basorexia // h.s au

trois

B A S O R E X I A

T R O I S

"Hello?" Grace said when Harry picked up the phone.

"It's my day off of work, Grace. We'll pick up your research tomorrow." Harry replied monotonously.

"No, no, no. I'm coming over. Like right now."

"No you're not."

"I'm already in my car, Styles." Grace said, almost teasing him. She had begun using his last name a lot, which he almost preferred, honestly.

He assumed she was lying, but sure enough, he heard the engine start a few seconds later.

Immediately, he started panicking. Grace couldn't see what a dump he lived in. "Grace, no, please. Let's just meet up somewhere."

He heard her sigh. "Fine. Meet me at the Barnes and Noble a few streets away from your taxi place. Twenty minutes and if you don't come and you ditch me, I'm driving straight over, okay?"

He shook his head a little, and almost smiled to himself. Grace was so pushy that it was almost refreshing. "Alright."

It was nine days in to the month that he had to spend with her. Each day, they rode in the same taxi, picking up strangers and dropping them off. She could have written about any one of those strangers, but she chose Harry, possibly the most boring person in history.

But despite her pushiness, she was quite nice to him and never pushed too far into his personal life. He was very grateful for that.

He wasn't grateful for her use of big words, however. Her vocabulary was oddly broad, even for a journalist, and she often said words that Harry had never even heard of before, and it was very confusing.

He got up from his bed and opened the door to his small closet. He put on an old gray thermal and jeans. He left his coat hanging there, something completely new to him. He tied his boots, and rode his bike all the way to the library.

Grace was already there, standing outside. Waiting for him. As he stood next to her, he noticed once more how tiny she was compared to his lanky figure, despite her heeled shoes.

Her beanie covered the top of her head today, and her brown hair was straight underneath it. He found that he liked it better when it was straight, which was odd.

He normally didn't notice those kinds of things.

They walked inside the book store in silence, but Harry preferred it that way.

"Let's find a spot upstairs." She told him, her bright red combat boots making soft thuds on the floor.

She walked ahead of him slightly, clutching her old brown journal and a pen in one hand, her oversized purse slung over the other side of her body.

They found a table near a window, next to many bookshelves, with no people near them to see the two. They sat facing each other, which made Harry quite frequently catch her bright blue gaze.

She scrutinized him for a moment, "You're not wearing your coat. You always wear your coat." She said.

Harry shrugged. "Your hair is straight. Your hair is never straight."

She looked down and smiled slightly, opening her journal without a reply.

"Alright, let's continue where we left off yesterday." She said, her cheeks oddly flushed.

"Okay."

"Where did you grow up?"

"Right here. In the city." He answered.