Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER12.

This chapter is going to be quite long soooooo buckle up ;) <3

A really loud noise is blasting in my ears, making me jolt awake from my sleep. I must have had nightmares: my hair is all wet, and tiny drops of sweat are running down my chest. I reach out for my phone charging on the nightstand – it's 4:30 in the morning.

"What the hell..." I mumble, trying to shake off my sleepiness, as I contemplate where I am and why I'm already awake.

There's this constant rock or maybe metal music emanating from downstairs. I try to block it out by squeezing the pillow around my ears and pulling the blankets over my head, but it's no use; I can still hear it loud and clear.

I unwillingly get up, my legs feeling stiff from lying in one position for so long, and I debate whether or not to peek out of the room. I wouldn't want to run into Harry – I'm absolutely terrified of him. I think if I stick to my own space and avoid any unnecessary interaction beyond what's required for work, maybe things will be less tense and his hostility towards me might fade over time.

Once at the door, I turn the key that I left in the lock (so it's impossible to open it from the outside) and gather my courage, pushing myself into the dark, muggy hallway. I can't see anything, and I wouldn't even know where to put my hands to turn on the lights.

I pass by an empty room, which I believe is Harry's. The door is open, and a small bedside lamp casts a warm glow on the objects inside. I'm really tempted to go in, but I decide against it – it doesn't feel right, especially at this moment.

I slowly descend a grand staircase made of black marble, the coldness of the material scorching my bare feet.

The stairs wind through what feel like the "ribs" of the house providing a view of the open floors and their layout. It's like peering into an aquarium, where you can glimpse what's happening on the floors below. I decide to go down a flight of stairs, getting closer to the source of that deafening music, that I can't quite understand the origin or purpose of. I freeze as soon as I see something or someone moving on the ground floor, in a dimly lit living room. 

I manage to catch a glimpse of thick, curly hair - it's Harry.

It surprises me to see him like this.

This time, Harry isn't dressed in black: he's wearing gym clothes – a red t-shirt, blue shorts, oversized headphones around his neck, and padded gloves. He leans against the backrest of one of the sofas, supporting himself with his strong arms. He seems... tired. He lets his head fall forward, almost collapsing onto the couch. Suddenly, he angrily punches the cushion, and the sound gets absorbed by the soft surface, blending with the harsh electric guitar notes that have been echoing throughout the house for minutes.

"Fuck!" he shouts, releasing his anger. This display of rage is immediately noticed by the five (five!) bodyguards surrounding him, who I imagine approach him to ask if he's okay.

There's something about this whole situation that doesn't really sit right with me.
I lean out a little from the staircase railing, in a desperate attempt to grasp something more from these strange moments.

Unexpectedly, Harry lifts his head, directing his gaze straight at me.

He saw me.

I notice a trickle of blood running from his nose, dripping onto the black couch. He makes no effort to wipe it away or stem the flow. It's as if he wants me to keep staring at him.

"Looks like you took my advice on earplugs," a voice chimes in behind me. I gasp, caught off guard by the sudden interaction.

It's Zayn, his eyes still fused with sleep, but seemingly unfazed by the late-night chaos.