rain. |h.s|

19

This morning there was a smile on my face. There were brown curls in my face when I opened my eyes and the smell of cologne all around me.

No it's not what you think.

Harry's leftover scent carried throughout my sheets for the night and my own hair tangled way too much overnight. But I really don't give a fuck because this was the first night I slept past 6:00. I didn't have any nightmares or visions of Alex.

I lifted the covers off of me and practically giggled on my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and put my hair up with a fat, embarrassing, stupid smile on my face. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and I couldn't get over how my cheeks looked full. My eyes looked well-rested. My forehead was free of sweat. I looked okay. Like I hadn't run a 30 mile marathon. That's how I've looked every morning for these past 6 days.

I walk past Harry to get the orange juice from the fridge, still unable to wipe the smile off my face.

"Why are you so smiley?" He looks at me weird while he turns off the stove.

"I slept past 6." I say, still, with a smile.

He nods in understanding as I take a seat on one of the island stools. I put my head in my hand, watching him present two plates with what looks like eggs.

"What's that?" I pull the plate closer to me.

"Sunny side up." He slides the salt and pepper so that it's between us when he sits down.

Okay this is a little odd. I'll admit. The eggs look great. The orange juice is great. I'm happy. But I can't get over everything he told me last night. 

I take a bite of the eggs and practically inhale it. It's good. So good. Like extremely good. It's just what I need on a morning like this.

"It's really good Harry. Is this what you do up there? Concoct egg recipes?" I shove in more eggs in my face even though I'm not fully done with my bite. I'm not the biggest fan of eggs, but these are fantastic.

He snorts, drinking a sip of his own orange juice. "I wish."

I keep chewing on my eggs and begin thinking about Harry in general. I don't know much about him. I don't know his favorite color. His favorite song. I don't even know how old he is. And it seems that he knows everything about me.

"How old are you?" I randomly spit out.

"Why do you want to know?" He eyes me as he picks up his fork and knife again.

"I just don't know a lot about you."

"Was last night not enough information?" He raises his eyebrows.

"How old are you Harry?" I repeat my question, ignoring his rhetorical one. The way we're both too stubborn for each other is hilarious.

He sighs, setting down his fork and knife again. He stares at me for a moment while he finishes his bite. Just when I think he's about to answer me, he reaches for his orange juice and takes a big sip. He's doing this to me on purpose.

"22."

My eyes widen. Are we about the same age?

"When's your birthday?"

"February 2nd." He responds with a blank expression.

I tuck in my lips in my mouth to show him my smile. That's so funny. And I don't know why. All along I thought he was like four or five years older than me when he's actually been just a few months older. He doesn't act like it. He acts like he's seen it all.

"Hmm.. what's your favorite color?" I put my head in my hand again.

"I'm not doing this." He starts shoving in more eggs in his face.