oh, anna [-hs]

if i told

a/n 13k reads. what the actual fuck. lol.

this chapter... um... might hurt?

41.

I shift beneath the pale white sheet, the morning sun hitting my face. Slowly, each eye peeks open and adjusts to the light filtering into the room. My alarm is gently ringing from the side of the bed. I slam my hand into the phone to turn it off.

The first thing I notice is the absence of his body. There's a warm spot where he must have been laying minutes before. But he's gone.

I sit up slowly and rub my eyes, pushing my hair out of my face. I hear a shower running from the bathroom.

I grab a pair of underwear from my bag to slip on, and slide off and sit down on the floor by the foot of the bed, reaching forward to stretch out my hips. I tuck my knees in, folding my legs together, and I press my forehead forward and down to meet the rug beneath me. From across the room, he's whistling as he showers. It's a happy song, something I've never heard before.

"Door's yellow, broken blue," he hums over the noise of the running water.

I stand up and grab a pair of sweatpants out of my bag, throwing them on before I leave the bedroom.

I step lightly down the stairs and waltz into his kitchen, feeling excited for the day ahead, happy after last night, overall content. As I reach for the eggs in his fridge, I find myself humming whatever song he was just singing in the shower, whistling the cheerful melody he made up. It's catchy.

I set a pan on the stove and crack an egg into it, and then I reach for another one and leave them both in the pan to cook. My hands return to the fridge to find orange juice.

I can't help but have my thoughts drift back to everything that happened yesterday. The things he said to me, and the realizations I had. I faintly remember him whispering in my ear as I fell asleep. He said he wanted to call me his for the night.

The thought makes me uncomfortable. Not as uncomfortable as I predicted it would, but still. The certainty that he's craving, that he needs, is something still out of my reach. As much as I feel an intense desire to make him happy, that's the one thing out of my realm of possibilities.

I can't let someone call me theirs. I can't let someone call me their girlfriend. Those labels, they mean restrictions. Yes, there's security in certainty, but there's also limitations. I hate making rules and boundaries for myself, because I know in the future, I'll just want to break them. And that's when people get hurt.

That's why promises suck.

The fish was supposed to be me pushing myself out of that frame of mind. It was me commiting to something bigger. It was me trying to give him some certainty. I think it backfired though. From what I gather, it just made him more confused.

The eggs sizzle on the stove and I shake myself out of my thoughts, turning my attention back to the pan. I flip them each over. Harry patters down the stairs and leans up against the fridge. His hair is wet still, leaving drops of water dripping down the back of his neck. He smiles warmly, his dimples appearing along his face. He crosses his arms.

"Good morning," he nods lightly to me.

"Hey," I smile back, sliding the eggs onto two plates. He stares down at my hands intently, watching me slide the plates across the counter. I reach into a drawer for two forks.

"You made me breakfast?" He mumbles. I shrug.

"Um, well yeah. I just--I was cooking for myself but I just figured I'd make you one too." I stutter a little, realizing exactly what I did. My eyes widen a little bit and I stare down at the plates, frozen.