The Guest [harry styles]

3

Before we get started, I just want to say hello! And welcome back! I think this was probably my longest break between updates for any of my stories, so I've actually sort of got that first-day-back-at-school feeling. Huge apologies for disappearing for a while. You may have seen from my profile announcements that I've bought my first house and am in the middle of all the legal stuff for that. For those of you who don't live here—the house buying process in the UK is SUCH A FAFF. You are always WAITING for someone or something and if one minor detail is delayed...so is everything else. I thought I'd be moving in this week just gone, but now it's looking more like mid November #AdultingSucks. I also had a bit of writer's block, but didn't want to stop writing completely so have been working on a little non-Harry project on the side. It's called The Will To Live and it's on my profile if you'd like to give it a read! But, until next time, enjoy!

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From one end of the table, I try desperately not to make eye contact with Harry. I'd woken about an hour before him and rather than do something productive like jump in the shower or get dressed, I'd opted to hover in the doorway of my bedroom and listen out for any sign of life coming from inside his own. The last thing I'd expected at 8am on a Saturday morning, was for the door to be thrown open, only to reveal him; shirtless with all his ink proudly on display, donning merely a pair of skin tight Calvins and clutching a carton of soya milk.

"Morning" he'd said, as if we'd lived together our whole lives, "coffee?".

And instead of playing the part of a good host, and offering to do it myself, I'd nodded and watched him disappear down the stairs⁠—without even sparing a second thought over how he would no doubt rearrange my entire kitchen in the search for the Nescafe Gold.

Flustered was an understatement.

As predicted, having another person around the house wasn't comfortable for me. I'd spun on my heel; retreated back into my own room and immediately put on the nearest bra I could get my hands on. Harry might only be here to lie low for work, but that didn't mean I was comfortable with him seeing my breasts resting on my stomach.

He was three bowls of cornflakes and half a cup of coffee in by the time I'd appeared in the communal dining room. He'd looked awfully lonely sat up at the giant oak table all by himself, and for a brief moment I'd wondered if that's how I looked, every single day.

"Sorry for raiding your cupboards." He says sheepishly, and nudges the Kellogg's box with his elbow. I look up from picking at the crusts of my toast and shake my head as the box wobbles precariously at the edge of the table.

"It's fine, Harry."

He clears his throat—rings gleaming on every finger as his hand moves to cover his mouth. "And obviously I hope you don't think I was being rude by bringing my own milk. Just didn't want to put you out, you know?"

Again, I shake my head. "It's fine, honestly."

After all, it was the spray on Calvin's that had shaken me up - not the Alpro carton. 

It's been an awfully long time since I've been witness to man striding about in his underwear. Tom goes through phases of staying over, but more often than not it's been an Ann Summers satin robe that he's donned to breakfast—and the fact that he pulls them off better than I ever could has always been enough to deter my appetite.

I've all but shredded the remains of my breakfast into breadcrumbs by the time Harry speaks again. "You're quiet, aren't you?" One side of his mouth pulls up into a smile that makes me feel like I'm being patronised, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Tom said you were shy."