Rain | Harry Styles

6.2

'maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard, and maybe that's just fine as long as you're here in my arms.'

(maybe i'm afraid - lovelytheband)

-

A.

Mason's apartment building was big - huge, actually - with polished doorways and pristine floors, his sneakers led the way as I chewed on my lip in anticipation.

He glanced over his shoulder at me, shooting me a look similar to the one Harry often did, "I barely know my brother, and I dunno how he deals with his drink, so.. if he kicks off, s'not my fault."

"He's been drinking?" I raised my eyebrows as he pushed the door open, "fucking hell."

I stepped into what looked like a guest bedroom, the unpleasant smell of smoke immediately filling my nostrils, and an aroma of alcohol overtaking my senses. I blew out a defeated sigh as I lay my eyes on a familiar head of brown curls against the pillow. I glanced back over my shoulder at Mason.

"Can I have a minute with him?"

"Huh?" he straightened up, tearing his eyes from me and stammering, "o-oh, uh - yeah, I'll be out here." Weird.

I took slow steps towards the bed, Harry not moving in the slightest. I crouched down to his level, bringing my lip between my teeth - I knew he would still be upset with me. Harry could hold a grudge, I knew that - and I couldn't exactly blame him. Trust was always a major component for Harry; he had betrayed mine only once before, and it had eaten away at him and bothered him ever since. I had betrayed his, now, and I knew it would hurt. His whole life he had struggled to trust people, and he had lay his trust in me - only for me to break it.

"Harry," I murmured, hovering in a crouched position beside the bed, tilting my head a little. His curls were over his forehead, his eyes closed and his face erased of all stress and worry. A beautiful blank canvas, marked only with the faint dent of his dimple and the odd dark freckle on his skin. "Harry," I repeated, and he replied with a low grumble, clearly beginning to stir from his sleep.

"Ana Grace, go away," he rasped tiredly, burying his face into the pillow in hopes of shutting me out once more. I immediately felt a tug at my heart - his nickname for me was back in use, thankfully. Maybe, hopefully, he wasn't so angry anymore. I sighed, beginning to contemplate whether coming here was the right thing to do, before I spoke again.

"Scoot over," I took a risk by saying, gently nudging him. I'd half expected him to give me a straight 'no', and to tell me to fuck off, among other things - but instead, after a few moments of what seemed to be his own contemplation, he shuffled over to the other side of the bed, leaving enough room for me to slip onto the mattress beside him.

"I'm far too hungover for you to give me a lecture right now, Ana Grace, so if that's what you're planning, then don't bother," he mumbled, and I rolled my eyes, bringing my knees to my chest as he remained on his side, eyes closed. "Shouldn't you be at the airport right now?"

"Shouldn't you?" I retorted, and he opened one eye to look at me.

"Pass me a cig from behind you, will you?" he asked, before adding, "Please." I did so, reaching for his pack of cigarettes and his lighter, passing it to him. He sat up in the bed, lighting the tube and bringing it to his lips, as I could finally look at him properly. His eyes were tired - he'd clearly been up drinking late, and had little sleep. I hated the sight of him like this, unable to quite meet my eye, and though he wasn't exactly acting distant - the distance between the two of us was undeniable.