Rain | Harry Styles

0.9

'you're rushing through my mind, i wanna feel the high.'

-

H.

"Mum, are you-" I sighed, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, hit with the realisation that she wasn't here. Bloody shocking.

I needn't have been surprised - she was working; she always was. My irritation towards it had lessened since taking a liking of some kind to her 'employer', but it didn't prevent irritation altogether. It was so odd to me, how my mum worked - she cleaned, cooked when she could, and mentored Ana through her life completely. Her son, on the other hand? Was lucky if he saw her once a fortnight.

I was fine with her not being around; I didn't care much. I was at Ana's place most nights when her parents weren't, and I caught the odd glimpse of her. Even when she wasn't running errands of some kind for the Levins, I was preoccupied with the girl I shouldn't have been.

"You were supposed to call," she mumbled against my lips, her touch feathery light.

"I know," I let my lips meet hers briefly before I set my bag of school books onto her bed, "I'm sorry."

"My parents are home," she whispered, her chocolate brown eyes flickering upwards to meet my green ones, "and your mom's here, too. You can't stay." 

I laughed lightly, "Like that's stopped me before - plus, we're studying."

Ana took slow steps over to her bed, flopping down onto it lazily. She ran a hand though her hair before reaching for her textbook, humming softly to alongside the calming beat of the music from her record player. I watched the smile grow on her lips as she tried to hide it.

"Fine," her voice remained low, barely audible, "but don't be so loud."

I'd like to think I noticed little things about her. The way her eyebrows furrowed and she tapped her pen between her teeth, the way her hair fell over her face so often and she'd irritatedly reached up to move it away. The way her eyes narrowed in concentration as she shuffled through the papers which lay on the bed in front of her, submerged entirely in her handwriting, so neatly printed over the pile of sheets. Her writing reflected her in the most particular way - it was so immaculate; clean - her, most days. Those days where those fucking parents of hers had been around - they'd been around often in previous weeks, which meant I'd been around far less. They didn't know about me, but then again - what was there to know? But if they knew who their daughter spent so much time with, I knew for a fact they'd be displeased to say the least.

"Can't we go to the library?" I suggested, lowering my tone as she'd asked.

"You still have to be quiet there," she shot me a smile, reaching to tie up her hair.

"Bookstore?"

"No, Harry," she sighed, her fingers tugging gently on the sleeve of my shirt as if to plead with me, "We just need to get this work done."

"But I want to spend time with you," I almost whined, reaching over to shut her Maths textbook, "and to not study."

"Then take me on a date," her eyes met mine, a smile overtaking her features, "a real date."

"A date?" I frowned, "we hang out all the time."

"Those aren't dates. They're- just that. Hanging out."

"I-" I shut my mouth, running a hand through my hair, "dates are shitty; they're cliche, and-"

"Then don't take me on a date," she blinked, "but don't expect me to spend time with you in circumstances that include you kissing me whenever you feel like, either."