His Property (Harry Styles)

Chapter. Twenty

• I'm sorry about the long wait. A lot has happened since I last wrote. -Caitlyn

♣ 20 ♣

It was just after I had finished cooking myself lunch, when a knock sounded a my door. I sighed, and set down the bowl of steaming noodles on the counter.

"Who is it?" I asked, wiping leftover broth off of my hands. 

"Harry," 

It didn't shock me to hear his name. Aside from the fact he's the only one that visits me... I hadn't seen Harry since the day before when I left him while he was high, sleeping on his couch. It shocked me that he hadn't visited earlier, so his presence was expected.

I paced over to the front door and opened it up. Harry stood there, leaning against the doorway, looking sober as ever. He smiled at me when our eyes connected.

"Morning. What are you cooking?" He asked, sniffing the air. He walked right in and walked straight to the kitchen-area. He looked down at the noodles in disgust. "This is your lunch? Really?"

"I-I mean yeah..." I nodded, staring at the bowl. "I'll admit the noodles don't look the most appetizing, but at least it's something, right?"

"Appetizing doesn't even cut it, Julia." He told me sternly. Soon, though, he smiled. "Thank goodness you have me though,"

"Right..." 

"...And what I mean by that is, you're going out to lunch with me." He said, a cheeky smile on his face. I looked up at him and glared.

"I already made myself lunch!" 

"That is not lunch! That is the epitome of your smaller intestine!" He fired back, a teasing look on his face. I tilted my head back and laughed. It felt good to laugh. 

"Okay, Mr. Smooth, where are you taking me?" I asked after I put the bowl of noodles into the fridge. 

 Harry smiled at me. "That's for me to know, and you for you to find out, my dear." He replied, taking my hand in his. He pulled me towards the door. 

"Wait! Wait, Harry! I look terrible!" I objected, pulling my hand away from him. I paced over to my wardrobe and swung open the doors.

"We're not going anywhere posh, Julia. Come on..." Harry said, tugging at my hand again. 

"No, Harry. I look terrible,"

Harry and I both took a moment to stare at my stained sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. We stood there in silence. My head rolled back up and I glared at him.

"You don't look... That bad..."

"Ah, you lying piece of---"

"Julia, what is that?" Harry asked. He pushed passed me and went straight for my wardrobe. He pushed away the hanging dresses and shirts to reveal an aged brown leather book. His slender fingers wrapped around the sides of the large journal, and he pulled it out. My breath hitched. Ah, f*ck...

"What is this?" He asked, looking up at me.

"Um... It's, uh..." I felt my hands begin to twitch. I shoved them deep into my pockets so that Harry couldn't see through me. "It's, it's my mom's... I couldn't find a place to put it so I just put it back there,"

"Really?" He asked. His eyes met mine. The clear green eyes I saw minutes before had returned. Harry didn't look mad. He just looked... Curious?

"Um, y-yeah. She was really into writing stories. She used to tell me stories all of the time when I was little. I guess that's why I'm so naive. Right?" It was intended to be a joke, however the ending of my explanation sounded course and dry. He probably thought I was mocking him.