killer instinct - || h.s. ||

34

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aurora astor.

Air seems to be the only reason I leave my apartment anymore. Without school, it's become this relentless cycle of staring at the ceiling and bruising my knuckles at the gym.

Griff hasn't even talked to me since, and I don't really expect him to. I snapped at him, I initiated it instead of just accepting his existence as something to be grateful for.

Nor have I spoken to Harry since he showed up at the gym, scaring the life out of me as he usually does when he creeps up on me like that. The enigma of a person he just keeps growing, and there's only so much I can do here.

The only reason I asked for an apology was selfish again because for once I'd like to be the one to receive an apology rather than pleading them out to the universe at fault for all the misery that this life brings. For once I'd like it not to be my fault, and his verbal confirmation of that would have been the possible start.

So fresh air seems to be this middle ground – a necessity, and a way to clear my head for a second before falling right back into the endless cycle of cruel life.

The second I push the door open, the brisk fresh air hits me like usual, and my eyes water. But it's refreshing today, the sunlight seeps through the clouds and contrasts the usual winter cold.

My life instantly flashes before my eyes and I jump, stumbling a step back at the sight in front of me.

"Hi, darlin'," I apprehend that sweet Irish accent I've only heard once before.

My eyes widen and my lips part in absolute shock at the golden-brown-haired man with sunglasses perched on his face in front of me.

I just wanted a damn smoke in peace, for fuck's sake–

"What are you doing?" I instantly mutter in confusion, noticing him leaning back against the car in a rather nice outfit.

A pastel blue button-down remains unbuttoned over a simple white shirt, all paired with light wash jeans and white canvas vans. That vibrant grin on his face makes it almost impossible to hide the twitch of my lips as I take a step closer.

"Well, ya still need someone to look out for ya. Your brother is bein' a complete wanker at the moment, and Styles' runnin' some errands. I didn't wanna be weird like him, and not say hi." He spits out all at once, still adjusting to the thick accent, but it was just as gibberish as Lou's so I've had some practice.

I stare at him like he's the most confusing thing on my mind right now. Immediately my mind starts to pick apart the differences: there's no cigarette hanging from his lips, or dark colors, or even a shade of pink clinging to his skin at all other than the thick-framed sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose – his teeth even sparkle with that toothy smile.

"Hi?" I mutter in my state of disarray.

He chuckles a little under his breath, regarding him drawing himself off the side of his car at the curb of my apartment building.

He strides over to me, hands shoved into his pockets. "Where are you headed then?" He asks like some kind of bodyguard, and I tug my eyebrows together even further.

"Just wanted air," I tell him surprisingly, and he hums. He strolls over to my side, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

"Let's walk then," he offers, his thick accent rolling off his words. My eyes go even wider as I quickly shake my head in disagreement.

"Absolutely not," I mutter. He even frowns at me, being dramatic with this as I notice bits of his own narcissism coming out.

"It could help?" He smiles, and I witness him lift those shades into his silky, fluffy hair to reveal the sparkling blue of his eyes and his long, translucent eyelashes.