More than Friends | HARRY STYLES FIC

Chapter 14

Laura P.O.V

A sharp pain shoots through one temple and across to the other. I open my eyes and roll over, avoiding the yellow rays of sun light beating in between the blinds. 

"Uh," I whine, pulling the blankets up to my chin and shutting my eyes. Not a hangover.

Just as I begin to find comfort in the darkness, I hear the sound of the bedroom door opening and foot steps carefully creeping in. I fight an itch to peek from behind my lashes, hoping to avoid an awkward post-ridiculously-drunk morning encounter. Just keep faking it, he's almost gone. I begin counting down the seconds until the door closes, but the click of the latch never comes.

 "Good morning." I peel back the covers and open my eyes to find Harry standing in the doorway of his posh, chestnut grained walk-in closet, t-shirt in hand, wearing nothing but his boxers.

"Sorry if I woke you," he says, smiling warmly as he runs his fingers through his bedhead. "I came up to bring you a glass of water," he points at the bed side table, "and figured I might as well get dressed while I'm up here."

"Thank you," I grin, watching as his toned abdomen flexes with each movement. He lifts the shirt up over his head and I want to beg him to let me admire him a little longer.

"Enjoying the show?" he asks, shooting me a wink, as he steps into a pair of black trousers. 

"It's hard not to when you look like that," I laugh, resting my aching head back against the pillow. Flirting with Harry comes so easily, and half the time I don't even realize I'm doing it.

"You're making me blush," he chuckles, cheeks turning pink. And that's what makes him special; his humility. Anyone who has had the pleasure of being in his presence knows that he's extraordinary, and yet he doesn't see himself as anything but normal. It's refreshing. "Now come on. Get your sleepy bum out of the bed and let's go for breakfast."

"All right, all right. I just have to go get my luggage," I respond, flipping my feet over the side of the bed. Feeling his eyes still watching me, I look up at his sun-kissed face to find that lovable side smirk. 

"No need, I already brought it up here for you." He tilts his head to the foot of the bed before exiting the room. What an Angel. 

As I unpack my suitcase and dig through what little clothing I managed to run out the door with, I find myself overwhelmed with emotions that aren't at all new to me. These clothes are attached to my life in Los Angeles. A life that seems far too distant now.

I drag my sobbing ass into Harry's luxurious washroom to clean myself up. It, like much of the house, takes my breath way. From the sparkling, white granite counter tops to the large, romantic jacuzzi tub - it's hard not to feel like an alien in a place this exquisite. Especially with people lined up at his gate, looking in to catch a glimpse of him in a place where you're supposed to feel the safest; home. That's a pressure I think I wouldn't be able to cope with. 

Harry, however, he's different. He's vivacious and charming. He thrives in the spotlight and shines even when it's off. And that's why I'm so conflicted over what's right for me. My life is at a complicated crossroads: let an old love die or take a chance at a new beginning. The easy answer is to hit refresh and build a new future, but life, and love, are never that simple. 

I run the brush through my flat, yesterday-styled hair and decide a baseball cap is necessary. I examine my makeup in the mirror, making sure my foundation is blended and simple black eyeliner isn't smudged. Everything appears to be in place, but I look a little under the weather, not uncommon for someone as pale skinned as me. I grab my red lipstick from the bag and give my lips a pop of colour to brighten things up. There, now I don't look so deathly.