Note To Self (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter Eighty Seven.

The air was cool and the home was silent while Harry laid in bed early morning, windows open to allow the crisp air and the scent of grammy's flower garden in through the screens. He'd spent the night curled up in the guest room that had previously been known as his father's bedroom as a teen. The world was tinged a shade of blue, sun just barely beginning to shine in the sky, and the sound of birds had just begun. He couldn't sleep. Mind too busy, back too achy, and still so lonely.

He'd cocooned himself in the blankets to keep the chilly morning time air off his skin, but he wished so badly he had body heat to share with someone else. Aubry, really. He remembered her fingers prodding at his ribs early in the April mornings, and July first he laid staring out the window across an endless sea of greenery and mountaintops hidden through misty morning dew and he wished for her cold feet to wedge under his thighs one more time.

A sigh washed across the ruffled floral pillowcase and he turned his face into the fabric to block out the cheerful incoming light. He wondered if she was awake yet, likely perched on the rooftop outside her bedroom windows blowing smoke into the summertime air, just as lonely as he was. Or, she had found solace within her own company and no longer cared for his. Harry's fist clenched onto the bedsheets when he thought about it. The nightmares he'd thought up in his head hadn't left him since the moment they'd entered his mind, but, she was awake and he was sure of it. Absolutely positive.

His feet touched the cold floor when he swung his legs out of bed and adjusted the waistband of his pants. Steps were silent across the floor, and the door was pushed open slowly. As slow as possible, as quiet as can be, before he emerged out into the hallway. Careful feet padded passed grammy and papa's room, his footsteps masked by the sound of papa's snoring, but the squealing staircase caused him to halt. He froze in place, eyes staring down the entirety of the stairs, and he glanced back to his grandparent's door. Silence, except for snoring.

His foot was slowly placed down on the next step, the old farmhouse betraying him with another squeal. The next step was done quickly, and he froze again to listen for the sounds of papa sleeping. He never woke, and if grammy could sleep through his snores, she could sleep through anything. He descended the remaining stairs as quickly and quietly as he could.

Harry stood with his feet planted in fluffy carpet and overlooked the living room, washed in blue light streaming in through the glass doors that lead into the yard. They'd always scared him as a child, especially at night because nothing was more overactive than a little boy's imagination and he'd always feared looking out and seeing something horrifying. He moved on, keeping himself as silent as he possibly could while he trekked through the room.

Falling to settle on the carpet, his back was turned toward the sunlight shining on his bare skin, and he reached up to the table beside the couch. He kept his hand steady while he lifted the phone off the hook, coiled wire tapping against the wooden surface, and he perched himself to his knees to see the numbers on the keypad. His fingers instantly knew the exact ones to dial, the only phone number he knew by heart besides his own. The only number he'd spent months sending text messages to because he wasn't allowed to save the digits to his phone with heart emojis as the contact name.

His bottom settled on his heels, and he stayed hidden behind the cover of the couch when he pressed the phone to his hear and it began to ring. It rang for too long, convincing him she wouldn't pick up, until he heard shuffling from the other line and her voice. Her sweet morning voice, muffled and sleepy, but so nice. "Hello?"

A smile instantly stretched across his face. "Hey."

"Who's this?"

"Me," he breathed, and seconds passed in silence before he spoke again. "Harry."