Know: A Harry Styles Fan Fiction

"How are you, sweetheart?" my mom asks when I call her back after my shift at the theater.

"I'm great, mom. How are things at home? How's dad?" I ask.

A young mother and toddler board the subway and I scoot over to give them room.

"He's doing fine, everything is fine. We just miss you terribly," she says.

"I know. I miss you too. Did you get the package I sent you?" I ask.

"Yes we did. It's hanging in the living room right now."

I sent them a painting of the night sky done by a UADL graduate. I won it at my school's annual art festival a few weeks ago. I knew it was the sort of thing my parents would like, with them being astronomy lovers, and it gives them a piece of where I am.

"Is there anything you need from us? Maybe a little money? I know you don't want it but we promise we don't mind, dear," she says.

"No, I'm doing okay on my own," I insist.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

There's a short pause and I can tell she's thinking of other things she can offer to send me.

"Hey, my stop's coming soon," I say. "I'll talk to you later, mom."

"Okay, be safe. Love you."

"Love you too."

Click

To tell the truth, I have another four stops to go but reception is terrible on the subway and talking to her always makes me homesick. On top of that, I can't stand her concern with my finances. Sure, I scrape gum to get by but who doesn't have to scrape gum at some point in their lives? It'll all be worth it when I score my dream job. With that in mind, I flip open my sketchbook and scan my surroundings for design inspiration.

When I get to my building, I discover that the elevator is still broken so it takes me an extra few minutes to drag myself to the fifth floor of my apartment. Inside, my roommate and best friend in London is strewn across the couch, stuffing herself with Chinese takeout.

"You hungry?" she mumbles around a mouthful of noodles.

"No thanks, Effy. I don't have time to eat," I holler at her from the hallway, stripping off my work clothes as I walk.

"But I bought you some," she hollers back.

"I'll eat it later!" I yell from my room.

"It won't be as good later!" she yells back.

I return to the front room as soon as I finish changing.

"I'm sorry, I really can't stay," I reply, grabbing my school bag from the kitchen counter.

"That was fast," she comments as she scans me.

"Yeah, and I still might be late to class if I keep arguing with you," I say as I slip my shoes on.

"Let me take you then," she offers.

Unlike me, Effy has a car in England because she was born and raised here. Her folks live in the next town over. She only moved out because she couldn't stand her stepmom anymore.

"Are you sure?" I ask, my growling stomach hoping she is.

"Yeah. I need to go to the salon in that direction anyway."

I drop my bag on the adjacent couch and take a seat beside her.

"Thanks, Effy."

She hands me a takeout box. As soon as I pop open the container, steam rises and the sweet scent of orange chicken fills my senses.

"Of course. Now eat."

She doesn't have to tell me twice.

After we polish off our dinner, Effy and I hop downstairs to the parking garage. She unlocks her chalk white Corsa and we whiz through some light traffic.

"How was work at the cinema?" she asks.

"You know, same old, same old," I vaguely reply, trying not to remember the soda puddle incident.

"Boss still a prick?"

"Yep."

"You know, I can always pitch in more for rent and things if you'd like. My dad's got loads of money that he'll always give me if I beg."

"No, please don't do that."

"But then you wouldn't have to work for that tosser anymore and it'll buy you time to find a job elsewhere."

"I've tried that, remember? Nowhere else is hiring."

She sighs and we're both dismayed that I'm right. But as unglamorous as it is, theater janitor is the only job I've held onto for this long since I began job hunting in London and I'm not going to let it go that easily. If I quit, I'd have to ask my parents to send money or fly back home to Connecticut, neither of which is an option in my eyes.

"Maybe I can try working with you," I joke.

Effy is a bartender (or barmaid as they call her) at a night club called Drinks & Chicks and she's perfect for it. She's extremely friendly, outgoing, a bit wild, at times and looks like a goddess without the slightest help of makeup. She's also the youngest bartender there, having just turned nineteen last August, so the guys adore her. In fact, she usually brings home at least one of them a week. None of them last through the next morning, though.

On the other hand, you have me. I'm calm, quiet, and prefer messing around on photoshop than in the bedroom. I'm your everyday introvert, the polar opposite of my roommate Effy. Yet somehow, we balance each other out, like yin and yang.

I expect her to burst out laughing but she sits there for a moment, quiet in thought.

"Effy..." I begin. "Don't tell me you're thinking what I think you're thinking."

"That could be good for you..."

"No," I bluntly state before she can finish.

We stop at a light and she turns to me, pouting. "But Jules---"

"Absolutely not."

"Tell me you'll at least think about it," she says, facing forward when we start moving again.

"Yeah, okay. I'll think about it."

I won't, but Effy won't let it go until she hears what she wants.

We pass by a stone slab with University of Art and Design London engraved on it, lit up on the hill of a small lawn. After a few tall shrubs, the large building appears, standing against the deep red-orange evening sky with authority.

Notes