Flower Girl | h.s.

17.

Harry

The three knocks on the door took my attention away from my mindless scroll through Instagram for the millionth time that morning. I had suddenly began to pretend that I cared about celebrity or political news-- when in reality, I didn't want to know what a Real Housewife was.

The smell of coffee was still infiltrating the space, much more so than I realized as I went to open the door.

There are only a few people that have keys to my house that aren't my direct family, being Lottie or Brooks, and that's Mitch and Niall. But, I knew that Mitch was bringing his guitar and a few other pieces of equipment he had been excited to show me, so I figured I could go out to his car to help him carry it downstairs.

"Hey... guys," The moment that my door opens up, I'm met with two faces instead of one. It's throwing me off a bit, because I recognize the face of the woman next to Mitch, but I'm a bit taken back by the sight of her.

I looked like Mitch didn't need my help carrying anything at all, anyways. Someone else already had it.

Mitch clears his throat, his eyes turning towards the woman that stands next to him, a pair of drumsticks in her hands as she gives a small wave towards me, "You remember Sarah, right?"

I nod a few times, not questioning the validity of her presence at all. She was cool, I remembered her from Daisy's party a few weeks ago. Mitch had brought her up one other time when we hung out, but I figured that it was mostly because they had a fun night together and he was reminiscing on what was.

Now, it feels a little bit about what is.

"Yeah, of course. Nice to see you again, Sarah," I give her a friendly smile, before she's shooting one just as kindly back to me.

The idea of them keeping in touch was a question for another day, a day that didn't involve her right in front of us. I invited them both inside, finishing half of a bagel that I had started to eat on before they arrived.

Today was going to be a day that Mitch and Niall– and now Sarah, apparently– came over so we could work on a bit of music; it had been a while since we had the opportunity to, and I had a few things that I wanted to share with them. All three of us had some free time, which wasn't too often, so I thought that we could go downstairs to mess with some of the equipment.

"You should hear some of the stuff that Sarah works on, dude, it's sick."

"Oh, really? Yeah, I'd love to hear it," I responded, nodding a few times and watching the blush start to creep on Sarah's lips. She's cute, a few inches smaller than us– but she's relatively small in stature. I open the fridge to look at the options for drinks, getting their respective seltzer waters before I lead them towards the basement where all of the equipment is set up.

I hadn't really been down there since the last time that Daisy had been down there. When I took a look at the bean bag chair that we had sat on that first night she came over, I felt a bit of emotion in my chest.

It's almost like after a break-up when you see a t-shirt in the laundry that belonged to them and you have to fold it and try to figure out what to do with it. Knowing that you'll probably never get an opportunity to give it back– nor do you really want to give it back in the first place. You want to keep it and cherish it because it feels safe. Even though the smell of laundry coats the natural aura of it, it doesn't take away the memories. It doesn't take away the vision of them wearing it to bed, or the way you'd keep it in the drawer knowing that you could never wear it again because it became theirs suddenly.

Unfortunately, the piece of furniture in my house had suddenly become an eyesore due to my overbearing thoughts. All I could think about was Daisy climbing into my lap, my hand running itself through her hair that smelled like fresh pears and vanilla.