Diligence [H.S.]

SIXTEEN

Chapter Song: is there still a light on? by Adam Melchor

...

HARRY STYLES

I can't help but smile as I watch Andrea take another bite of the butter chicken and rice I made her for dinner. Knowing her favorite meals has given me a leg up in getting her to eat more.

I won't shove food down her throat, but I can tempt her with her favorite foods. I didn't even tell her what I was making, and she came strolling down the stairs, following the smell. She sat down at the kitchen counter and just watched me cook.

We didn't have any conversation, but it was nice to have her there. It was comforting. She wasn't on her phone or distracting herself. Her eyes were on me, just watching and waiting patiently.

It felt good. So fucking good.

"Why aren't you eating?" She asks, pulling me out of the trance I've been stuck in since she took her first bite.

I shrug my shoulders, "I don't eat chicken anymore. Or any meat other than fish."

She swallows and furrows her brows. That was a change I made when altering my diet and workout routine. After my douchebag-gym-bro comments, I didn't feel the need to mention anything related to that topic again, primarily out of fear of making a fool of myself.

"You're pescatarian?" I nod and hum in response. "So why did you make butter chicken?"

I chuckle softly, "Because you like it."

Her eyes soften for a moment; then confusion takes over her expression. She doesn't ask me additional questions, but I can see them swirling through her head. She takes another bite before speaking again.

"Why only fish?" She asks with a slight grimace.

The brief look makes me laugh. Although she's never been a massive fan of fish, she isn't opposed to trying new foods. I'm sure I can find a few of my new favorite foods I've learned to make over time that she'll like.

"I just needed a change," I admit truthfully. There isn't much more to it. Not entirely. "I, uh, I needed to feel in control of something. Food and exercise was my best option."

She looks at me contemplatively, not wanting to ask questions but trying to read my mind like her life depends on it. It's no secret she wants me to elaborate. Luckily for her, I have no problem doing so. Not anymore.

I'm not how I was at the beginning of our initial friendship anymore. Am I perfect? Absolutely not, but I'm better at communicating how I feel. Thankfully, it's always been most effortless with her.

"After you left...I needed to find a way to ground myself to pull myself together enough for my shows," I tell her, leaning down to rest my forearms on the counter. "Being on tour limited my options. Looking back, I should have followed my gut and gone off what I thought was just an impulsive instinct."

Curiosity sparks in her eyes. She still doesn't ask any follow-up questions.

I can tell I have her attention, but she won't verbally tell me I do.

"I wanted to go to the airport," I confess, despite the physical pain it causes to surface in my chest. I should have gone. God, I wish I could rewind time and go to the fucking airport. "All I wanted to do was run after you. Even if I got there after your plane took off, I wanted to get on the next plane and just see you...but I let my hurt get the best of me."

It seems that the topic has made her lose her appetite. She no longer takes bites but instead repeatedly turns the same piece of chicken over. This is the most she's eaten in one sitting since she started staying here, so I will still take it as a win.