Before you go... //h.s

Pierre II

I smooth my hands nervously on my baggy sweater. Harry was coming over today and though we weren't making a big deal of it, he was going to meet my parents today.

Or parent. I corrected my thought, the familiar pain filling me again.

This isn't a formal event at all – I'm only in jeans and a sweatshirt with a steaming mug of tea clutched in my hand. I take a glug of my tea as I wait apprehensively for him to arrive, but then I spit it out,

'Fuck!' I curse as I realise the tea is still way too hot to drink and I've just managed to burn my tongue. The painful tingling remains there as I wipe up the mess I made and stare crossly at my cup of tea. Of course that happened.

But a clear knock at the door breaks me from my anger at the mug. It has to be Harry. Everyone else in this town barges in like they live here with no respect for our privacy, but to be fair we do the same to all of them. This small town is really like a big family.

I rush down the hallway, swinging open our door as a wide grin plasters itself on my face as the sight of him.

'Hi,' he re-smooths down his hair and fidgets on his feet. His nerves are so adorable, he really cares and my heart fills with that knowledge that I know it true again. So I surge forward into his arms and place a loving kiss on his lips.

'Hi,' I smile back once I've pulled away.

I shut the door with a soft thud and lead him down the hallway slowly, watching as he takes in the family pictures framing the walls and too many vases of flowers remaining from well-wishers. He opens his mouth, no doubt to make a comment about my mum since she's featured in nearly every photo on this wall, but I interrupt him, not wanting to think about her right now. This is supposed to be a happy moment.

'Tea?' I ask and the worried expression that had been sinking across his face brightens.

'I'd love some tea.' He says with a gentle crinkle of his eyes and as I put the kettle on to boil, he adds, 'tea never tastes better than it does when you're in England,'

I nod in agreement as I fiddle around with a teabag and milk. He doesn't have sugar in his tea, a small fact that I love knowing about him. It's the little things that I love knowing about him, remembering. The things that not all his fans know, knowing them makes me feel more special than he could ever imagine.

Clunking footsteps sound down the hall and then my dad walks in. He knows full well that the Harry I've been talking about for so long is Harry Styles, but I think the sight of a world famous celebrity sitting in his small kitchen was more of a shock than he was braced for.

He stands there in silence for a second before Harry stands from the chair, his long legs stretching as he reaches his full height and stretches out a hand to my dad.

'It's so nice to meet you, I'm harry,' he tells him politely and I smile at the respect Harry is showing my dad.

'Nice to meet you too, I'm Iris' dad,' he tells him, a nearly unnoticeable note of awe creeping into his voice, 'I heard a few of your songs on the radio and they're great Harry. Really fabulous,' he nods to emphasize his words and harry smiles, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

'Thank you so much,' he says sincerely. A second pair of stomping feet walk into the kitchen and I am faced with the scowling face of my brother.

'We're out of toast,' he tells me bluntly, not caring at all that my...boyfriend? I don't know, we still have to define it, but he feels like that to me, is in the kitchen.

'Ugh then someone'll go out and buy some later Hugo,' I tell him grumpily, our store of food has been slightly unpredictable and erratic since my mum had...moved on, we'd all been to busy or sad to go and do the shop.