Winter [Harry Styles AU]

fourteen

winter // fourteen

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Lena can't remember the last time her alarm clock woke her up, and not Harry nipping at her neck or Louis demanding pancakes or someone screaming about how it's not 9 AM. She can't even remember the last time she woke up warm, in a bed that isn't on the ground, without koala-like human attached to her side, for that matter.

But the next day, Lena wakes up to Kate staring at her from across the room, her hair matted down on one side and last nights makeup stuck under her eyes like a raccoon. It's not nearly as pleasant as sleepy green eyes and winter kissed lips. 

"Hello," Kate says suspiciously. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Because I live here," Lena says. "Rough night?"

"Weird, I feel like I should be accusing you of a rough night because your eyes are all puffy. Plus, you're still wearing your jeans, babes. If you can't even get undressed then you know it was rough."

Kate has a fair point, but by the time Lena made it home last night, she was halfway to hypothermia and losing any layers didn't really seem like a good idea. Crawling in her bed still fully clothed and warm definitely seemed like a good idea. "I have an explanation for that one," Lena says. 

"Oh really? Is it in anyway related to a boy with a name that rhymes with Shmarry Shmyles?"

"Sorry, I only know a Tarry Tyles."

"Oh, look at that." Kate's lips curl up into a sneer. "You've learned how to rhyme somewhere. Could that have anything to do with a particular someone that rhymes with Plarry Plyles?"

"Do you mean Farry Fyles? Or maybe Larry Lyles? I'm not sure I know a Plarry Plyles." Lena forces a bright smile on her face. 

Kate does not return it. "Am I still Kate the Great? Or Kate the Roommate?"

Sighing, Lena pulls the comforter over her head. "I don't know," she says, muffled by the thick, white blanket, "I really don't know. I mean, we're just friends. Friends can get over this stuff."

And, logically, Lena knows that the combination of the facts that she spends more time in Harry's flat than her own, they practically share a closet, and its hard to fall asleep without his bare skin pressed against hers contradicts the whole 'just friends' thing, but she can ignore that. 

Because, logically, recognizing these things would mean putting a name to whatever she is feeling - although she's pretty sure what it is, she's not stupid - which means establishing whatever they are and therefore everything complicated that comes with it. 

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The first time she tutors Sam, it's a bit awkward. He's nice enough, and has this dry sense of humor that Lena can relate to, but he's quiet and shy in a way that she isn't used to. She's spent the past three months living with five boys that have zero boundaries, and this boy is scared to make a penis joke.

Sort of like England going from war hero Henry V to peaceful pacifist Henry VI in one generation. It's definitely a bit of a shock. 

It's nice - it's mature, she decides - but at the same time she keeps waiting for him to keel over in laughter when the graph looks even remotely phallic-shaped or the answer comes out with any variation of 69 or 420 it. It's nice and mature and boring, Lena thinks.

Sam's got short, black hair that falls just over his forehead. His eyes are wide and curious, and his hands always have some sort of reminder written on them in ink. When he smiles, it's always close-mouthed, and his laughs are always muffled into the palm of his hand. He's a economics major.