Dealing With Absence » h. styles au

9ᵀᴴ CHAPTER

                                                   9ᵀᴴ CHAPTER               

               “Things don’t have to be extraordinary to be beautiful”

There is a deafening sound that startles Elisha into consciousness, far too early in the freaking morning for her taste, if she may say so herself. She twists and turns until her head is far buried in the pillow, squishing her cheek against the softness, trying her hardest to block the light already creeping through the window (which has never been a problem, really, because she can ignore daylight pretty well if the purpose is to fall asleep. Thank you very much).

However, the deafening sound echoes again, seconds later, and this time there’s a sequence of curses that follows said sound; some stupid voice swearing under its breath intelligible words Leesh won’t even bother trying to make out. Blinking lazily, she lets the clarity sink in before she glances at her tiny bedside table and realises it’s only a quarter past five, and, honestly, who the fuck is outside her door making such a fuzz at this hour in the morning? There should be a law against idiots waking her up way before she actually needs to be up. Honestly.

Against her will, but fully awake now, Elisha dislodges herself from her bed, with no sheets to push aside because it’s still too warm and she can’t bear the touch of the thinnest tissue, so she had discarded all of those the night before, throwing them at the end of her bed next to the bathroom door.

She’s still lazy when she finally reaches the doorknob, after tripping over her own feet several times within the short walk, completely aware that her clothes are loose and she’s sweaty all over; aware that the pillow marks are freshly imprinted into her pale skin, but doesn’t bother. Because there’s still a string of curses being muttered to the air, and the sound of something that seems to be scratching agonisingly the floor gets louder.

When she opens the door with what she hopes is enough anger for whoever is outside to realise they’re being proper dicks, though, her own string of curses and complaints die in her throat, sinking back to her stomach as she stares, flabbergasted, the scene before her eyes.

“Where the hell are you going with a stove?” she breathes out instead, fighting back a laugh as she looks at Harry, putting all his weight against the metal, feet planted on the floor as he tries to push it forward towards his door, less than three metres away.

He’s sweaty himself, forehead shining with the moisture, hair tied back in a tiny ponytail that takes all of Elisha’s willpower not to make fun of. He has a loose tank top framing his upper body, tight dark trousers strangling his legs in a way that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. That guy can’t be normal, she decides. He just can’t. There must be something wrong with his brain for him to wear tight and dark clothes during summer.

Harry looks back at her with wide eyes, looking pretty much like a deer caught by the headlights. Everything about him is hilarious. Would it really be that rude if she just laughed at him once? Better not risk it.

“Sorry,” he breathes out, giving up on the stove and straightening his posture, lacing his fingers and stretching until Leesh can hear his bones cracking. Ouch. “Did I wake you up?”

She rolls her eyes to the back of her head, ‘cause she’s pretty sure crumps of sleep are dried and crusted to her skin in the corners of her eyes, and also knows her face must still look like shit with so many reddened marks, but. This guy doesn’t seem to be one of the smartest, so she’ll give him that.