Somebody Else | Harry Styles

Eight

You hurried over to the door and hit the button, buzzing her in. You stayed out next to the door frame, glass still in hand, mumbling along to Cinnamon Girl.

When you heard the knock, your brow furrowed. That wasn't L's knock.

You opened the door slowly and sighed when you saw Harry standing there.

He looked you up and down, biting his lip when his eyes moved over your t-shirt.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he didn't give you the chance.

"I heard you the other night. I heard you say that you needed to get over me."

"What?" You were too stunned to speak. Part of your brain was trying to convince you that you had misheard him or that you were somehow hallucinating.

"I heard you. You were half asleep, but I heard it."

You stood there, hand still on the doorknob, standing directly in front of a slouching Harry who had his hands buried deep in his pockets, a worried dip carved into his brow.

You dropped your chin to your chest and sighed in defeat. You relaxed your shoulders, taking on the same stance as him before taking a few steps back, opening the door slightly wider as you did so, welcoming him in.

He looked uncomfortable, as if he hadn't been in your space over a million times before, as if he was a stranger there–and it made your stomach turn.

It felt like a bad omen.

He walked around your couch, wiping his hands on the material of his pants before sitting down with a sigh. You slowly closed the door before grabbing the bottle and your phone off of the counter and making your way to him.

You lowered the music and dropped your phone on the coffee table, crossing your legs under you as you sat down on his left. You held the wine glass out to him and he took it, cocking his eyebrow when he saw you nestle the bottle into your lap.

"If we're having this conversation, then I'm going to need the bottle."

He tried to hide his smile by taking a sip from the glass and you attempted to do the same, bringing the bottle to your lips and taking a swig.

"So." He started.

"So."

"I heard."

"Yes, you said that. Twice."

"Maybe now you could say something."

You sighed, shaking your head, running your finger around the lip of the bottle. "I don't know what to say. What am I supposed to say?"

"Tell me that you meant it." Your eyes snapped up to meet his. His brow was still furrowed and he had scooted closer to you while your attention was on the green bottle. "Tell me what you meant."

You wrapped your hand tightly around the bottle's neck and took another drink.

"I meant exactly what I said: that I need to get over you." When he didn't say anything, obviously wanting you to elaborate, you ran a hand through your hair. "I like you, okay? Like, like you, have feelings for you or whatever." He still didn't say anything; he simply stared at you, his face hosting an unreadable expression. "I know we said no feelings and that our friendship would always come first and I tried not to let my shit get in the way–I really did, but seeing you with her hurt and feeling this way about you hurt."