Substance over Styles | H.S.

VI. Morning Coffee

This is the last of the 'space pics' so far. Hope it helps. This is Harry's office, By the way.

Enjoy.

~*~

I felt the water dripping down my face and making my hair wet. Every part of my small body was covered with drops. For a moment, I didn't think of needing to hurry up and get ready for work. I didn't think of time and space. I just tried to clean myself, clean myself of that awful dream.

That awfully exciting dream.

That wonderful dream.

Freak.

When I woke up half an hour ago, I was freaking out. I had never, ever, dreamt of something like that. Something so raw and real. And yet, it was only a dream. Something I couldn't control and it scared me. It must mean something, but what? Was I attracted to Mr Styles? Well, yes obviously, but which woman wouldn't be? Yet, was I attracted to him to the level I dreamt about him at night? And not just any dream, a dream were we were almost going to...you know. It scared me.

I've never been in a situation like this before, clearly, otherwise I wouldn't react this way. I've never been attracted to someone to that level. Where was this going to lead me to? When was it going to end? All these questions frustrated me because I had no answers for them. The only thing I could do, was wait.

~*~

I looked at myself in my bedroom mirror after I was ready with all my daily preparations. I wasn't the kind of girl to go all the way with make-up and stuff. Une beauté naturelle, the French would say, although the word beauty wasn't really applicable in my case. I was wearing a light grey tweet skirt with a white blouse. The kind of outfit I wore almost every day. The outfit wasn't really flattering either, yet it was professional and it didn't make me stand out from the crowd. I wasn't the courageous type when it came down to clothing, unlike other people, my boss in particular.

Even though I would love to have a very beautiful closet with bold prints, pricy fabrics and eccentric designs in it, I just didn't feel comfortable with the idea. I wasn't in that mind set, I wanted to be, yet I couldn't. That's why I always admired women (and men) who dared to be different and dressed fancy and daring. Call them hipsters, but I liked them.

I went to the kitchen and made some coffee. As I was waiting I peeked over at the humongous vintage clock my parents gave me when I moved into my cosy little flat. It hung right above a low seventies-style sideboard that I picked up from a little antique/vintage shop in Antwerp. I loved the view. My clothes weren't at all Vogue worthy, yet my interior was, without a doubt, even though I say so myself. I was proud of my little flat's deco because it was the one thing I could truly style without anyone's opinion always pulling me down because it was meant for my eyes only.

I went off to work, but stopped in the middle of the stairs of my apartment building once I realised I forgot something vital. Mr Styles' coffee. I didn't have time to pay a visit to Starbucks anymore. Maybe I could make it myself? I knew my way around coffee machines. I worked at a coffee shop for a very short time. I actually really loved it there, yet they got rid of me, even though I was employee of the month, when some pretty girl came in and offered her services. Bummer.

I hurriedly called for a taxi once I was outside. Almost seconds later, a cute little black car stopped in front of me. I opened the door hurriedly and stepped inside.

"Where to, Miss?" The cabbie asked me in a sweet cockney accent. He was a little older and sort of reminded me of Michael Caine. What stereotypes do to you.

"I need to be in Canary Wharf, quite fast actually. Do you know where the SC-building is?" I asked politely.

I heard the man chuckle softly. "Of course I do, Miss. Every Londoner does. Off we go then." I felt the flush slowly creeping up my cheeks. I always got embarrassed way to quickly in my opinion.