Flicker 》Harry Styles x Kennedy Walsh {COMPLETED}

35: You Weren't Supposed To Know

Italics = flashbacks

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It's kind of alarming how one person could affect my emotions so much.

I had called Harry up on a whim that afternoon with the intention of getting closure—a semblance of it, at least—and so I was uncharacteristically needy, demanding and not to mention, a bit angry too.

After said phone call is a marginally different Kennedy. I'm giddy, excited and charged with something else I cannot explain.

"That's why you sounded so surprised?"

"Yes," Harry confirms after sniffling. "I was really about to press dial, virtually get on my knees and beg for forgiveness...the whole shebang."

"Pardon? You lost me at getting on the knees."

"Jesus, Kennedy."

We both snicker right after an exasperated sigh from him. I smile to myself, elated that we somehow had regained the air of ease between us, my heart becoming warm.

Despite the bad blood erased between Harry and I, uncertainty still hasn't let go of its grasp on me.

Yes, he did come back—kept true to his promise that the number of times he leaves won't be more than the number of times he comes home, but until when? How many days or hours do I have before he runs again?

Am I being a paranoid?

He'd already messed up twice. Who's to say he won't do it a third time? And a small part of me knows I can't hold him against it since he literally didn't promise not to hurt me. It was the shittiest deal of them all, but I wanted him to know that a non-promise doesn't equal a free pass.

Jesus Christ. What is it about red flags that make them so irresistible?

"Come on, make me breakfast."

Brandon's annoying voice wakes me up from my daydream. He's in my apartment, yet again, despite having moved to a place only a few minutes away. It seems he's found a knack for being as clingy as he could ever since everyone had moved out.

Although strangely endearing at times, it doesn't feel as much when he arrives as early as six thirty in the morning and starts demanding to be made breakfast.

"You're such a dick."

"For asking you for food?" He gets up from the couch. "What if Youtube doesn't work for me and I go homeless? Will you still withhold from me?"

His voice drips with teasing and playfulness.

"You just bought an apartment—"

I don't finish, breaking into a snort. Yeah, right. Like he would ever flop. Dude literally just moved out, and his subscribers is on an upward slope. That, aside from the fact that he puts more thought and effort into his videos than any other Youtuber in his field.

"So...breakfast?" He asks, brows up.

I roll my eyes.

Moving around in my kitchen, I find the ingredients needed to make him a quick one. If I were a complete dickhead, I would pour milk and cereal into a bowl and be done about it. But seeing as I'm a very, very, very nice sister, I obliged.

Halfway through finishing the toast (and bragging about it on Instagram), and him rewatching his video on my TV, he speaks again.

"Is it okay if I ask Cory to come over?"