The minute Harry Styles attempted to flutter his eyes open, I instantly plastered my ice-cold hands onto them and screamed, "Don't open your eyes!"

"Alright, alright." He shot his arms up as if in defeat.

"Out of this room, Harry," Mrs. Styles ordered, seeming to be at the end of her patience.

"I'm going," Harry said, persisting to keep his eyes shut. He bumped his head against the wall once and proceeded out of the room. In the hallways, we could hear another soft bang and a muttered, "ow."

I would have laughed if the atmosphere wasn't as heavy as right now. Cold, grim, and uneasy.

"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Styles," I said, searching the tan-skinned woman's face for any sign of forgiveness. There was none.

"It's alright." However, the way she had pursed her lips stated otherwise. "Get into the bath before the water runs cold."

I clambered to the tub of sweltering water, squeezing my eyes shut, clamping my teeth onto my lower lip. Mrs. Styles had pulled the shower curtain close and told me that there were spare clothes near the sink.

I stayed in the pool of toasty bath until I felt my fingers and toes wiggle back to life and my skin regain its natural warmth. I quickly changed into Harry's clothes, the so-called spare ones.

Stepping foot onto the Styles' living room, I sensed trouble. My eyes roved around and found my mom settled on a chair. Opposite her stood Mrs. Styles, arms crossed, frown painted on her lips.

Then, my mom spoke—not to me, but to Mrs. Styles. "Yes, that was very disrespectful of them, wasn't it?"

Harry entered the room, and we shared a look that clearly said, "Oh, shit."

"Teenagers." Mrs. Styles shook her head sideways and made clicking sounds with her tongue. "So disgraceful."

Then, for the first time in ages, my dearest mother acknowledged my presence and said, "Let's go home now, Arabelle"—she faced Mrs. Styles— "we're very sorry for the intrusion, Anne."

Mrs. Styles (Anne) said, "It's alright"—she meant it this time— "goodbye now. Also, Arabelle?"

"... yes?" I squeaked.

"Don't let Harry dirty your mind," Mrs. Styles said, adding a wink similar to that of her son.

I snorted in response.



My mom was once again close-mouthed, appearing to be thoughtful. I nibbled on my lip and said, "Mom, if you're still mad about the mashed potato—"

Cutting me off with a big bear hug, she squealed, "Oh, you did it, finally!"

I gave her a look and replied slowly, "I don't quite follow you, mother."

Momma dearest's eyes had a glassy look because of the tears threatening to slide down.

"You just proved to me that you do have hormones and that you just might be married in the future. I really thought you..."

I closed my ears as she gabbled on, and I sharply cut her off. "Mom, we don't like each other that way."

My mom's face was hope-deflated. Then she snapped, "Mashed potatoes for dinner, young lady."

"But I—"

"With gravy," mom said, voice dripping with annoyance.

Looking at her in horror, I cried, "Oh, no. Not with gravy!" I felt the world spiraling down to doom.

Notes

I don't own One Direction. Anyway, this was just a filler.