a/n: hey sexies, how are you all?
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"Harry, can you turn that down?" I ask him as sweetly as possible, his music progressively getting louder as he enters the kitchen. I look away from the pot in front of me briefly as I watch him set the wireless speaker down on top of the counter. I laugh and shake my head at the loud Billy Joel blaring from the speaker, looking back down at the pasta that was nearly finished cooking.
I feel a pair of arms wrap around my waist, and I feel Harry's chin rest on top of my shoulder, watching what I was doing. He lets out a sigh and turns his head so now his cheek is pressed against my shoulder, his mouth near the side of my neck.
"Dance with me," he says, his words mumbled as his face was tucked away in the crook of my neck.
I let out a sigh, setting the wooden spoon I was using to stir the pasta down on the counter, turning around to face him. He lifts his head, looking at me hopefully.
"I'm trying to make dinner," I turn him down.
"But it's just pasta." He furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. "Boiling pasta is like watching paint dry."
"I feel like you're trying to sabotage my meal so you'll win." I take a step back, folding my arms.
"I would never." He gasps in shock, holding his hands up in defense.
The Billy Joel song comes to an end and a familiar tune starts up. And just as it does, a light comes over Harry's face, excitement filling every crevice of his face.
"Please," he begs, tugging on my arm, the song still playing quite loudly in the background.
When I chose to ignore him, attempting to turn around, hoping he'd let it go, he does the exact opposite. He grips my hand tighter and pulls me into his chest before wrapping his arms securely around my waist.
"Why do you build me up, buttercup baby?" He sings along loudly, squeezing me tightly.
"Harry," I say in a quiet tone, but I'm not too sure he could hear me over the music.
"Oh come on," he says, moving me away from the stove, pulling me by the arms. "The song is like two minutes long, the pasta will be fine. Just dance with me."
I rolled my eyes, knowing damn well he was right. I give in, holding his hands back, unlike before. A smile crosses Harry's face.
"I need you," he sings, pointing to me, causing me to let out a quick laugh.
"I need you," I sing with the background vocals, pointing back at him.
Harry chuckles and pulls me even closer to him, giving me a tight hug. Then, he takes a hold of my hands yet again before he spins me, leading me around the room for the remainder of the song. Doing all the guiding with his hands, pulling and pushing me around.
We were both laughing, and genuinely enjoying this moment, feeling overwhelming mounds of joy. The song is a short one, came to an end long before I expected. And we danced for half of the next song, but then I remembered the boiling pot on the stove.
Harry was holding me close, looking down at me, our faces only inches apart. I hated to ruin the moment, but I would hate to ruin the pasta even more. It seems to always be my competitive tendencies getting the best of me.
I quickly stood on my tiptoes and gave Harry's lips a quick peck, which seemed to startle him, before releasing my arms from where they were wrapped around his torso. He shoots me a confused look as I turn around to face the stove.
I pick up the wooden spoon and retrieve a single noodle from the pot, thinking they could be close to finished by now. I turn back around, cupping my hand under the spoon to avoid getting any water on the floor.
"Try this for me," I say to Harry, who looks down at the noodle in response. He blows on it to cool it off, then bites it off the spoon. "How is it?"
He chews for a moment, his face showing he was deep in thought. He then nods. "Al dente."
"Great." I smile, turning back around to turn off the burner and move the pot away from the heat.
Harry's music still plays, and I hardly noticed when the song changed to another familiar song. But as it did, my eyes shot wide open.
It sounded like...no, it couldn't be.
"Hey!"
"Harry," I gasp, swiftly turning around to face him. His face turns a light shade of pink. "You have your own music in your playlists?!"
"A few of them." He nods as if it was no big deal. Which it wasn't...I just found it funny.
"That should be illegal," I tell him with now folded arms.
"Why do you say that?" He folds his arms to mimic me, giving me a sassy glare.
"Because that's cheating."
"Cheating how?" His face looks insanely confused. But I honestly didn't expect him to understand what I was saying. I already had an explanation planned in my head.
"Cheating the charts," I say with a smile on my face. Even if he didn't think I was funny, I thought I was. "You know...giving yourself streams. I mean, no wonder your album is doing so well."
"That's not on me sister," Harry says with a frown before quickly reaching over and grabbing my wrist. He pulls me closer to him, using his other hand to grab a hold of my waist as he repositions his hand to grip mine.
He tries to lead me in some sort of slow-moving foxtrot, although our feet didn't move all that much. They only lifted when we would switch the foot we decided to shift our weight onto, swaying side to side. Our dance didn't quite go along with the pace of the music, considering Golden was more of an upbeat song, despite its lyrics.
"You know, I find it kind of funny how we both made Italian dishes," he points out randomly.
"Hmm," I hum, shrugging. "I didn't even realize."
"We're like little Italian chefs," he says, causing me to giggle.
"What's it like in Italy?" I ask out of curiosity. "I've never been."
"Beautiful. But the kind of beautiful that's hard to explain," he says. He lets go of my waist and lifts my hand over my head, signaling that he wanted me to spin. After doing a full 360° turn, Harry's hand replaces itself on my hip, pulling me closer to him than before. Then, in a low voice, he says, "Maybe one day I'll have to take you and show you what I mean."
"Really?" I ask, hope filling my voice.
"Promise." He nods.
