten me. He smiled at me, “Love Actually?”

I threw my head back, laughing my ass of. He pouted, crossing his arms, and scooted closer to me. I matched it my shifting away from him slightly, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What?” he questioned, his mouth puckered sourly. I continued to laugh.

“Love Actually?” I managed to choke out, and then broke off into another fit of laughter. He giggled along with me, seemingly not completely understanding the situation, which I bet he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling like an idiot, and I finally caught my breath, looking at him, “I don’t even think I own a movie that sappy and cheesy.”

“Hey!” he said again, and I fought a smile. I flicked on the television and then pressed a button, allowing me to transfer to Netflix. Sighing, I scrolled along the list of movies before just deciding to type in the name of the movie in the search bar.

“Love…actually,” I mumbled as I typed it in, and then I searched it. Immediately, the familiar cover of the movie appeared on the screen, and I clicked it with the remote, pressing play. The screen went dark before lighting back up, beginning the film.

“Love this movie,” Harry slurred, throwing his head back dramatically. I smirked.

The movie began, and I rolled my eyes. Harry, on the other hand, looked completely intrigued, and I wondered how often he watched this movie.

“How many times have you seen this?” I asked him, very bored. I yawned, not even focussing on the movie any more, my eyes trained on him.

He didn’t answer, and I swatted at his arm. Finally, he gestured for me to pause the movie, and I groaned loudly, but did so anyways.

When the screen froze, he then turned to me, “What?” he asked innocently, his eyes wide, and I couldn’t help but to look away and smile lightly.

“I asked how many times you’ve seen this movie,” I answered, sighing gently.

“Oh,” he said blankly, and then held up his hands, his fingers extended, trying to count. He mouthed numbers before growing frustrated and dropping his hands, “I don’t even know. So, so, so many,” he laughed, and I smirked at how free-spirited he could be at times.

This was a nice change from annoying Harry. I think I liked the drunk out of his mind Harry better. He didn’t purposely try to push my buttons, he didn’t enjoy making me angry, and I think that if drunk out of his mind Harry was around more often, then we could’ve actually been friends.

Of course, I wouldn’t admit that to him though.

“Whatever,” I sighed, and then said, “I’m going to get changed.” Without waiting for him to respond, I replayed the movie and hurried out of the room, up the stairs, and slipping into my own room, clutching my forehead.

I didn’t need to change. I needed to pace, think, and figure my shit out. Seriously, what was I doing? This was not me, this was not me, God this was so not me. I felt as though all of my brain cells were waging a war, some fighting for Harry, others against him. My head was going to split right down the middle.

I didn’t want to kick him out. I actually enjoyed drunk out of his mind Harry’s company.

No you don’t.

Fuck, yes I do, okay? I’ll admit it, I do!

He’s actually funny and sweet, when he’s not trying to annoy the fuck out of me. I felt as though I was betraying myself somehow by being nice to him, after always telling myself that I hated his guts. This was something new, out of my daily life, and I hated it. Because it was change, and I hated change, I was scared shitless of change.

I grabbed my pillow and smacked it to my mouth, letting the fluffy object muffle my screams. Once I’d let out all the pent up frustration, I squared my shoulders and walked back downstairs calmly.

“Harry?” I called out, not getting a reply, and I rolled my eyes, figuring that he was probably so intent on still watching that horrible movie.

I couldn’t be more wrong. There he was, lying on the couch, snoring lightly while the movie played. I fought a smile that was creeping onto my lips. His hair flattened against the arm of the couch, his arms were tucked into his chest, and his long and lanky legs hung off the other end.

Fuck, he was tall.

His eyes were closed lightly, allowing me to see just how long his eyelashes were. They tickled the top of his cheekbones, fluttering every once in a while as he slept. His mouth was propped open lightly, sucking in and dispelling air, making his chest move up at down. He was so cute.

What? No, I meant in the child-like way.

Sure, you did.

I did!

I’m fucking schizophrenic, I swear.

I walked up to him, not wanting to wake him, because even though I’d never been drunk before, I knew that the best way to deal with a hangover and all that shit was to sleep it off. But there was no way that I was going to let him spend the night at my house; that was where I drew the line.

“Hey,” I hissed, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder, which I shook vigorously, “Dude. Wake up.”

He groaned and tried rolling over, but with no such luck, as it was a couch and was narrower than a bed. I snorted unattractively and continued shaking him, and finally, his eyes fluttered open. He was distorted for a few minutes as I helped him up, sitting up and shaking out his hair, pushing it back. I sighed, hoping that he’d stay awake long enough to get out the door and to his own house.

“Come on,” I said, gesturing for him to follow me as I walked towards the front entrance.

