Plant New Seeds | H.S.| AU

Chapter Thirty-Three - Bean-Stained Fork

AN: Hi. I think I got carried away. Enjoy?

Happy Harrypendence Day!

N I A

I was two seconds away from stabbing Harry Edward Styles with my bean-stained fork.

Instead, I was being dragged upstairs by a sociopath to a library I didn't know existed until now. Probably to my death. I'd been to the Gossip Girl abode a good, what, six times? The mysterious library must've been hidden like a speakeasy, because it was never even mentioned until tonight.

Was it even real?

Whether it existed or was a downright lie to deflect from our first real argument, I didn't give a fuck. I just wanted to go home, back with the cockroaches and my passive-nosy neighbor where I belonged. With them, I at least knew what to expect.

Homie placing all the blame on me for the fuck up we called a relationship?

Nah, not so much. Not even a little bit.

"Where the fuck you takin' me?" I asked, truly not expecting an answer. But it was worth the damn shot, especially if it meant avoiding being kidnapped. Thank you very much, Investigation Discovery.

Surprise, surprise—I didn't receive one.

The only response I got was His Vice President-ness tugging me even harder, footsteps more determined than ever once we reached the top of the staircase. Somewhere in between my wheezing from the impromptu workout and attempting to control it, he actually let my wrist go.

My kidnapper sure had a lot of faith in me; how'd he figure I wouldn't just bolt down the stairs?

Yeah, ri—

"I told you."

The sound of his voice and that ridiculous accent scared me when he finally answered. Blunt, short-winded and cryptic in true Harry-fashion. He looked over his shoulder, almost wincing as I staggered behind him tiredly.

"You don't even have," I wheezed miserably, "a fuckin' library, Harry." My kidnapper would have to forgive me for not looking sexy, my lungs felt like they were on fucking fire.

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"Your name?"

The fuck did he mean by that?

Mans was more far-gone than I realized. Not only was I not allowed to question where our relationship was headed, but now I wasn't even allowed to use his birth given name? There was no use in trying to pull anything else out of him.

Besides, No-Name fell silent again as we neared a door that I'd never paid any attention to before: the mysterious, avoided, fourth door.

It was the last door at the very end of his hallway that he never even glanced at whenever I stayed the night.

I noticed it the first time I visited but, sadly, the infamous notebook-guitar discovery cut my exploring short before I could see every single room. I never made it a point to resume after the whole incident, respecting that he wasn't as ready for complete openness as he believed himself to be.

Now, my boobs twitched in curiosity. So here's what I knew so far.

One door led to his bedroom, another to his guest bathroom, and the other to his home-office; I'd only recently found out about the office five days ago when we both brought home work from our jobs. He needed his notebook and excused himself to the newly-announced room out of nowhere.