Diligence [H.S.]

NINETEEN

Chapter Song: BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish

...

HARRY STYLES

My eyes snap open when I feel the empty mattress next to me. I sit up and tiredly look around the quiet room. My heart sinks.

Andrea quietly came into my room last night just before three in the morning. At first, I thought something was wrong. It was a rush of fear I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies.

She cracked the door open, and the slight movement woke me up from the light sleep I somehow managed to fall into. Even in the dark room, I watched her tip-toe over to me slowly and timidly. All I could do was wait and watch. It was like sitting and watching a deer walk toward me; if I moved too quickly or muttered a single word, I was worried I'd spook her.

Then she slipped into my bed. Our bed. Right into the spot she used to occupy every night.

All she asked was if it was okay, to which I quietly assured her it was more than okay. I nearly had fucking tears in my eyes by the time I responded. Not long after, she allowed herself to decompress and calm down. She melted into the mattress in front of me, nestling herself further into the pillow and inching closer to me.

I made no movements even to come close to touching her until she slid her hand across my forearm. It didn't take long for her to end up in my arms. After that, both of us fell asleep in minutes.

It would have been nice to wake up to her still here.

A small string of worry suddenly snaps in my mind. I push the covers off me and almost trip over my foot as I rush out of the room and head downstairs.

When I hear a slight rustling, my worry eases just a bit. I hear a muttered 'fuck' by the time I reach the bottom floor and walk toward the kitchen.

As I round the corner, I flinch when a loud pop goes off.

I open my wide eyes and stare before me, watching the small pieces of confetti float down to the ground around me. Andrea is holding back her laughter with the now useless popper in her hand.

"Happy birthday!" She says through her chuckles.

My head shakes, and a few pieces of colored paper fall out of my grown-out hair. "Thank you." I can't help but laugh as I realize how ridiculous I must have looked, getting startled.

I fixated on the smile and amusement across her slim face. I can barely focus appropriately with the amount of adrenaline pumping through me at what she's done. The effort she's put in this morning to do this for me. Not just the confetti popper.

I force myself to glance at the kitchen counter and see that she's made breakfast—my favorite breakfast she would make when I desperately needed a pick me up. It's incredibly unhealthy but tastes so fucking good that I choose not to care about it. Temporarily, at least.

Cinnamon roll french toast drizzled with a creamy icing glaze, dusted with powdered sugar, and topped with syrup.

"You made breakfast?" I ask, nearly starstruck.

"I know, I know," she begins with her hands up. She walks over to the kitchen island, where she has an ample spread of food littered across the marble on plates. "You're on a strict diet, I know. If your trainer isn't kind enough to let you have French toast on your birthday, I won't be offended...not for long, at least. But I made a few other options just in case."

My heart flutters. I inhale sharply as my stomach drops, lifts, and twists, making it feel as if I'm on some absurdly scary rollercoaster. I blink a few times to ensure my eyes haven't deceived me, that I'm not dreaming, and I'm seconds away from waking up.