fifty

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heyooooooo :) how are you ? please vote & comment they all mean the world to meeee- G

ostranenie (noun)- defamiliarizing what is known in order to know it differently or more deeply

"I said that I might have." I winced. "What I said was not a definite."

"Are you-are you being serious right now?" Harry spat at me. "Like, are you pissing about?"

"Pissing about?" I furrowed my eyebrows.

"I'm fucking British, Addison! I say things like that!"

Harry gave me a strong 'are you kidding me' look, his whole face scrunched up with anger and disgust.

"Okay, it is a definite. I did tell my Mom that you would come home with me to Thanksgiving tomorrow." I said quickly, watching his face harden with every word that slipped from my lips. "Don't be mad."

"Seriously, Addison?" Harry shook his head, firm with distaste and antipathy, and walked out of the kitchen. "Don't be mad?!"

"Harry..." I groaned, rushing to jump off the counter and scrambling after him.

I silently followed him upstairs like a little, annoying, dog. He didn't turn around, but he was aware of my presence, his muscular back straightening and his strides widening down the carpeted hallway. 

I trailed behind him through the long hallway, my large eyes attentively wandering to the tasteful artwork that was lined on the dark blue colored walls.

I had forgotten that I hadn't been upstairs before. It was gorgeous, straight out of a magazine.

I could hear Niall's soft and peaceful guitar playing in one of the rooms. I wondered if he knew that I was here, that I was chasing around Harry, who wasn't taking the news as well as I had hoped.

But also, I knew I couldn't blame him for how he was reacting.

All the doors were shut, and as badly as I wanted to sneak into them and explore the second floor of the penthouse, I remained promptly behind Harry. He stepped into what I guessed was his bedroom, leaving the door slightly open for my entrance.

I slipped into the room after him, quietly shutting the door behind me.

Harry was sitting on the side of his king-sized bed, his back hunched over and his elbows resting on his knees. I sighed before sitting down next to him, close enough so our arms pushing against each other and we could hear the other's heavy breathing.

We just sat there for a moment, listening to each other's breathing and feeling the way our warm skin felt against each other's.

"I'm sorry." I blurted out.

He didn't say anything. He didn't even move.

"Say something." It sounded like I was pleading.

"What would you like me to say?" I could feel the edge in his voice.

"I don't know! What you're thinking, if you're mad, your grocery list, your favorite color, song lyrics, anything." He didn't respond. "I'm sorry, okay? I am sorry. How many times do you want me to say it?"

"You're sorry?" He scoffed, not believing it.

"That's what I said." I knew that I didn't have the privilege of being snippy, but I couldn't help it.

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