sharkbait \\ h.s

7

Harry ordered a pizza. While I've been in my room, pretending there isn't an extremely attractive person sitting right in the next room, he's on my couch, using my phone, ordering a pizza. I'm not sure if he intends on sharing, but it's not like I can eat it anyways. If consideration was intention, he would've ordered something that doesn't have cheese as a main component.

I've been on quite a roll tonight, happily adding Let's hope Dickweed isn't contagious as my newest article, then suddenly, my mind flashes back to my argument with Harry in my room the other day.

As if on cue, Harry steps into the room with a plate in his hand. He brought me pizza.

I look at him. "You're joking right?" I say.

"Joking?" Asks Harry, placing the plate down on the table beside me. "You don't want pizza?"

I snort. "Dude, cheese."

"And pepperoni and olives and mushrooms and-"

"And cheese," I interrupt. He looks irritated, as if he's the offended one. "Thanks though."

He sat on my bed. "I'm not leaving until you eat that pizza."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Dickweed forces pizza down my throat... Sounds great." Harry laughs, bringing his legs up onto the bed and pulling them to his chest.

"What?" I ask in disbelief.

He reads my blog. Oh my God.

He's seen everything. "Oh my God." My heartbeat accelerates at the thought of him scrolling down the page, reading the articles written about him.

"I told you I read your blog." His shoulders raise in a shrug. "Eat your pizza."

I blink. "I'm not eating that."

"What's the worst that could happen? If it's good, boom, new favorite food, if it's bad then you, like, spit it out and give me the rest."

I look at the pizza then back at Harry. A smile is painted onto his lips as I bring the plate to my chest and peel the slice off, putting it to my mouth and hesitating before taking a bite.

Trying not to focus on all the cheese that is in my mouth, I chew fast. Harry watches hesitantly as I swallow.

"Good, eh?" He said.

I am much too aware of what just went down my throat. The bile rises back up. "I am going to throw up."

The smile drops from his face. "Serious?" I nod. He hops off the bed and grabs the garbage can from the other side of the room, all but throwing it at me. I don't catch it in time to turn away from Harry, so I stick my face into the bin and puke.

That was embarrassing.

Stupid Harry.

Stupid pizza.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

There's puke in my hair. I just showered. Fuck. "Fuck," I curse. Worry fills Harry's eyes.

He begins to approach my bed again when I get up. "What?"

"I have to shower." I sigh. "Again."

"Why don't you just, like, wash it out? Like, in the sink?"

"I guess I could, it'd be awfully hard."

"I can, like, help? I don't know. If you want me to..."

The thought of Harry helping me wash my hair makes me smile. Just a little. "You'd do that?"

His face goes red. "Yeah, I mean, I guess. Like, do you need me to? 'Cause if it'd be, like, awkward for you--"

I nod. "I would love your help."

He smiles awkwardly before following me into my bathroom. "Okay, so how do I do this."

We laugh at the same time. "Well, I'm gonna lean over the sink, and you're gonna lather shampoo into my hair, and then we're gonna wash it out."

He huffs. "Sounds easy."

"Yep."

Being leaned over the sink, my chest pointing toward the ceiling, with Harry trying to lean over me turns out to be the hardest thing I've ever done.

"Harry, stop putting shampoo in my hair. You've got half the bottle in there already!"

"Sorry." The bottle slips out of his hands when he goes to put it down. "Sorry."

I laugh at his expense. "It's cool, ya know, it's just a bottle." I copy his words from the restaurant when I dropped the cup in the ocean.

"Am I doing this right?" He asks as he slowly starts to rub the shampoo into my hair. My shoulder aches and I wince. "Sorry..."

"No it wasn't you." I say. "You're doing fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think you should take on shampooing hair as a hobby. Open a salon."

He snorts. "Good one. Haven't heard that one before." He senses my confusion. "Harry Styles. Hairy Styles. Get it? It's hilarious." Sarcasm is evident in his tone.

I don't mean to smile, but a grin breaks onto my face. "I'm sorry, I wasn't making fun of you, I swear."

Harry's hands continue to massage the shampoo on my scalp, relaxing me. I manage to stare from underneath him at his face and how his jaw tenses as he works his fingers against my head. When his hands stop moving, I find myself disappointed at the lack of contact.

"Time to, like, rinse, or whatever."

"Yeah."

So I flip myself around, my back on Harry's torso now, and his warmth relaxes me again as we-- mostly he-- washes the shampoo out of my hair.

When we're done, I wrap a towel around my hair, rewarded with a laugh from Harry, and we head back to my bedroom.

We talk and talk about why I don't like cheese and broken bones and past relationships. At eleven forty-three, Harry announces that it's time for him to take off.

He hugs me awkwardly when he gets to the front door, and when he pulls away, his green eyes bore right into my hazel ones. "I'd kiss you, ya know, if you hadn't just barfed up my pizza."

That earns him a laugh and he walks out the door.

-

hiiiii

so i have like 700 reads now which i know is nothing compared to other stories but it still makes me really happy :))

hows it so far ? im trying really hard to make it make as much sense as possible, and ive already started hinting at stuff kind of a little bit oh

i hope its still good and that you guys like it :) if theres anything i can do to make it better let me know

comments and votes are well appreciated ! x

-mel :))