Interlude [h.s]

twenty-two

Alouette sees Evie in the second she gets out of her bedroom in the morning. She puts in the code to lock the door while she waits for her to reach her, wondering what brings her to her metaphorical doorstep so early in the day.

"Lark! Hi," she greets her in the moment she stops next to her, and Alouette glances at her.

She's wearing her usual grey tailleur and her blonde hair is tied up as usual, and nothing in her clothes nor posture shows that she's only been awake for some minutes. People's ability to always look perfect in the palace is slowly starting to scare Alouette. She doesn't think she'll ever be like that— she's sure everyone can see the leftover tiredness from her sleep in her eyes.

"Hey."

"I was hoping I could talk to you about something this morning," Evie says as they walk away from the door, "but I got a message that says Mr. Styles requests your presence in his rooms."

Alouette frowns. "My presence? In his rooms?" He's never even mentioned his rooms with her before— she only got to glimpse inside once by mistake. What could he want from her so early in the morning, in such a peculiar setting too?

"Don't ask me, I'm confused as well," Evie replies. "You should go though, it's already been some minutes and you know he doesn't like to wait. We can talk after."

Alouette gives her a nod and quickens her step. It only takes her some minutes to get there— everyone knows where the president sleeps, it's no secret to anyone in the palace. Discovering the location of this rooms was one of the first things she did when she first got there.

The security door is slightly open, not enough for anyone to properly look inside but enough to let her know she should let herself in right away because she's expected.

Alouette opens the door and stands in the frame, her heartbeat so quick she can hear it in her ears.

The room in front of hers is nothing like hers. It's bigger, the morning sunlight coming in through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and reflecting off every white surface. There's no bed, only a couple of libraries and a minibar. In the middle of the room there's a crystal coffee table, a black leather couch and a couple of armchairs of the same fabric.

Harry is standing at the side of the room, in front of a mirror. The chair she noticed the last time she dared to peek in his rooms is next to him, a black jacket on it. He's wearing his usual black trousers and black boots and fiddling with the top buttons of a white shirt.

A woman she's never seen before is behind him. She's holding a black vest, and at his nod she lifts it up and helps him put it on. Alouette shouldn't be as surprised as she is— his clothes always rest perfectly on him and he's the president, of course he doesn't get dressed alone.

She clears her throat, and Harry glances at her.

"Lark," he calls to her, his voice sounding deeper due to the early hour, "I was hoping I could talk to you. Alone."

The unnamed woman reads between the lines of his sentence and goes out of the door, brushing past Alouette. She takes a step into the room, and hears it close behind her. Now they're alone, and she tenses. Being alone with Harry has never felt quite so personal as it does now, in his room.

He doesn't seem to notice, and continues to button up the vest. It fits him nicely, emphasising his slim waist and strong shoulders. Alouette looks away.

"What do you want to talk to me about?" Her mind rushes to the thousands of things he could want to tell her, each thought more dreadful than the one before. She wonders how likely it'd be for him to know all about her. Would he politely request her presence, if that was the case?