Far Too Many Good Intentions. (Harry Styles)

Oh, I'm feeling fine, we've made it to the coastline.

I felt sick. The hall was spinning, and I sunk down to the floor, putting my head in my hands. I didn't pay that much attention when a door opened and a pair of jean-clad legs took their place next to mine.

"Are you okay?" He touched my arm softly. Harry's silky voice almost brought tears to my eyes, but I bit them back like I always did.

"I'm fine."

"Don't give me that. What just happened didn't sound fine," He said softly, and I looked up from my hands and into his eyes.

"I have nowhere to live anymore," I whispered so he couldn't hear my voice wobbling. "And I don't need you to tell me if I'm okay or not. I can take care of myself."

"Stay here," he said simply. My eyes went wide, and it took all my power not to break down in front of him.

"No," I shook my head vigorously. "I couldn't do that to you. Hell, you don't even know me and--"

"Hey," he cut me off by taking my hand in his. "I know you well enough to know you don't deserve to be left on the streets, ever. And plus, I'd like to get to know you better. The lads like you, love you even! We've even got an extra bedroom! Please, stay with us." I knew he was trying to cheer me up by staying positive, but it was clear that he was worried.

I couldn't help it. Tears welled in my eyes and spilled over, splashing onto our intertwined hands.

"Oh, please don't cry," Harry cooed, brushing a few away. "It'll be okay," he shushed me, putting an arm around me.

"Thank you," I whispered, collecting myself again. I sighed heavily, giving him a sad smile.

"My mother was the reason I came here; so I could get away from her for good," I explained. "And she just can't let me be happy."

We sat outside of his apartment, his hand still gripping mine tightly, as I told him about the countless dinner parties where I was poked and prodded at like a prized animal. All of the times she made me feel worthless, and inferior. The whole time, Harry Styles sat there and listened to every word.

When I was done, I took a deep breath, looking at his face for any sign of second thoughts. His strange eyes met mine, sadness plain as day. "You didn't deserve that. Not one bit of it. Don't ever think otherwise."

I stood up from the wall, helping him up, and he wrapped his arms around me tightly. His hug made me feel like nothing could ever hurt me again; like I was finally home. "I should go get my bags."

"I'll come with you," he offered.

The black van was called, once again, and we headed to the hotel in silence.

When we finally returned to the apartment, Louis was trying (and failing) to cook a Hot Pocket in the microwave. The smell of burnt food filled the kitchen, causing me to laugh slightly. "Hey Lou, Addison is going to stay with us for a while," Harry mumbled, not going into details for my sake.

"Really?! Yay!" Louis sprung from his seat on top of the kitchen island to give me a hug.

The smell of burnt Hot Pocket was starting to give me a headache, so I quickly threw it in the trash bin. "How about I cook you dinner instead? It's the least I can do, for everything," I suggested. They didn't refuse, so I went right to work, deciding on pasta, and Harry and Louis went back into the living room.

A few minutes later, I was mumbling the words to a French folk song as I cooked. Speaking French was something I'd picked up all the years living in Paris. I only use it occasionally now, since I didn't technically need to. I wiggled my butt as I stirred the boiling water.