Burgundy || HS

trois

November 3rd marked the most interesting work day Jane had encountered in her three years of working at the library. It was cold, and it hadn’t yet snowed, yet the state was drowning in a pit of water caused by the heaviness of clouds. It rained so much in New York that Jane wondered if the rain would ever stop, and if she could ever see clearly in front of her again without the almost promise of fog to follow. That day was exceptionally long, and she would’ve gone home if she wasn’t so obsessed with finishing the day.

Oakheart Public Library closed at eight at night on Sundays. Sunday, November 3rd at seven fifty-eight, Harry Styles walked in with a cough in the back of his throat, and a beanie hugging tight to the curls of his head. Jane was rushing to gather her things so she could close up not a moment too late, but just as she was turning around, she bumped into a body larger than hers and hands larger than what she could imagine grasped her shoulders.

Jane looked into the man’s eyes; they were darker today and heated with anticipation than the lust he had the first day he laid eyes on Jane. They didn’t speak, only looked at each other in silence. Jane tilted her head to the side, past her bunched up shoulders that were still in the grasp of Harry’s hands to check the time, eight o’one. Her throat tightened and she shimmied out of Harry’s hands, grabbing the last key to the library, the one to the main doors. “The guards are gone a-and I really have to lock up and go. I-I’m sorry. I have to go.” Jane’s need for being on time was being interrupted and she couldn’t help but to stutter.

Her whole night was put off. Those minutes lost wouldn’t be spent on a movie because the movie would no longer end perfectly at midnight, a time she would then fall into to reflect herself and the day. Harry followed her with furrowed eyebrows until they were back outside. Jane was in such a rush that she hadn’t placed her coat around her body, so Harry pulled the coat from her in the light mist and helped her into it. She’d placed her book on top of her coffee mug, balancing it so it wouldn’t fall on the wet ground, and reached her arms until her wrists were safely wrapped by her coat.

Jane swallowed the saliva in her mouth and picked up her book, placed it in the large coat pocket, along with her small coffee mug. Harry watched her movements until she slowed to a stop in front of him. “I came to see you,” he told her. Promise reflected in his eyes along with a certain type of hidden smile.

“I figured such, but I was hoping it wasn’t true.”

Harry blinked, “And why is that?” Jane shrugged and began walking in the opposite direction Harry needed the two to go. “Well, it seems like you’ve had a long day, Jane.”

She sniffed. “Yes, which is why I’m trying to go home to relax.”

Harry stepped in front of her once they reached a corner, he didn’t want her walking too far before his offer was even placed on the table. He swallowed and scratched the back of his neck while Jane’s eyebrows raised. The fascination with the hairs on the back of his neck made Jane chew on the inside of her cheek. Those damn hairs sticking out. “Are you a wine person?”

Jane blinked, “What?”

“I-I mean, like, do you like wine? You seem like the type to drink wine in her bath tub with bubbles too high and slow music in the background. Then maybe a little bit of dirty things once the wine kicked in and—I ruined it, didn’t I? Anyway, come get some wine with me.” Harry was actually trying to not piss off Jane, and it somehow seemed to work. Except, of course, for the last part.

“No, Harry.” His shoulders slightly slouched. “I disagree with your morals and overall thoughts on women. And at first, I thought it was just a book and words on a page, but no. I’ve seen your interviews, I’ve done my research. You’re a sickness, Harry Styles. A sexist sickness.”