Age is just a number, after all. (Morten Harket x Reader)

Age is just a number, after all. (Chapter 8)

The days went by. Mr. Harket never really left your head. He was there, in your thoughts, for nearly every hour of the day. Sometimes almost every minute, even.

You couldn't really say that it distracted you majorly from your school work or your chores, though. You managed to keep quiet and didn't let anyone suspect anything. Mr. Harket and you exchanged occasional updates via text messages but nothing more. It seemed to have calmed down a little.

Until one Thursday.

You had a day off school, it was a holiday, so your sister and your mother both were at home too. They didn't mean to stay there, though.

"Mum, can we go already? Is it time now?", your little sister squeaked.

"Soon, sweetie. I'll have to talk to (y/n) for a second, alright?"

She walked over to you and put her hand on your shoulder. You were sitting on the sofa, watching TV.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us at the theme park today?"

You laughed.

"No, thank you. I'll just relax a little and do some stuff I haven't been able to do yet. You know, school related. Some reading, writing a letter."

Your mother smiled. "I know, it's okay. I just wanted to make sure you didn't feel excluded."

"I don't. Besides, the theme park is for...", you side-eyed your sister and lowered your voice, "Slightly younger audiences than me, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Yes, it's mostly aimed at children. That's why we're joining Mia's little friends from kindergarten and their parents. Stacy's and Julia's moms are going to be there too, it's always fun to be around them."

"That sounds like fun for you too, then."

"MUUUUM!", Mia shouted from the next room.

"We're going now, dear. I don't want Mia to throw a fit."

"Has she ever done that before?"

"No, but I don't want her to, anyways. Food's in the fridge, call me if anything is the matter, you know the drill. Have a nice day, bye!"

Your mother exited the room, grabbing some things along the way. A few seconds later you heard them exit the house. And after you heard the sounds of the car's engine dissolve into the distance, you were left in complete silence. Only the subtle noise of the TV was on.

There you were. Left alone.

Alone with your thoughts, alone with your phone.

A few minutes after you'd resumed to concentrating on the TV, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Mr. Harket. He merely wished you a good morning and asked what you were up to on this day.

You replied him that you'd be alone at home for the day, relaxing and doing some stuff.

He replied that his day would be kind of similar.

After a while, you got bored and turned off the TV. You got up to start with some reading for school.

You were about 45 minutes into the book when you heard the doorbell ring. You figured that it would probably be a package delivery, lazily put the book aside and made your way to the door.

You were unprepared for what faced you at the door. Or rather, who.

Mr. Harket stood there. Casually, his weight shifted on one leg more than the other, his hands in the pockets of his loose-fitting pilot leather jacket.

He smiled when he saw you.

"Hello, (y/n)."

His voice sounded like he had just downed a jar of honey.