walls between us ↠ h.s

Chapter 2

2 months earlier

Buzz.

Don't answer it.

Buzz.

Don't.

Buzz.

Kill me now.

Buzz

Oh, fuck it.

My phone lies face down on my bed, piles of calculus notes pool around my criss-crossed legs, somehow making me feel all the more cramped in this impossibly small bedroom. Harry hasn't stopped calling since I left school, which was a whole 30 minutes ago.

Harry had zero patience.

After a while, I stopped checking who it was, knowing very well that Harry was sitting on his worn out dump-worthy couch that he refuses to throw out, feet propped up on the coffee table, phone in hand, just aching for me to answer.

When phone calls didn't work, he left voice mails. Annoyingly whiny voice mails, which, of course, just pierced my soul in a way that made me eventually crack with the guilt of ignoring his on-going calls.

"Harry, shut the hell up. I'm trying to study." I snap the second I accept his trillionth call, my tone laced with clear aggravation. I hate being interrupted, especially when I'm studying or trying to get work done. Harry somehow always seems to catch me at my worst, as if perfectly aware of which buttons to press and when.

"Woah there. Someone's got their panties in a wad." I can almost see Harry's cocky smirk that he's guaranteed to be wearing through the receiver.

"Oh shut up, you twat. I'm busy. What do you want?" Harry never takes my insults seriously. I guess that's the good part about our friendship, we can be total assholes to each other, and no one gets hurt.

"I just wanted to hear your beautiful, and might I add, very loving voice again," Harry croons mockingly, most likely placing a hand over his heart like a love-struck teenage girl.

Despite my shitty attitude, I can't help but allow myself a smile at his ridiculous reply.

"No really, what do you want?" I ask, my pencil twirls in my fingers, a habit that I can never seem to diminish.

"I wanted to hang out tonight. Just you and me. We haven't had much time together lately and I've been wanting to have a night in for a while," Harry replies. His tone is convincing, gentle and light, the type you would use with a sensitive little girl. I would've given in right then and there if I didn't have my conscience screeching at me in the back of my head telling me that I just have to study for this upcoming test.

When I don't answer, Harry speaks again.

"My mom made chicken piccata,"

"Harry," I whine. "I've got a hell of a ton of work to do." I hope he doesn't notice my change in subject. I've never been able to turn down Anne's chicken piccata. Like, holy shit. That woman may not be MasterChef material, but she makes a damn good chicken piccata.

Harry sighs, but I can tell he knows that he's already got me bagged. "I'll help you. What is it? Pre-calc?"

"You know me too well," I say, my lips upturning into a knowing smile.

"So I guess that means you've taken up on my offer, huh?" Harry is clearly smug, causing me to roll my eyes at his constant play-arrogance. I know I'm already done for though, there's no point in arguing with Harry. He might as well be the king of persistence.