dreamer ➵ larry stylinson

nine

nine.

It's been two days since Lucy called. I haven't spoken to Harry since then as well. In the dreams, I refused to turn around to face him. Harry would try to turn me around, but eventually gave up when he realized I wasn't going to budge.

Yes, I felt incredibly bad for doing this to him, but the embarrassment was overwhelming. It was my day off today, so here I sat alone in my flat, wearing the famous red sweater from the dreams. Since Lucy was too busy transferring Harry to her, she couldn't have me come in today. Not like I was complaining, I was glad. Two sessions in a week is too much.

It was currently December 17th, exactly one week before my birthday. The great thing about today: work let us off until New Years Day, so I am free until then. Usually for my birthday, I'd go down and visit my mum and sisters in Doncaster. Which I was not ready for. I love my family to bits and pieces, but I'd rather go out to a pub with Niall and Liam.

Speaking of which, Harry hasn't texted or called. It must be from his schizotypal. I have to make the first move, not him. I groaned and shook my head slightly. Slowly, I picked up my cellphone from the counter and sat down on one of the stools. I went to his contact and hesitantly pressed the call button.

I put the phone against my ear and listened to the ringing. He probably wasn't going to answer, why would he want to answer the phone in the first place? I've been such an asshole to him. Sighing at the fourth ring, I was about to end the call before I heard a faint "Hello?"

Hurriedly, I put the phone against my ear again. "Harry! Harry, I -" I let out a sigh of relief. "Can you come to my flat? Please, it's urgent!"

He didn't answer right away, it took a few seconds until he responded. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, just - can you come over?"

"I just -" He sighed in frustration. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut. What have I done? "I just got home. Can you come over?" I was about to respond, but he cut me off. "No, just never mind. Text me your address, I'll be there in a few."

"Okay..." I drawled.

The line went dead and I immediately gulped. He was obviously stressed and yet I bothered him. I put the phone back down and sighed. This is why I didn't have any friends other than the three I have now. My fingers ran through my short brown hair, then dropping to the counter. Quickly, I texted him the address and looked around the flat.

Tea; I should make tea for him. He likes tea doesn't he? Doesn't everyone in London like tea? I stood up from the stool and walked over to my cabinets and pulled out the Yorkshire tea. My red kettle sat on the stove right beneath the cabinet. My mother had gave it to me when I moved out. I put water into the kettle and placed the teabags inside and began to let it boil. Making tea had grown accustomed to me after years. Other than hot cocoa, tea was my favorite drink.

After a while, the kettle started to whistle. I quickly pulled it from the stove and placed it to the side. Two cups sat on the counter ready to be filled. I turned off the stove and brought the kettle to the cups, slowly pouring the hot liquid into the containers.

Once filled, I put the kettle away and sat down on the stool in front of the tea. As if on cue, the knocking erupted on the door. I pressed my lips into a thin line. He was here, he was actually here. Nervously, I stood up and walked to the door. With every footstep, my heart pounded harder into my chest. He makes me nervous, nauseous, and someone I don't want to be.

My hand gripped the doorknob and opened the door. There stood Harry, and god, he looked sexy. He wore a Russian trooper hat, a large tan coat, and those tight skinny jeans with combat boots. I gulped and opened the door wider for him to come in. Harry gladly walked in and removed his hat.