I. L'instant [H.S]

VI

"You're welcome." he says sourly, snatching the bag from my hand.

I turn around, completely mad by now. "What are you doing?"

"A favour." he bites. "You should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" I snort, wrapping my arms over my chest. "For what? She just wanted money, she probably broke the fucking thing herself! You just gave her what she wanted!"

Harry's lips raise faintly, "She wasn't going to leave until you gave her the money."

"I don't care." I try to get the bag but he swings it away. "She could've set camp outside my bloody house for all I care."

I turn around to unlock the door, deciding whether to just let him keep the bag or engage in yet another argument outside of my place when all I want to do it's take a pill and sleep on my rage.

"Do you always have to win?" his voice is fill with humour and if I wasn't so fed up by everything I'd maybe laugh. Maybe.

"It's not about winning." I whisper though I doubt he can hear me.

Once the door it's unlocked, I decide that letting him out it's the best option. "Of course it is. I know you, Lia."

"Don't call me that." I snap before actually thinking.

When I turn back around to meet him, he's frowning. "What?"

His voice is flat and all trace of amusement is gone, replaced by a hard low tone and drawn in brows over green dark eyes. I know that stare, I've seen it before but I am not about to go on and give him an explanation because quite honestly he doesn't even deserve it. If he's mad, good. Perhaps feeling as angry as I did a few days ago will make him see just how shitty it is, to be left alone with nothing but confusion at other's actions with no explanation whatsoever.

I try to take the bag one more time, but he swings it away. "Tell me." he pushes.

"Harry, just quit it." I look at the bag, the bottle of Tylenol won't help me now. "What are you doing here?"

I can feel his eyes on me, staring deeply into my face but I won't look at him, if I do I know I will end up either explaining how hurt I truly feel or telling him how much of a lying asshole he is, and I am too tired to do neither. So I focus on his hand, gripping the bag too hard, the veins popping and running up to his arm, the many tattoos inking his tanned skin until the red short sleeve of his shirt covers it up.

"You're wrong." he says, making me frown and look up to him. "You need to stop being so damn stubborn and lemme explain."

I sigh. "I don't want to know."

"Yes, you do." he says matter of fact, taking a step closer.

I'm still getting used to him having such short hair, the messy few waves on top of his head fall over his forehead, his free hand pushing them back, allowing me to notice even more rings on his fingers, one of them is a squared bright ruby, matching his shirt. He smells nice, like he always does, the fresh musky scent of his cologne engulfing me the moment he's in front of me. I press my back to the door, looking away but failing to avoid his eyes for long.

"Please," he says, more softly this time. "Lemme explain."

Sighing, I nod. "Alright. Just.. give me the bag."

His eyes shine and soon his lips twitch, he's clearly trying not to smile. "Why? So I don't see your pads?"

Rolling my eyes to the back of my head, I turn on my heel and open the door. Harry's heavy footsteps echo through the small hallway as he follows closely behind, the clicking of the door being closed and the idea of having Harry here, after so much time starts to sink into my brain. It's been such a long time, the last night he ever was here I wasn't living with Joe, I had barely met him, if that.