Dark Matter (a Harry Styles fanfic)

Blue Moon

I was curled up at my computer, scrolling through old photographs of Zayn and me, even resorting to Google when I ran out. I stared blankly at my computer screen, going to rub my tired eyes with the palms of my hands. Glancing at my iDock, I saw that it was nearing midnight, and Zayn had still not arrived. I had texted him, called him, and even resorted to direct messaging him on Twitter, and still. Nothing. 

Retrieving the emergency pack of smokes I had taped under my computer desk, I lit one. Closing my eyes and attempting to maintain my composure, I inhaled the smoke as deeply as my lungs would allow. He’s not coming. He’s not coming. He’s not coming. My mind repeatedly screamed at me. My eyes shot open when I heard the front door slam. 

A few moments later, Harry materialized at my bedroom door, leaning heavily against the frame. I could feel his pitiful, concerned gaze burrowing into my back 

I swiveled around in my chair, not bothering to extinguish my cigarette. “You’re home early.” I noted, allowing artful rings of smoke to escape from my mouth. I wasn’t expecting Harry home until early the next morning, if not in the afternoon. 

Harry’s green eyes were on me for a moment, and then he nodded in defeat. “Yeah,” He said ruefully. “Amelia and I didn’t exactly hit it off.” He shrugged, and I could not help but let out a loud bark of laughter. With a roll of his eyes, a ghost of a smile appeared on Harry’s lips, his eyes flickering to my computer screen. A deep grimace replaced his half smile. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that I had left a photo of Zayn open on the desktop. Scrambling to switch off the monitor, my face began to burn. 

Harry’s brows furrowed together. “Zayn never came, did he?” He asked quietly, even though the answer was quite obvious. 

“No.” I replied with a sniff, averting my eyes from Harry’s and tapping the ash from my cigarette into my rubbish bin. 

Harry nodded in reply, deciding to forego the topic of Zayn altogether. “Are you heading to bed then?” He inquired, scratching the back of his head.

 “I was actually thinking of watching a film.” I informed him, gesturing to my television and then extinguishing my cigarette against the cover of a textbook from the previous semester –an Introduction to the Human Anatomy.

“Let me guess,” Harry asked, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he pretended to think deeply. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” He corked a brow upwards, his pink lips breaking into an all out grin. 

“The one and only.” I grinned, plucking the DVD from my shelf of movies. Anyone that knew me at all knew that Breakfast at Tiffany’s was a movie I watched religiously, at least once a month if time allowed for it. “Would you care to join?” I offered, waving the DVD back and forth. 

Harry hesitated for a moment, at last taking a step into my room. “Sure, why not?” He smiled warmly, knowing that some company would likely help cheer me up. And so we watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and when I finally allowed myself to burst into tears halfway through the movie, Harry allowed me to cry on his shoulder, just as a good brother would.

* 

I woke to the sound of something hitting my bedroom window. The sound was consistent; quiet, but loud enough to have roused me. Jolting upwards, I glanced around my room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness and recognizing the sleeping form of Harry beside me. Harry’s chest rose and fell in slumber, his lips parting as he mumbled something in his sleep, shifting on his side. The sound continued, and somewhere in my mind I was able discern it as the deflection of pebbles against glass. Carefully sliding off my bed, I made my way over to the window, shifting the pink chiffon curtains aside. Allowing my eyes to scan the ground below, I was met with the unmistakable sight of Zayn peering up at me. 

“S-h-it.” I hissed in the darkness, diving to retrieve the robe that was draped over my computer chair. Struggling in the darkness to slide my arms into the silk sleeves, I took another glance at Harry, the moonlight illuminating his boyish face. Feeling a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, I slipped out of my bedroom, gently closing the door behind me in hopes that I wouldn’t wake him.

A few moments later, I was sliding open the glass door in the living room, descending into the cool August night. Zayn was sitting at the bottom of the patio’s steps, waiting for me. He stood as soon as I came into view, opening his mouth to speak, but closing it again. 

We stood in silence for a moment, a light breeze billowing the fabric of my robe. “Where were you?” I asked him, crossing my arms across my chest. 

Zayn stared at me momentarily, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. “At home.” He revealed quietly, lifting his gaze to meet with mine. 

“Why?” I breathed. 

Zayn looked upwards, glancing at the moon as it dipped behind the clouds. “I was scared.” He explained, looking back towards me. 

“Of me?” I inquired, not offended, but genuinely curious.

 A deprecating smile appeared on Zayn’s lips and he shook his head. “Of hurting you again.” 

Frustrated, I let out a long sigh. “Which you did,” I snapped, my lower lip beginning to tremble. “By not coming tonight!” I concluded with a yelp. 

In two short strides, Zayn had closed the gap between us, his thumb delicately brushing my lip. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Odette.” Zayn choked out, his eyes searching mine. 

I took a laborious breath, a pained smile appearing on my lips. “Then stop running from me.” I whispered. 

“Come on tour with me.” Zayn blurted out, his eyes drilling into mine and his palm against my cheek. 

I blinked at him, certain that I had imagined his words. “With you?” I confirmed, Zayn’s smile growing at my words. 

“If you’ll have me.” He grinned, unable to speak further once I crushed my lips against his. 

Zayn’s lips gently moved against mine, my fingers trailing the familiar longitude of his jaw line. Pulling back for air, Zayn grinned at me, the moonlight refracting off his dark irises. “I’ll see you in a few days then.” Zayn whispered, leaning in to kiss me again. 

“I can’t wait.” I whispered, suddenly realizing that none of this was a dream conjured up by my turmoil, that it was all real. And with that Zayn’s hand slipped from mine, and he disappeared into the night.  

Wrapping my arms around myself, I glanced back up at the moon as it reared its head once again, noting that I had never seen it look quite so majestic before. Smiling to myself, I decided I should head back inside. Turning around to climb back up the patio’s steps, it was just in time to see my bedroom curtains quickly fall back into place.