Sweet Tooth [HS]

FORTY EIGHT

Later.

The rest of Max's day passed in a blur. A blur of ignoring Harry's text messages, then reading them through, then typing out replies, before deleting everything all together.

And then it was a blur of the shop door opening and closing, the bell ringing, faces streaming in and out and in and out, and then half-dreading and half-hoping that one of them might be Harry.  A mix of relief and disappointment when it wasn't.

And it was this blur of feeling. Of feeling hot and then cold. One minute she felt the most burning fury at him - at herself - and then the next she felt all bitter and sad with heartbreak. Felt this pulsing ache in her chest, felt this emptiness swallowing her up whole.

And then it was love, and then it was hate. And the cycle didn't stop.

Because Max so badly, so desperately wanted to convince herself to hate Harry Styles. To despise him. So badly wanted to turn her back on everything that he was - on everything that they had been.

Oh, she wanted to.

But Max couldn't.

Because she could not stop thinking about the softness of his palms wrapped around her wrist that morning. The way every fibre of her body became alert in his presence, her hair standing on end, her senses immediately heightened. And she couldn't forget that sad look in his beautiful fucking eyes. Kept hearing the desperation in his voice.

She was shocked he'd waited for her. Couldn't believe she'd found him lying there in the hallway.

What was he thinking?

Why was he waiting?

And so it was a blur of these questions racing around her head. Why had he made all this effort, when he so effortlessly forgot about her?

Nothing made sense.

And yet, despite Max's confusion: her love and her hate, her hot and then cold - one thing remained clear. And it was that she had not stopped thinking about Harry Styles once.

He was stuck in her head, was sinking inside of it, and was staying there.

And so as the last customer left the shop and everyone headed upstairs to gather their belongings, Max remained seated. Frozen. Her eyes were glazed over as she stared numbly down at her sketchbook that she'd been absentmindedly drawing in. What stared back at her were a pair of green eyes that looked like magic. Curly hair that was all soft around the edges. A smile that could realign the galaxies.

Harry.

She was staring down at her own 2D replica of the boy who had broken her heart.

And she'd captured him so perfectly, so acutely, that she thought she might be able to press her nose to the page and catch the scent of his cologne.

That maybe if she looked close enough, she'd see him breathing.

"Max?" A soft voice called out, and Max was jolted from her thoughts.

She slammed her sketchbook shut as reality came storming back in.

"Max, you doing alright?"

Lexie had been checking up on her all day. Had been making her endless coffees and giving her extra hugs and she'd had this constant look on her face. The one that turned her eyes into a window. The one that Max saw her own sadness reflected into.

"I'm as good as I was 20 minutes ago." She deadpanned as Lexie's arms weaved around her neck from behind.

"Maximus." Max could hear the eye roll. "Now, look," her best friend began, grabbing onto her shoulders to spin her around. When Max came to face her, she found blue eyes staring at her pointedly.