Prince in the City [Harry Styles AU]

Chapter 10

it's 1 in the morning as i post this, and the only reason i'm awake is because it's Ramadan and i'd have to be up in about 2 hours anyway to eat to start my fast for the day. my schedule during Ramadan is basically me sleeping until 3 in the afternoon and then going to bed around 4 in the morning. what a lovely life style, right?

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Chapter 10

City Girl's POV:

It was that time of the year again, where in April the weather couldn't get its shit together and one day it's fifty degrees while the next it's eighty. At the end of the day when I'm leaving work, I'm wearing more or less clothes than I need to, so dressing myself for the day has become more of a hassle than necessary. Meaning, since I can't seem to get my own shit together and dress appropriately, the weather kicked my ass and I ended up falling sick with an annoying cold and fever. And, really, what else should I have expected? Whenever the weather changes, my allergies seem to kick in and I always fall sick.

Which is why I had to call in sick for work the second day in a row, sniffling like my life depended on it and either sweating off this fever that never seemed to go away or shaking with shivers. So I kept myself comfortable in my bed, under the blankets or throwing them off with my laptop next to me as I laid down and watched One Tree Hill on Netflix. My mother was due to arrive soon, hurrying over as soon as I told her I was still sick, most likely bringing a tub full of chicken noodle soup.

But she was taking a while, so when I grabbed my phone to text her, I stared in surprise when I saw that it was dead. Huffing and puffing, I rolled to the edge of the bed, still very much under the blankets, as I grabbed the charger and plugged it into the wall and then my phone, sighing as I leaned my head back on the pillows, face scrunching as I sniffled through my incredibly stuffed nose.

Just then, there was a knocking on my front door, incessant and I frowned in annoyance and confusion—my mother was the only person I was expecting to be here, and she had a key, so what's with the knocking? Groaning loudly and flinching at the scratchiness of my throat, I paused my show and threw off the covers, hugging myself in the oversized sweatshirt I wore as my sock clad feet dragged across the hardwood floors and towards the door.

My face, which was scrunched in a mixture of exasperation, annoyance, and exhaustion immediately fell into one of complete shock as I opened the door to see who was standing on the other side. Harry, dressed in black skinny jeans and a dark green Calvin Klein sweater, looked at me with a curiously quirked brow and asked in that deep British tone, "Bad time?"

I blinked, staring at him in bewilderment and chalking it up to the facts that I was sick and also seeing him dressed so casually—in skinny jeans!—was quite the sight. "You could say that," I responded, voice hoarse as I quickly brought my right arm up and coughed in the crook of my elbow. "I'm pretty sure I'm dying."

Harry's brows furrowed in concern, surprising me by bringing his hand up and pressing the back of it against my forehead. The cool metal of the many rings he wore touched my skin delightfully, and I tried to hide my disappointment when his hand dropped back to his side and he clicked his tongue, "Got a bit of a fever, huh?"

I nodded, sighing as I stepped aside and I let him into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. "Along with a cold and sore throat. Basically the flu," I added, sniffling once more. "What're you doing here?" I then asked, clearing my throat as I stared at his back.