DIFFERENT [hs] |Complete|

Fourteen

A knock on the door sounded whilst I was drying my hair with a towel after inconveniently rushing out of the shower to get my clothes on. I hurried to the door, adjusting my t-shirt which slightly clung onto my hardly wet skin muttering a "just a second" as I unlocked the door to reveal a very tired looking Harry. 

"Hey," my voice etched with surprise since the last time we acquainted ended with me laughing in his face and slamming the door. Why he stood in front of me bewildered me, but did not stop me from inviting him in. 

"I don't mean to drop by unexpectedly, I just needed someone to talk to. And I need to clear up a few things," he explains plopping down on the sofa with a sigh. "I need to apologise about the other day, I was out of line and said things I should not have," his soft gaze met mine. "I'm sorry, for saying what I said. I didn't mean all of it, you know the offensive things and the threat—"

"So it was a threat," I tried to hide the smirk but immensely failed, which he happened to pick up on since his back straightened and his brow raised. 

"It was an... accidental threat?" 

We both laughed lightly, the tense mood decreasing already.  "I don't apologise much, but when I do it's pretty sincere. So will you accept it?" He licked his lips whilst waiting for my response. 

Eventually after teasing Harry about how the last time he asked for forgiveness he told me to "accept it or shove it up my arse", I did. He seemed happy after my acceptance, which seemed to ease the tiredness etched on his face. 

My hair was still sopped with water, to which I decided to braid it so it wouldn't get my shirt as wet as it already was. We talked for another half hour until the my stomach emitting the loudest grumble which caused Harry to laugh and me wanting to punch my stomach for causing such embarrassment. 

"Hungry?" He mocked with his arms crossed.

"Apparently so. How about you?"

"I could eat," he shrugged nonchalantly at the glare I was sending him. 

I heated up what I prepared for lunch, which Niall came over and ate more than three helpings. He mentioned he hadn't had a good homemade meal in months, or since the last time he visited his mother.

"What'd you make?" Harry asked, pulling a stool from the kitchen counter and making himself comfortable.

"Carbonara pasta," I replied. 

His expression was dim with a faint smile. The look of awe crossed his eyes, which was then I realised the dark circles which now protruded when he looked down. His smile was forced and lacked emotion, I wanted to ask what was wrong but he already beat me to it.

"When I was nine my mum and I made a deal that every Friday night we would make spaghetti or pasta, and I would help her set the ingredients and seasoning at the end. It became a traditional thing, every Friday she would make something different. It was the most fun I looked forward to, when the school day finished I'd finish my homework as quickly as I could then help her with setting up. Then one day it just... stopped," his eyes were wide and avoided my gaze. He barely ever mentioned his mother, and when he did it obviously meant something to him. 

"What happened to her?" I dared to ask, halting my actions and setting the bowls on the island. 

"She was murdered when I was eleven."

He heard my sharp inhale because once I gasped he looked up and shrugged. I shut my eyes and shook my head, just thinking of a younger than adolescent child whom had a strong connection with their mother who suddenly dies hurts a little inside. I never met my mother, even though I am familiar with her memory I still hadn't personally known her so it wasn't as painful as it was.