He groaned, stood shakily, and I gripped his shoulder, holding onto him. I helped him put his jacket back on and he fumbled with tying his Converse, eventually being able to slide them on but leaving the laces sprawled out and untied.

“Let’s go,” I said as we both walked out of my house.

I closed the door on my way out and grabbed his forearm, helping him to descend the few stairs that led up to my porch. As we walked along the lawn, Harry stared out at the night. The city had cleaned up most of the debris from the storm, and now the night was clear, cloudless and warm, just how I liked it.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked airily. I looked at him, confused, then realised he was talking about the scenery.

“What?” I asked, then I cleared my throat, “Oh, um, yeah.”

“Come on!” he squealed, falling down onto the grass and rolling onto his back, looking up at the sky and studying the stars.

My eyes widened, not having expected him to do that, and I nudged at his thigh lightly with my foot, “What? No, come on, we need to get you inside.”

“Oh,” he waved away my worries, “Lighten up, would you?” He then patted the space on the grass beside him drunkenly, “Come lie down.”

“No,” I scoffed, knowing that there was no way in hell that I would do that. I nudged him again with my foot, but he had different plans.

Quicker than I could’ve imagined, he lashed out, wrapping his fingers around my ankle, and pulled my leg out from under me. I tried to regain my balance but lost it, and, almost in slow motion, I fell on top of him, my body sprawled against his.

“What the hell?” I questioned, but I was laughing…hard. I looked up at him, still chuckling, only to find that he was dying of laughter, clutching his stomach. I guess when you’re drunk everything is funnier, magnified times ten thousand.

He just kept laughing, and I scrambled up into a sitting position, moving beside him. I stared up at the sky, recognizing a few stars and their constellations, but otherwise, not really finding it all that intriguing.

“You have beautiful eyes,” a voice snapped me out of it.

I whipped my head to the side, only to find that Harry was staring intently at me, no longer laughing. I chewed on my lip. I never really got compliments, so I was no expert at taking them and handling them, or knowing what to say after I received one. I tried my best.

“Oh, um, thanks?”

He broke into a wide grin and sat up, scooting a bit closer to me. Usually, I would’ve moved away from him, but his scent was intoxicating. He smelled like a heavenly mixture of alcohol and spearmint. We were about a foot apart now, and I brought my knees up to my chest, trying to make myself as compact as possible.

“I’m serious,” he breathed, looking deeply at me, and I studied his eyes. I had beautiful eyes? Had he looked in the mirror? His eyes seemed to glow in the night; making me wonder what it would be like if I saw them every night before I went to bed, and every morning when I woke up.

Hold the fuck up.

“Well,” I said loudly, moving away and standing up, my brain finally snapping me out of it, “We should get you inside. Come on.”

He groaned, falling back onto the grass, and tried to get back up, but with no such luck. I laughed as he puckered his lips, pouting, and held out his hands for me to pull him up.

I moved to grasp his hands, gasping as I did so. A small little shock ran through me wherever my skin touched his. I took his abnormally large hands with my small ones, trying my hardest to pull him up.

He wasn’t even trying, and eventually, I grunted out, “Come on. Help me out here.”

He giggled and finally started making an effort, and in a minute or so, he was standing up on his feet again. My mind was reeling, but I had to focus on getting him inside before I went off on another long train of thought again.

We climbed the steps to his house, and I asked him, “Do you have your key?”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded childishly and I smirked. He patted down the pockets of his skinny jeans exaggeratedly, finally feeling something and digging his hand into his front pocket. His face scrunched up in concentration as he finally pulled out the key and tried to shove it into the lock on his door, failing horrendously.

“Here,” I said, fighting a smile. “Let me.”

I gently took the key from his hand and slid it into the lock swiftly; turning it and pushing open his door for him. I turned back to him, only to find that he wore an expression of wonder, and his eyes were wide. He put his hands together in front of his chest in a prayer-like motion, and bowed, “Oh, great master.”

I couldn’t help it; I burst out into laughs. He chuckled along with me, and finally, I caught my breath, forcing myself to stop it.

I realised that I was standing in front of his door and moved out of the way awkwardly, “Oh, sorry.”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me,” he noted innocently, his eyes genuine. He was drunk; he couldn’t be anything but genuine right now, I guess. No filter, just words coming out of his mouth before he could acknowledge them and analyze them to make sure that he wasn’t going to say the wrong thing and peeve someone off.

Fucking side effects.

I pursed my lips but nodded, waiting for him to step inside and close the door. He didn’t; he just kept staring at me, and eventually stepped towards me, making me shift awkwardly.

“Um, aren’t you going to go in?”

“I meant what I said,” he completely changed the subject, making my brow furrow, “You do have very pretty eyes.”

