About (Harry Styles)

28.

Waking up to find a cart full of random foods is the greatest way to wake up. Seriously. I've never had so many options to choose in my life before. It's so kind of Harry Styles to be ordering all this for the both of us even though we could never finish it all by ourselves - it's like a whole week's worth. And I'm slightly worried.

"Why do you order so much? Most of this food is going to waste," I tell him. He doesn't seem to be paying attention to me as he devours his breakfast.

"You're going to help me eat it all," he says through a mouth full of scrambled eggs. He plops himself on the couch and turns on the TV.

Harry Styles may be a gentleman .. when he wants to be.

"Who said?" I ask, crossing my arms in amusement.

"I said."

Smug bastard.

Pressing my lips together, in a bold effort, I grab a piece of ham from my plate and chuck it across the room so that it would land on his plate, but I miss it by a mile. He jumps slightly as he processes something flying past him. His eyes immediately flits towards me, wide with confusion, as his jaw drops, his shiny lips with a touch of grease in the corner. 

"What was that for?" He asks, and I answer by throwing another piece at him, again, missing my aim.

"You eat it all by yourself," I huff, lightheartedly. I clap my hands together as if to clean them off and rise from the bed. He mimics my action from the couch, and I narrow my eyes in suspicion.

What's he planning on doing?

I take a step towards the cart of food. He does the same. I take another, he takes another.

Okay. So you want to play, Styles.

We both glance to the cart, then back to one another. Realizing what's going on, my feet pick up from the floor, racing towards it. The distance between Harry Styles and the cart is twice as long as mine so I barely beat him to the jackpot.

"You wouldn't dare," he mutters with a smirk as he halts in place.

"Oh, I dare," I tease, a taunting grin pulling at the corners of my lips.

Next thing I know, there's food flying past me in the air. I dodge most of them, but some of his ammo does make impact with my head. Between the tray of muffins and the full plate of bacon strips, I choose the bacon, thinking it'd be less messy to clean up later.

Massive amounts of food are on the floor as Harry Styles and I continue our unanticipated food war. I grab a handful of bacon and fling it blindly in his direction and he does the same with some grapes. Except his keep coming, like shooting from a machine gun. 

We throw. We shout. We laugh. 

And for the first time, I realize I'm genuinely laughing. Like laughing my heart out. It's as through all of my sorrows and my worries have all disappeared within the few minutes of laughing with, of smiling with, and of throwing food at this British pop star who I never thought in a million years would ever say two words to me.

I stop behind one of the couches, my lungs almost out of breath, and he does the same on the opposite side of the bed. He, too, is panting from the fight.

"Truce," I say through inevitable chuckles.

"Game over, Elaine," he tries to say mercilessly. Except it's kind of hard to take him seriously when he has crumbs of bacon in his hair.

His lips pull into a relentless grin with the last piece of weaponry we had left. A triangular piece of toast.

Whole wheat.