Taste (H.S. / A.U.)

Chapter 72

HARRY STYLES

What I wanted was a quiet, slow morning. 

I imagined waking beside Elle, the city still asleep outside the window, while golden lights crawl across the floor, warming the space and letting us slowly com back to life. Strips of light cascading from the curtains, the sunshine falling across her bare shoulder. Her breath would be almost inaudible if I weren't listening for it. I'd lie still, not wanting to wake her, just watching the way her hair fell across the pillow. My fingertips would drift over her skin, goosebumps rising where the air was cool and she was warm.

That was the morning I had in mind. But reality doesn't always care about poetry.

Instead, I was yanked awake by the chaotic noises of this damned city: distant sirens, the rumble of a garbage truck, someone shouting down on the street, a few too many car horns, and the most vile of all noises. A knock at the door.

Elle's cat decided it was a great time to chew on my hair, kneading at the pillow next to me with sharp little paws. I am sure still feeling upset that she got no attention the day before, hiding from us the moment we got back to the house... for good reason though.

I jolted upright at the harsh noise. Body and mind both felt disoriented, hair a mess, chest bare, half wondering if this was some kind of test. New York.

A sigh came from me, but I attempted to cut it short, hoping Elle isn't disturbed.

She wasn't. The noise didn't even penetrate her dreams, asleep soundly while another sharp knock comes from down the hall. Sharp, impatient knocks that echoed through the loft.

Definitely not the soft, sleepy start I had in mind for today.

Dragging myself from the warmth of bed, I shuffled to the door with the posture and energy of a zombie. I didn't bother to fix my hair. Or find a shirt. As I opened the door, only to come face to face with an elderly woman clutching a bundle of mail like it was a peace offering. She blinked at me, eyes darting. "Didn't expect to see a man here," she said clearing her throat, squinting at the number on the door like maybe she got it wrong after all.

I offered a tired half-smile that didn't quite land. "Yeah... sorry about the rude welcome. Was still sleeping."

She handed me a rubber-banded stack of mail and two small packages, muttering something about collecting it while Elle was out of town. I thanked her, still half-asleep, and closed the door as gently as I could. In that moment I still wished I could rewind the morning and start it over, quietly this time.

As I looked down at the mail, there was this little flicker of something that clicked with me. The neighbor said it was surprising to see a man here and despite trying to settle it, it stirred something in my chest. I knew it didn't matter, shouldn't matter, but still... the idea that Elle didn't often bring people home, the idea that this space wasn't something she shared. It made me feel like I was being let into a part of her world that wasn't easily shared.

I got to see the way she organized her spices alphabetically. She let Pickle eat out of mismatched food and water bowls. She haphazardly threw her keys in a dish by the front door. A rain jacket with yellow daisies on it was hanging off a hook on the wall.

I placed the stack of mail and boxes carefully on her kitchen counter. The floor still a mess from the night before. First I needed to clean that up.

The apartment was still and warm, much unlike the city outside. I loved how she made it her own. I knew she was still asleep, but curiosity tugged at me like a thread. I couldn't help myself while I wandered through the space taking more notes about who she was behind the closed door.