They met at the wrong time under the wrong circumstances, in a world that was not theirs. They had no choice but to move on from each other.
Five years later, Griffin Walker and Harry Styles meet again. How will it end this time?
LOVE BUILT ON LIE...
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GRIFFIN E. WALKER January, 2015
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Other than to attend my classes, there really wasn't a reason for me to leave the safety of my home. I was alone with Callum being gone, playing crucial part in a lads holiday with his friends, somewhere much warmer than London. This was his way of proving that he didn't work all the time, which he got teased for regularly.
Friday nights were usually spent getting hammered with the party bunch though not this week. The lot of us had quite the work to get done for our classes so holding off on clubbing was the sensible thing to do. In my case, that was the cover excuse. My real excuse would've been that I felt like shit and had no desire to do anything. My self-esteem was on the floor, my will to live practically non-existent. Outsiders must've thought I was a living dead with how I dragged my body back and forth between the apartment and uni, dying on the bus as I made my journeys.
Usually, staying at home was my favourite thing to do. I'd always find something to do, mostly to distract myself from whatever was happening in my life. Nonetheless, it was a fun time. Now, however, with all this fighting and arguing and harsh feelings, I didn't feel it. I couldn't even bring myself to paint. I tried to do it when I got home after the argument but somehow, I knocked the paint down and it went all over the floor. I sat by it and cried for at least half an hour before I started to clean it up then got rid of the idea. Associating one of my favourite things to do with negative feelings and memories wasn't what I wanted.
And it seemed that a certain someone had that thought process as well. Granted, it came as a complete shock and I've rejected it but still. Harry offered me some time out in the form of attending an art exhibition. He wasn't very artistic, he said, apparently, he had no talent. The most he knew about art was to do with colours, those being the primary ones. He felt quite proud of himself when he told me about this and the only thing I could do was laugh. Nevertheless, it was a nice gesture of him to text me about it.
Though, it seemed that things did not wish to stop there. A knock on the front door, without a call from the reception desk, meant that he was right outside. Making a mental note of letting the staff know never to let the him up without consulting me first ever again, I pulled myself away from the sofa and opened the door for him. There, he stood in a pair of dark jeans, boots, a shirt that he failed to button properly and a blazer. The moment the door opened, his cologne travelled down my nose and made me cough as it hit the back of my throat. It resulted in him asking if I was alright before even having the chance to say hello. Waving it down, I asked what he was doing there only to receive a light chuckle with the sake of his head. He hurried me back inside, telling me to get dressed within the next five minutes if we wanted to make it to the exhibition in time.
Considering that I had no proper wear for occasions as fancy as an exhibition, I grabbed pieces I thought would be appropriate. Since Harry himself wore jeans, I fancied myself a pair. Mixing it with a blouse and a long cardigan then later on with ankle boots, I pretty much looked the same as him. He voiced it, of course, mentioning how great it makes him feel to know that he's such a fashion icon. Then, I had to threaten him that I can always stay at home and wallow in self-pity, leaving him to attend this gathering on his own. It managed to shut him up and make me grin at the result, making the lift ride a quiet one.
