Perhaps, Maybe, I Dunno (boyxboy)

Chapter 8

So...two updates in one day, ay? That rhymes. Anyway, thanks for being super rad cool and reading my story. I really appreciate it. Hope you like the new character :)

Harry wakes up in his bedroom the next morning. His clothes are draped over the old rocking chair that his grandfather used to have, and that his grandmother couldn’t bear to part with. He’d offered to let her keep it in his room. It was only fair; she was letting him stay at her house. Harry’s confused, though. He doesn’t have any memory of waking up until now, much less changing out of his clothes. In a daze, he makes his way downstairs, where his grandmother is sitting with a cup of coffee. He makes his way around the table sleepily, stooping over to hug his grandmother and kiss the top of her head.

“Your coffee is weak, nan,” he says as he breathes in its smell, “It’s like coffee-flavoured milk.” Harry’s grandmother swats away his embrace.

“I guess it was too much to ask for a simple, ‘Good morning, nan’,” she tells him. He grins.

“Good morning, nan,” he repeats, blowing her a theatrical kiss. She catches it and places it against her heart seriously, and Harry’s chest clenches. It’s going to take him a while to get used to how his grandmother shows her love. He’s not used to people making their love for someone else so apparent, and it gets him every time. It kind of makes him want to do it, too.

“How did I get out of Zayn’s car?” he asks, seating himself in the chair next to his grandmother’s and pouring himself a cup of tea.

“Oh,” she replies, matter-of-factly, “he carried you in.” Harry spits out his mouthful of tea. Luckily, he never put it down, so his grandmother doesn’t notice his shock.

“And who changed my clothes?” he hopes the question sounds innocent, but he’s anxious to hear the answer.

“Oh, heavens, no,” his grandmother starts, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s short-lived, though, because she’s not done.

“It wasn’t me, of course, if that’s what’s got you so nervous,” she continues, “I told Zayn that he better do it himself because you’d rather it wasn’t me.” Harry isn’t as stressed about it as he thought he’d be, though. Mostly, he’s thinking about how hard it must have been for Zayn to carry him in. He’s considerably taller than Zayn, so Zayn must have had to carry him bridal-style. But how did he get him out of the car? He looks up to see his grandmother expectantly looking at him.

“Sorry, what?” he says, snapping out of his thoughts.

“I was just wondering if you were relieved that it wasn’t me,” she says, smiling at him, “but nevermind that.” Relieved isn’t exactly the word for it, Harry thinks. Now the thoughts that he’d originally thought he’d have come rushing into his brain. What if Zayn saw my Spongebob boxers? What if he looked under my boxers? Was that a homophobic thing to think? Harry couldn’t make sense of the flurry of questions in his head. He needed some air.

“I’m going up to change, nan. I’m going to go out for a bit,” Harry says to his grandmother, who has now relocated to the kitchen.

“Okay, dear. Make sure you get Zayn to go with you,” she calls out to the dining room.

“Of course, nan,” Harry lies. He figures that he can find his way alone. The neighbourhood can’t be that big, can it?

Correction, the neighbourhood is huge. Harry is lost within the first twenty minutes of his departure from his grandmother’s house. All around him is expanse upon expanse of grass surrounding the narrow road he’s driving on. He’d made whole bunch of right turns, thinking that he’d eventually end up going in a circle and returning home. That’s how directions work, right? Harry sighs and stops the car, digging in his pockets for his mobile phone. When he finally finds it, he is met with a sad-faced symbol, alerting him that he has no bars. Harry really wants to throw his phone out the window. He settles for honking the horn, instead, loud and long, just enough to give voice to his rage. It amazes Harry, how good it feels, and he honks it again. He lets out an ear-piercing scream and honks the horn one last time before collapsing into his car seat, breathing hard. He lays like this for a quite a while, until he hears a voice above him.

“You having fun there, lad?” A guy around his age is sticking his head through Harry’s open window, grinning down at him. Harry puts his hand above his eyes, shielding the sun, so he can get a good look at his visitor. It’s a brunette boy, with close-cropped hair and a slight beard. Harry has the feeling that he’s seen this boy before, maybe a long time ago, and he sits up abruptly.

“Who are you?” he says, trying to figure out if he knows him. The boy raises his eyebrows and laughs.

“Well, you certainly don’t beat around the bush,” he remarks, his eyes twinkling, “I’m Liam. Liam Payne.” Harry knows that name from somewhere, he’s sure he does. He tries to get a closer look at Liam to see if it will spark anything.

“Are you gonna tell me your name, or are you just gonna stare at me like I’m visiting you from Mars?” Liam asks, still smiling. Harry rolls his eyes, and answers him.

“I’m Harry Styles.” Liam’s eyes go wide as saucers, and he knocks on the car excitedly. Harry looks at him, confused.

“Don’t you remember me, Harry? We used to play out here all the time,” Liam says, gesturing to the tall grass surrounding them. Harry thinks about for a second, and he does kind of remember, a little, a boy that he used to play with when he’d visit his nan on holiday.

“You used to call me Hazza,” Harry murmurs. Liam nods enthusiastically, mumbling “right, right”. He pulls his head out of the window and disappears around the back of the car, and suddenly he’s standing at the passenger side. He knocks and points to the lock, and Harry unlocks the car for him. Liam clambers in excitedly, bursting with an energy that surprises Harry.

“Harry, I haven’t seen you in seven years. You have to tell me everything.” Harry sighs. This is worst possible time to rekindle an old friendship with someone he hadn’t seen in, apparently, seven years. This was the least conversational moment he’d had in his entire life, and it was really fucking ironic that Liam had chosen that moment to find him.

“Liam, don’t take this personally at all, but I’m having a really hard time today, and I came out here to be alone,” Harry says, and he hopes it doesn’t sound as harsh as it felt. The truth is, Harry is having one of those days. The last thing he wants is to talk to anyone other than himself. Liam’s smile doesn’t falter, though, and he relaxes even further into the passenger seat.

“That’s cool, Hazza. We can be alone together.” Liam winks at Harry and puts his feet up onto the dashboard. Harry usually hates it when people do this, but when Liam does it, it doesn’t really annoy him as much. He closes his eyes comfortably, secretly grateful that Liam stays.