Conundrum

8

Harry Styles

I'm sitting in the library, fortunately alone. This allows me to write down a couple thoughts I've had during the day, on my laptop. I've got a digital version of the board on there, in case anything were to happen to the physical one in my living room.

Even though I know I'm alone, that doesn't stop me from turning my head over my shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure. I'm trying to limit my paranoia, but it's hard.

I'm waiting for Alyssa at the same table we were sat at last time. My palms are a little sweaty, leaving little patches of moisture behind when I type on my keyboard.

If she doesn't have some answers for me, I'll be very frustrated to say the least. I'm feeling stuck.

At this point I've been through a good part of my lists and I am just as in the dark as I was when I came here. And I'm getting impatient. I want to go home as soon as I'm done with this, I don't feel home at all in the US. But maybe that's because I know living here is temporary.

"Hey" she's wearing sneakers today, so her footsteps didn't warn me of her arrival like previous times of running into her, resulting in a bit of a startle for me.

She's looking good though. A pair of leather trousers on her bottom half and a worn out AC/DC t-shirt on her top. She's looking comfortable yet like she cares.

Her wavy hair falls loosely over her shoulders and there are multiple necklaces around her neck, dressing up the outfit a little. She's always wearing jewelry, that's something I've noticed about her.

I get it though, I never leave the house with my hands bare either.

I let my eyes drift from her neck to her face now. She's wearing a light amount of makeup, nothing full coverage or too heavy, it suits her.

When I make eye contact with her teal irises, that seam to be a slightly different color every time I look into them, she coyly looks away and then back at me again, puckering her lips.

Fuck, that's my weakness.

I just nod as a response, gesturing for her to sit down in the empty seat across from me.

She does without hesitation, letting out a sigh as she sits down, taking her laptop out of her bag.

I immediately notice how tense her shoulders look, god those must hurt her. I have no idea why, but I'm so tempted to put my palms on them, forcing her to sink them down, but of course I don't. That would be very weird. Why am I even bothered with this girl's fucking posture right now?

Get it the fuck together, Harry.

I decide to cut straight to the chase, closing down the lid of my laptop before smoothing my hands over it. I quickly am reminded of the moisture level of the skin on them though, so I change my mind and move them to my thighs instead, rubbing them up and down.

"So, have you spoken to Iris?" I don't look at her. I know it's going to show in my eyes that I'm not feeling my usual cocky self right now and I sure as hell don't want her to see that.

She just nods, pulling out a couple books, and taking her time setting everything up.

Breathe, don't fuck this up with your temper, breathe.

"And...?" I try to sound patient but surely it's not going that well for me.

She snaps her eyes up from the screen, taking a sharp breath and mirroring my hands that remain rubbing up and down my black skinny jeans.

Is she nervous too? Why would she be nervous? Other than the fact that I intimidate the shit out of her? Dear god let her say something... come on.