Flicker 》Harry Styles x Kennedy Walsh {COMPLETED}

20: One Time In Middle School

Day 3, part 1!

Thoughts on Harry partnering with Dream? It's like him being Kennedy's ASMR, but in real life! OMG.

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"Right, would it be okay then if I returned on the day? Or is that a bit of a stretch?"

My eyelids flutter at the sound of a hushed male voice. Judging by the pauses in the conversation, it seems to be a phone call. Who the heck would be in a phone call this early in the morning?

"Yup," then a chuckle, "no, it's not like that . . . yes, Jeff, I am being careful . . . have you dealt with it?"

I groan, half-tempted to hurl a pillow. When I peek, I see a figure at the end of my bed, facing away from me—Harry, his phone to his ear as his free hand smooths and crumples the blanket beside him absentmindedly.

When he hears me, he abruptly turns, eyes wide and apologetic. "Sorry," he mouths, then with his normal speaking voice, he says, "I gotta go. I'll keep in touch." Then he drops the call.

Harry smiles softly at me. The sunlight bursts through the windows behind him, giving him a glow that outlines his body. With a deep breath, I take a moment to commit the beautiful image to my memory. Wisps of his brown hair turn golden, his skin magnificent under the rays and some of the light bounces in his eyes, giving them lighter, almost unreal shades and flecks.

A rush of fondness starts spreading in my chest. He's an angel.

"Morning," he greets. I answer with an awkward wave, to which he responds by raising his brows in amusement. "Cat got your tongue?" He asks, smirking, right at the moment Salem jumps into bed and snuggles with me.

I cover my mouth. "My breath stinks."

The smirk on his face only grows larger as he props his elbows on the bed, leaning closer to me. "Really? Hm. Tell me, do you usually eat cereal for breakfast or do you eat anything you see?"

I frown at him, knowing exactly what it is that he is trying to do. I hum no at him, picking Salem off of my chest and onto the pillow as I stand to head into the bathroom. She snuggles into Harry's side, rubbing her head on the blanket. I stare at both of them, gobsmacked, as Harry scratches behind her ears instinctively. What, he's a cat whisperer now?

"Sorry for waking you up, I didn't mean to be loud."

When I'm sure I'm in a safe distance from him, I say, "Don't worry about it." He stares at me for a moment before sniffing, repeatedly. "What are you doing?" I ask him, bewildered by his behavior, which only prompts him to sniff more. Harry then crinkles his nose, and that's when I get it. I snatch a pillow and hurl it towards him. He dodges it, laughing with me.

"I'm joking," he grins, "you smell great. You look beautiful too."

I turn and busy myself with slipping my flip flops on before he gets the chance to see my face turn into a tomato. "If beautiful for you means getting run over by a truck then I will gladly accept that compliment."

"No," his chuckle fills the air, "beautiful for me means the entirety of you."

I don't answer, my heart constricting and floating at the same time, the compliment hurting and lifting me up simultaneously. Here's one thing about me people don't know about—I may sound cocky and confident sometimes, but I don't know how to fucking receive a compliment when actually given one. And hearing it from Harry, someone who has seen and met thousands of women—models, even—I can't even begin to describe it. Knowing too, that whatever this is would be fleeting builds thicker walls to better guard myself with.