* * *
Harry and I sit at the dining table, working on our pasta that I so expertly made. It was close to how good my mother made it, but I of course could never manage to be as good of a cook as her.
"I was thinking about the whole Italy thing and it just dawned on me that I'm going there on tour," Harry speaks up, smiling softly.
"Oh, that's fun!" I say, my voice enthusiastically, although I didn't quite comprehend what exactly he was getting at. "When is it?"
"I have two shows actually...both sometime in May," he explains, before clearing his throat. "And...you know you're always more than welcome to come to see the shows. Either of them. O-or even both, if you wanted to."
My eyes widen. "Really?"
"Yes." He chuckles fondly. "You can come to any of the shows you'd like. You can come to all of them if you really want to."
"You're kidding," I freeze in my seat, staring at him blankly, feeling as though my jaw was sweeping his (already squeaky clean) dining room floor.
"Does this look like the face of a guy who's kidding?" He lifts his right hand to point his index finger at his face, which displayed a dead serious look.
"But you'd really like me to come to your shows?" I ask, still doubting the whole idea. In my defense, it seemed too good to be true.
"I mean, it might make me nervous, but I'd appreciate the support."
"That's so crazy," I whisper under my breath, resting my back against the chair, staring down at my over half-empty plate.
"What is?" Harry asks. I didn't expect him to hear me, so I didn't have an answer prepared right away.
"Well," I sigh, looking up to meet his hard stare. "The last time I saw you in concert was in 2018. And I remember being really close to the b-stage...staring up at you thinking 'Wow, this is as close as I'll ever get to him. I better savor this moment.'" A soft laugh falls from my lips uncontrollably. "But here I am."
"I hate to burst your bubble," he says, causing me to snap my head up to look at him, shooting him a confused glare, "but the last show of mine you went to was the night we met."
"I meant before that." I roll my eyes playfully.
"I know what you meant, I'm just messing with you." He laughs, readjusting the way he sat in his chair. "But you're right, that is crazy. It's crazy how fast life can change. It's almost like, you go to sleep with one life and wake up the next morning with a completely different one. It's almost too hard to keep up with."
"Jess used to say the same thing," I reminisce. "She used to tell me to never get used to what I think is normal because it's always going to change."
"Have you talked to her recently?" He asks.
"Not today," I tell him, looking down and frowning. I felt a little disappointed because I hadn't spoken to her since yesterday. Not so much disappointed that we haven't talked, but that I've been avoiding texting or calling her.
"Maybe you should give her a call after dinner," he suggests. "Do you think she'll be awake?"
"Most likely not." I let out a sigh. "It's nearly 1 AM back home and I'm sure she has work in the morning. I can just text her tomorrow."
"How has she been holding up with you being gone? I remember you saying she doesn't like you being away," he keeps the conversation going.
"Weirdly enough, she's been doing really well," I say, furrowing my eyebrows. "Like it doesn't seem to bother her at all."
"Maybe she's just gotten good at hiding it," he suggests, though I'm sure he was just saying what he could to try to make me feel better.
"Maybe," I agree, my facial expression blank. "It seems like I've been gone a lot, so maybe she's getting used to it."
"Maybe," Harry says, keeping the trend going.
A silence fills the room, and he picks up his glass of water, bringing it up to his lips. But just after doing so, it was very obvious a thought struck his mind.
"Oh!" He says after quickly swallowing his mouthful, setting his cup back down on the table. "This is totally off topic and I hate to change the subject, but I wanted to tell you before I forget," he explains, clearing his throat. "I talked to Harry today, and told him you chose the yellow dress."
I nod in response, mostly to show him I'm listening.
"Well, he said he found a dress close to identical to it, and he thinks it will match my suit perfectly. Even better, he said," Harry explains. "He was wanting me to ask you if it would be okay to switch the dress up a bit."
"I don't mind." I shrug. "I mean, Harry knows a whole lot more about fashion than I do, so I trust him. Whatever he thinks is best."
Harry nods. "I'll let him know." He inhales deeply before letting out a sigh. "Also don't forget we leave for my mum's tomorrow."
"I haven't forgotten." I flash him a genuine smile. "I'm really excited."
Which I am. I'm over the moon excited to be able to "formally" meet Anne. And to stay at her house? A dream come true. A dream I'm fairly certain I had as a teenager.
But you know what they say, sometimes dreams come true.
"I'm very excited as well." A brief silence fills the room once more before Harry perks his head up. "Oh and one more thing," he says, "I think we tied."
"Tied?" I furrow my eyebrows.
"Our dinners," he clarifies. "I think they were equally as good."
"We can't tie," I tell him. "There has to be a winner."
"Well, in that case." He sighs as he stands from his seat, making his way around the table to stand near me. He kneels down onto both of his knees to meet me eye to eye. His stare intimidates me. "We need a tie-breaker."
"What do you have in mind?" I ask, resting my elbow on the arm of the chair, staring back at him.
He stares at me for a moment, staying silent.
Then, he brings a fist up, resting it on the palm of his hand.
"Rock, paper, scissors," he declares.
"Best two out of three," I say, copying his hand position.
And we played.
He picked rock, I picked paper.
He picked scissors, I picked scissors.
He picked scissors, I picked paper.
And for the final round, he picks rock and I pick scissors.
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a/n: chile, anyways so i'm gonna go find pictures of dottie, dusty, maybe, and evie for the next chapterð