The Bachelor - H.S.

Epilogue

I trek up the stairs to the apartment. Ever since Harry and I moved I've always hated this part of the day. The elevator has been under maintenance for weeks, and so everyday after work I'm forced to trudge up the seemingly-infinite marble stairwell. I'm not used to its pristine nature- I've nearly slipped a dozen times, I'm sure. I guess I don't have much to complain about, though- it's a considerable upgrade from my last place.

I finally reach the 8th floor and dig through my big bag for the keys to the front door. My uniform is stuffed haphazardly into the bag, and my white chef's hat falls to the ground as I scrounge around with my fingers searchingly. Fucking hell- I'll have it now. The restaurant I work at currently has much stricter rules than the one I used to work at. I guess, to be fair, the owner of the old restaurant didn't know Gordon Ramsey. I couldn't thank Harry enough for landing me an interview after he made a recommendation without my knowledge, but luckily they found my skills sufficient enough to keep me around. I now work directly under the head chef.

I finally find my keys. I pull them out and retrieve my hat from the floor. I can hardly keep everything from slipping through my fingers as I finally get the door open. Thank god Harry isn't in New York right now. I'd be a laughing stock if he wasn't away on tour. The last time I talked to him I think he was in Germany.

I stumble in and triple lock the door behind me before sliding the bolt into place- old habits die hard. I make it to the couch and deposit my mass of things onto one of the cushions. I sigh in relief and fall back into the plush sofa. Across from me sits a large wooden coffee table- almost as long as Harry is. I remember having him lie down next to it to judge the size.

Across from the coffee table is a large flat-screen TV. I wasn't too impressed when Harry brought it home for me just a few months ago. My condition for living with him was that we would each pay our fair share. I refuse to just let him pay for all my stuff- I'd never feel like anything belonged to me. I know he's a millionaire and an international rockstar and all that, but I can't stand the thought of anyone thinking I'm using him for his money- especially not with the history between us.

He made up for buying the TV, though. He let me buy all our groceries for an entire week. That satisfied me plenty, and then I treated him to a nice meal at my favourite restaurant- the subway place. Harry always likes to take me out for fancy dinners. However, even though my bank account is fairly full now, I don't see the sense in wasting money when I could have just as good of a meal for a third of the price. Of course I work at one of those fancy, overpriced places now, but they don't have to know my personal opinion on the matter.

I make the long trek from the living room to the kitchen. At a contrast to my old place, it takes nearly 10 seconds to get from one side to the other. Something is sitting in the kitchen that I didn't notice before. On the island sits a small cake- maybe just enough for 2 people. On it are the words 'Happy Birthday' written in vanilla frosting along with 2 candles stuck in which read '27'.

Wow, is that the date? I hadn't even noticed it was my birthday. Usually I lose track of time when Harry's not around to remind me. I guess it happened again.

Nevertheless, although I've been reminded of my birthday, I can't help but glance around nervously. Who the hell has brought this cake for me? I certainly hope it wasn't my friends- I've been looking forward to watching TV and taking a hot bath for the entire day.

I hear someone clear their throat loudly from behind me, and whip around to see Harry standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

"Harry!?" I exclaim, more confused than ever. How can he be here? I talked to him just last night, and he was halfway across the world then.