the favor (a Harry Styles fanfic)

28. late night calls

Mandy's POV:

I arise a week later from the meeting with Crissy, it is the middle of the night, and the vibration from my phone wakes me. Rubbing my eyes and cursing the bright light illuminating from the small screen, I quickly unlock my phone and squint, trying to read the small font on the text.

From Harry:

'Are you awake? I know it's late...'

I lazily type back a response.

'Now I am... Why? Are you okay?'

Harry responds before I can even put my phone down.

Wow, that was fast...

'I can't sleep... And I'm standing outside your room right now...'

After blinking and rereading the message over several times, I curse under my breath and jump up from my bed.

What the hell? Why is he here?

I strip out of my shorts, put on a long pair of pajama bottoms, and then try to shove most of my dirty clothes under my bed. I glance a few times over the room, making sure it looks presentable.

Oh, good enough...

I pop a piece of gum in my mouth, redo my pony tail, and then smack my cheeks in attempt to wake myself up. I scurry over to the door, flipping the switch beside the door as I open it up. The bright light of the hallway causes me to accidentally curse, and I quickly shield my eyes with my hand. I glance down to the floor and see a large set of feet. Those are Harry's boots...

"What the- Why are you here?" I sputter and attempt to look up with him, only being able to keep one eye open.

Without warning, Harry wraps his arms around my waist, slamming me with brut force roughly against the doorframe. His lips are on mine before I can even exhale. Shocked- and frankly prettified- I push against his chest, using whatever force I can come up with at three in the freaking morning. He doesn't budge, and only presses rougher into me. I squeal against his lips.

"Get off!" I mumble, and push harder. And like a lightbulb has just gone off, Harry steps back, blinking down at me in anguish.

What was that?

"Harry, what-"

"I'm s-so... God, I..." He trails off, pulling roughly at the roots of his bangs. I lick my lips, and I taste the faint hint of some kind of alcohol.

"Harry, have you been drinking?" I ask him shyly, and he turns, preparing to leave.

"This was a mistake, I should just-"

"No," I rise on my toes and pull his shoulder back roughly.

"You're not going anywhere until you answer me. Have you been drinking?" My voice is low, stern, and Harry visibly shrinks from embarrassment.

"Yes." Harry stares at the ground.

"Why?" I step closer to Harry and he tries to back away. I follow him, and he falls back against the wall, sinking to his knees.

"I don't... I don't want to talk about it." Harry looks at the adjacent wall, and I know he's just embarrassed to look at me. I sit down in front of him and take his face in my hands, like he would to me so many times.

"Harry, talk to me. Please." I whisper. Harry's lower lip quivers and I know he's moments away from breaking down. Crap. I've never had a guy cry in front of me before. What do I do?