Harry Styles Imagines Book 2

Aches

No matter how much shit I talk about living in Los Angeles, the one thing that I’m never going to even entertain badmouthing is the ocean.

Even though my favourite colour is green, there isn’t much that beats being able to sit outside with a glass of wine as company to admire the masses of blue that stretch over the horizon.

My adoration for the view had been a fairly big selling point in Harry’s speech when he listed all the reasons why my moving in with him would be a no-brainer.

The speech had honestly been completely unnecessary. I would have said yes to moving into a hole in the ground right next to an airport if that mean living with him.

Lucky for me, I get to live with the love of my life and a view of the sea that sucks the air out of my lungs.

Taking a deep breath, I tear my eyes away from the water. The mesmerizing reflection of the afternoon sun riding the higher points of the waves had me in a spell the same way it always does.

After a rather stressful day, I somehow always end up wandering around the house instead of through the front door when I get home, needing some of that calming blue before I do anything else.

Today had been one of those days. Job interviews will do that do you.

Before Harry had gone to the studio, he had sat me down to have a ‘serious conversation’ with him. He needed to make sure I knew that he was expecting a full report on how the interview goes.

A full report is what I’m prepared to give him as I finally step into our shared home, giddy with pride. Harry had called me to tell me that he would be there when I got home while I was getting a well-needed manicure to destress after the interview.

Home he is.

The first thing I notice when I get into the living room is that the TV is on. An episode of friends filling the silence.

Second thing is that the back of a head of curls is rested on the back of the couch, face out of view.

“Hi, love. How was your day?”, I ask as I put my purse down by the bottom of the staircase before padding across the light wooden floors.

Realisation dawns on me when Harry doesn’t even lift his head at the sound of my voice, but it stays in the exact same position. He’s asleep.

His body lays horizontally across the comfy, grey furniture, his upper back and head propped up with the edge of the sofa and an arrangement of colourful throw pillows. His laptop is open in his lap, but the screen is black, one of his hands splayed over the keyboard and the other one draped across his stomach.

His eyes are closed and his pillowy, pink lips are barely parted. Mocha brown, curly strands of hair fall across his forehead so delicately.

Trying to be as careful as possible so I don’t wake him from his slumber, I reach for the TV remote on the coffee table to shut it off, silence replacing the noise.

Just as I start to retrace my steps back to the stairs to let him sleep in peace, a groggy, “Hi.”, has me stopping in my tracks completely and twisting my head.

Great job, April.

“Am I still dreaming? Or is an angel standing in my living room?”

My eyes widen in surprise momentarily before I burst out laughing. “That’s horrible, H.”, I tell him through tears of laughter, hand over my heart to calm my breathing down again.

“Meanie.” Even though Harry offers me a sad pout at the insult to his horrible attempt at a pickup line, he’s still got that bright glint in his eyes I love so much.