crystal method || Harry Styles au

8

Harry paced back and forth in the living room, Rose sitting on the couch, watching him.

"She'll come back Harry." She mumbled and began getting frustrated. "Let's just finis-"

"No! What the hell is your problem? Your sister just walked in on us; don't you think that is a little wrong?" He shouted at her and she sunk in the couch.

"Why are you so worried about what she's going to think?" Rose picked at her finger nails and rolled her eyes. "She'll get over it. She's not mad at you, she's mad at me. Give it a break." She pushed herself off of the couch and started for the front door since he didn't seem to be interested in finishing what she came for.

"Why is she mad at you?" He questioned and before thinking, Rose answered out of frustration.

"Because she had some petty, stupid crush on you a couple years ago." She opened the door and he followed her out, nodding slowly and letting the realization take over him.

What was this feeling?

He scrolled through her recent contacts and called the first person he could imagine her escaping to. He could feel the jealously build up in his chest when he dialed Greg's number. Was that jealousy?

"Hey Harry." Greg spoke and Harry knew that he was pissed off by his tone of voice.

"Is she okay?" He asked and then went to sit on the couch so he wouldn't create a draft in the room.

"Yeah, she's gonna stay here for a while. Don't bother calling again." The line dropped and Harry groaned out of utter resentment.

Mai had liked him. How had he not noticed?

He was now in a pair of boxers from topman. He didn't know what compelled him to do so, but instead of walking towards his bedroom, he shuffled around until he was in Mai's room. It smelled exactly like her; some expensive perfume that someone had gotten her for Christmas. It was strong, but not overwhelming. He lifted up the blanket on her side of the bed that she insisted on. He bundled up in the comforter and blinked vigorously until he could see her nightstand in the dark. On it, stood a large picture of her and Harry from her birthday party a few months before. He had his hands wrapped around her torso and his lips pressed firmly into her cheek while she held up a bottle of Bacardi and wore a fake tiara; smiling wide.

She had some petty, stupid crush on you a couple years ago.

Why was he just now finding out?

The next morning he attempted to call Greg again, but this time he didn't answer and Harry had to continue with his normal routine. Not like it could actually be normal. He didn't wake up to the smell of pancakes and coffee and there wasn't anyone to discuss the morning news to. It was silent and silence always made Harry uneasy. He arrived at work, 30 minutes earlier than he had to be, but it gave him something to do, instead of sit around and think the night's details over and over again.

He didn't like Mai, or maybe he did. Nonetheless, he wasn't good for her and he could never be good enough for her. Every aspect of her made girls cringe and guys groan. They were complete opposites.

Her warm lips moving gently against his and their hips moving in sync. The chill that crawled up his spine and to his neck when she placed a cold hand on his torso.

The feeling in his stomach was inevitable, but it wasn't something he was exactly familiar with. In his 19 years of living and breathing, he could never keep a steady relationship. Something about the kid being "Hot" but not "loving."

He was barely sure if they were even friends, let alone could they be anything more. But he remembered the nights shortly before.

'We're friends right?'

Three years of meaningless kisses and favors, and he never put together the idea that she could even remotely like him.

Who would ever want someone damaged beyond repair?

And two days later, after restless nights of no sleep and preparing a speech, Mai finally understood her feelings.

'I've loved you since day one. When I realized that you were toxic for me, and I fell in love with the idea of you. I fell in love with your laugh and the way you describe events. I fell in love with your messy hair and tattered clothing. I fell in love with the dusty corners of your mind and the dark secrets you've always refused to tell me. I fell in love with the way you fell in love with things, even if one of those things will never be me.' She rehearsed this mentally for hours on end.

Taking a deep breath and stepping into their shared apartment she struggled to catch her breath.

For there it was; and if you traced the blood that led out from the bathroom tiles and to the kitchen, you would see the coated knife and orange pill bottle that was in fact empty. The glass he had used to down the pills had been completely shattered on the floor. And if you even dared to follow the trail of crimson blood, you would end up in her bedroom ... screaming frantically at the boy she loved, who was indeed, dead.