More than Friends | HARRY STYLES FIC

Chapter Nine

Harry's P.O.V

A bitter wind and darkened sky greets me as I tiredly make my way out of the airport and into a black Range Rover. The weather here is typical for late fall, but I didn't come prepared for it; I'm far too used to lying beneath the warmth of the golden California sun. I don't mind it though, in a lot of ways it reminds me of home.

I give the directions to the driver and sink back into the comfort of heated leather seats. I haven't any idea what I'm going to do once I get there, I didn't think that far ahead. I just know that all of those letters hidden in Jared's closet tell a story, one she deserves to know. Whatever it is, I'll tell her when I get back tomorrow evening.

I didn't want to leave her in LA, it was the last thing I wanted to do, especially with all she's going through. It pained me to say goodbye to her like that. I don't know what it is exactly that I feel for her and I wouldn't quite call it love - I don't like the seriousness of the word - but there's something about her that intrigues me, that keeps me on my feet. I like that. I enjoy things that are outside of my redundant schedule and the usual faces and conversations. I like not being able to predict her every move, it sends an electrifying feeling throughout me.

The vehicle jolts to a sudden stop and all I can hear is the pitter-patter of rain dancing on the rooftop. I open the door and slip out, waving the driver off as I step out onto a bustling sidewalk in front of the house. It's a white town home with Victorian style mouldings and an arch over the door way. Theres a bright yellow light glowing from a black lamp post, which is rising out from the small garden filled with sheered greenery. It looks very different from her house in LA.

I walk up to the door and ring the bell, heart beating against my rib cage with adrenaline and nerves. I don't know who is going to answer it or what I will say to them. Maybe I'll begin with a hello and say I'm a friend of Laura's and they'll invite me in, or maybe I should get straight to it and tell them why I've flown almost 3000 miles. I don't get a chance to decide a plan of action, as the navy blue door door creeks open and two familiar turquoise eyes appear from behind it; it must be her mom.

"Can I help you," the woman asks. She looks to be in her late 40s and gracefully aged. She has blonde hair just like Laura and she raises her eyebrows when asking a question, like her too.

"Hi, Mrs. Stone? My name is Harry. I'm a friend of Laura's," I respond. She stares at me for a moment and then opens the door wider.

"Come in, come in. Let's get you out of that rain," she says hurrying me inside.

My nostrils fill with cinnamon as I step in onto a red, intricately patterned rug. I look ahead and see a stairwell tucked off to the right and a silvery-blue living room with a white fire place on the left.

"Do you want anything, coffee, tea," she questions as she leads me into the living room.

"I'd love a cup of tea, please," I say as I sit down in front of the fireplace. It is decorated with framed photos of Laura taken throughout the years. One in particular catches my eye, a photo of her in a graduation gown that looks to be cropped. There's half a body and random hand wrapped around her waist. Jared, I bet.

"Frederick, pause the game. We have a guest," I hear her voice carry as she comes back into the living room. A few seconds later a tall caramel haired man makes his way down the stairs and sits in the navy blue leather lounge seat.

I stand and extend my hand to him.

"Mr. Stone, my name's Harry. It's very nice to meet you," I say to him as his hand firmly grasps mine. A polite smile glides across his milk-coloured face.