Aureate | Harry Styles

12

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: Treat People with Kindness by Harry Styles ────────────⚪️──────────────────◄◄⠀▐▐ ⠀►►⠀⠀ ⠀ 1:10/ 3:17

"maybe we can find a place to feel good and we can treat people with kindness, find a place to feel good,"

•••

After about 10 minutes of sitting in my lap in the car, Emerson decides its time to go inside and get Frank. I turn the car off and sit for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts and refocus onto caring for her, not my anger at her mother. Before going inside, I make a phone call, but just reach the voicemail.

"Hey, John, it's Harry. I'm calling back about my email last week considering a tour for my friend Emerson of the Romance Language Master's Program. If you could help me arrange that as soon as possible, that would truly be wonderful. I'm not going to be able to talk on the phone tonight, so just text me when you get this. I greatly appreciate your help, and so does Emerson. Hope you're doing well."

I hang up,  take a deep breath and hop out of my car, closing the door behind. When I walk into the house, Emerson is lying on the floor next to Frank. Her shoes are already kicked off by the door, and her eyes are closed. The dog's tail thumps against the floor as I shut the door and put my keys on a hook.

"Harry, I think I changed my mind about going to yours," Emerson mumbles as my footsteps get closer. Her socked feet are crossed over each other, and she runs her fingers up and down Frank's back.

"I thought you might," I sit down on the floor beside her and thread my hands through her hair, "We can truly do whatever you want, honeybee." She turns to me and give me a soft smile. Despite the upturn of her lips, the smile doesn't reach her eyes and my heart sinks at the sadness that still pools in them.

"Can you read to me?" Her voice is light, "I like when you do that."

"Of course, "I push myself up off the floor to go get my copy of Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame from the glovebox of my car. She is still on the floor when I return, so I hold my hand out to her and pull her up. We had been reading Bukowski together for the past week, he is one of my most favorite authors and sweet Emerson had never read anything of his.

"Let's get comfy and sit in bed, love," I suggest, and she intertwines her hand with mine for the second time tonight and tugs me down the hall. Before we reach her room, I let go and go into the guest room to open what had become my drawer, and pull out my black sweatpants to change into.

Emerson is wearing a knit tank top and some shorts when I'm changed and walk into her bedroom. Her glasses are perched on her nose, and her hair is down in loose waves. For someone who had been sobbing just an hour before, she looks effortlessly winsome and just a bit more happy than earlier. She pats the bed next to her, so I run and jump, flopping on the bed next to her.

"Hiya, songbird," She giggles. The sound of her laugh is music to my ears, especially after all the tears she cried earlier. I grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger and smile.

"Hi pretty," I say, meeting her blue eyes, "Ready to read?"

"Hmm," She tousles my hair, pulls the comforter over both of us, and nestles her head between my shoulder and my neck, wrapping her arm around my waist, "Now I'm ready." I start the book where we left off last time.