I sighed, wishing that he wasn’t this difficult, “We’ve already acknowledged that Harry, now you need to get to bed.”

“You have pretty hair,” he just kept on rambling on, “And a pretty nose. And pretty freckles,” he chuckled lightly, the sound low and raspy, making my stomach somersault, “And pretty lips,” he finally said, his eyes moving down to gaze and my lips. I fisted my top with my hands, not knowing how to react to that. He took another step towards me.

“You are very pretty, Cassidy,” he told me, our bodies two feet apart. I nodded, trying to speak, but my voice had abandoned me. Fucking great.

“Um,” I tried, and then cleared my throat, “Thank you, Harry.”

The right corner of his mouth tugged up into a small, lopsided smile. I tried to return it, but I don’t think I did.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, you know,” he told me matter-of-factly, “I didn’t write that song for her.”

I nodded, unable to say anything. On one hand, I was relieved that he didn’t have a girlfriend, though I had absolutely no idea why. It was his personal life, and I didn’t need to get involved in that. On another hand, I was mad at myself for feeling relieved. I didn’t care if he had a girlfriend or not, and I wasn’t my business, so why the fuck did I keep thinking about that? Finally, I was left wondering who he wrote the song for.

“You,” he said quietly, and I did a double take. What was he talking about? For a moment, it was like he read my thoughts, and I was starting to think that he’d just said that on a totally unrelated topic, but then he added, “I wrote the song for you.”

He took another step closer; we were only a foot and a half away now. I pursed my lips, looking for a way to get out of this, “You’re drunk, Harry.”

He chuckled lowly, looking down at the ground, before his eyes came back up to meet mine. They sparkled, and he breathed, “I think I’m sobering up now.”

“Oh,” was the only thing that came out of my mouth.

I didn’t even want it to come out. It just fell from my lips, fighting its way out without my permission. I was panicking now, and my brain was screaming at me to get out of there, to make up and excuse and bolt, but something else—something that I couldn’t put my finger on—was urging me to stay right here and see how things would play out.

“You wrote it for me?” I asked quietly, staring up at him. He smiled, looking down at the ground once again before coming back up to let our gazes meet.

“Yeah,” he chuckled lightly, staring into my eyes. I gulped lightly, hoping he couldn’t see it.

Another step closer. We were only a foot apart. Harry reached out to me, putting a hand on my arm. I stared up at him. His other hand—his left hand—came up to my face, brushing some hair behind my ear and then running the tips of his fingers along my jawline. I sucked in hair between my lips, and he smiled good-naturedly at me. His thumb came up and the pad of it traced my bottom lip.

He leaned down, breathing on my face, “I really want to kiss you, Cassidy.”

What? Ew, fuck no!

“So do it,” I said breathlessly.

What?

I forced my eyes to stay open and not to flutter close. Harry smiled at me and leaned down, his face a few inches from mine, before he froze. I felt the hand on my arm tense up, and it seemed as though his entire body had suddenly jolted, as if something had dawned on him. In a flash, he pulled away from me, his hands and his closeness disappearing.

Confused, I stared at him, only to find that he was back at his door, where he’d originally started out. There was space between us again. He wore a pained expression, and the hand that had just been trailing along my face a moment ago came up to tug on his hair roughly.

“But I can’t,” he forced out, looking angry and hurt. I just stood there, silently, not being able to move or even ask what had just happened; shock overtook me.

“God, I’m sorry,” he looked at me, his eyes pleading, before he turned away and stepped inside—shooting me one last apologetic glance as he did so—and slammed the door.

I stood there, not knowing what to do, until finally, I did the one thing that I only knew how to do. I turned away slowly, descending the steps, and sluggishly walked back over the lawn to my house, not being able to process what had just happened. I slipped back inside and locked the door, proceeding to then climb my stairs slowly.

My eyes watered.

I reached the top of my steps, finally feeling a tear slip over my waterline and trail down my face silently. More followed as I walked along the hall and slipped into my room. I opened my closet, reaching up and managing to grasp the golden frame of the photo. My vision blurring, I soundlessly walked over to my bed and lay down calmly, staring at the ceiling, the photo clutched to my chest.

Tears now trailed down the sides of my face, wetting my temples and falling down, dampening my hair and my pillow.

“Fuck,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

Notes

This is actually the turning point in the story. I hope you liked it! Feedback would honestly be much appreciated!

Thanks for 35 votes! My new goal is to get my 10.0 rating back, so hopefully we can do it! This story would be absolutely nothing without my amazing readers, so a massive thanks to all of you!

Random fact: In 1980, a Las Vegas hospital suspended workers for betting on when patients would die.

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