Elise woke up aware that something was wrong.

Amiss, that was a better word. Nothing hurt and she was supremely comfortable and warm, but something was off. It took a moment for her to puzzle it out.

The sun was high through the window, so at first she figured it was that she had slept in so unbelievably late. She'd been up to the wee hours last night. Elise could remember the clock on her iPhone saying 3:30am, lying in was not surprising, but a consequence. Her room was still, only her knee joints cracking when she stretched broke the silence.

The house was quiet too, but Harry had been a quiet housemate for the three days they'd been quarantined. He usually skulked about quietly in the morning to avoid waking her, and when she went down, he set about treating her like a treasured guest instead of the chick he sneezed on. Making her breakfast or doing her coffee immediately, like the world's best waiter.

Oh! That's what felt weird about today! She'd woken up in this stranger's bed in this stranger's house and didn't feel weird about it. There was none of the disorientation and then fear she'd got on the other mornings. The first one, she'd realized it wasn't her bed. Her bedding was an ombré of blues and purple, and while she liked the sheets, thought they were comfortable, she knew it would be hard to go back to them now. Harry's bedding was like the very plush stuff she had encountered when she went to see her one and only concert, by invite, of her friend Daphne. Elise wouldn't name the band. They'd stayed at a high end hotel. She'd been afraid to sit on the couch. She'd adopted an air of whatever by the time they made it to the bedroom, because she didn't want Daphne to notice how impressed she was. The friendship had petered out in high school, but they were buddies for a time. And Elise got used to her lifestyle, but never comfortable. She remembered the comforter in the hotel was down and over stuffed, and the sheets felt like a billion thread count. She doubted a cloud could feel better.

Harry's was better. In his guest room. Imagine what he had on his own bed! No- she wouldn't!

In any case, it was a glaring difference. On day one, or two, she'd need to nail down how to count the days, she realized, the blankets had caused a domino reaction. She'd reached behind her immediately and sighed in relief when she felt no body behind her. But they could have gotten up for the bathroom, maybe that's what had initially woken her.

So the next step in freak out containment was to smooth her hands down her body and confirm she was clothed. One night stands were not her style. It had happened once. Their sheets had not been this nice.

They had not been as nice as Harry in any way.

What would it be like to wake up, do her checks, realize she was in another's bed, and find it to be Harry. She giggled while she skipped down her own mental path. Waking up with Harry Styles, his actual bed, not the guest room one. That would have been a shock in every sense of the word. A pleasant shock, you might even do the walk of no shame from. In any case, this morning was different, but not that different.

Today, it just felt like this is where she woke up now. Her giggle broke the cold air, yeah, this was not a life she'd let herself get used too.

Poor international student and desert rat were still her bylines.

The plush bathroom was also amazing though, and she lingered over the heated floors. Just because she couldn't have them forever didn't mean she shouldn't appreciate them while she could.

It was 11:30 by the time she made it downstairs. In truth, maybe she was stalling.

She didn't want to tell him she disliked his favorite book.

Well, dislike was a strong word. The book was alright, but Harry loved it. Elise felt like he would want her to love it too. They'd found things in common yesterday and it was lovely and thrilling. His face would light up in a way Elise wanted to be the root of, but they didn't have this new thing in common. He made this happy puppy face, full of energy and youth when they hit upon a movie they both spent hours rewatching, or bands they loved, listening to albums on-repeat in adolescent bedrooms. She hated to tell him it didn't expand to Norwegian Wood. She'd even worked on a line to soften the blow.

I like the prose, but not the protagonist. That's what she would say.

Did Harry see himself as the protagonist? Did you have to identify with a main character to love a story? Maybe you did, though she didn't see herself as a swamp girl, like the main in the book she had recommended to him. She did feel like an outsider, she supposed. She suspected everybody did a little.

Did Harry feel ordinary, and torn between melancholy and merry? He seemed bright to her- like a little firefly in the dark, with his bright shiny teeth and crinkly eyes. She'd listened to his first solo album, it had been serious to say the least. Wistful, nostalgic, sad in mood, ultimately hopeful. Maybe that's what he was like inside, and he just wore an upbeat face. Was it a mask?

But Harry was anything but boring. He was extraordinary. She believed that long before she was stuck in a house with him. It had just been confirmed by proximity.

Elise felt like she should listen to his new album right now to get a handle on where he might be at the moment, or closer to the moment. She almost pulled it up of her phone.

Shaking her head, she existed out of Spotify, she'd have to listen to his new album tonight. Elise knew if she stayed up here much longer, her temporary housemate would be at her door. Probably with coffee, just as she liked it, and maybe even toast. Oooh, that sounded delicious, maybe she would wait.

She wouldn't.

Elise took light steps down the stairs, she had it in her head to startle Harry. It was a strange impulse, people always did it to her, and she always jumped a foot. Apparently, everybody always found that hilarious. She didn't. Must be being on the wrong side of it.

She was about to find out.

Except Harry wasn't in the kitchen where she had come to expect him in the mornings. Though there was hot coffee in the French press with her cup next to it. The mug that said more joy. She'd liked the sex one, but it made her blush a little, she avoided it.

He'd noticed her pink cheeks, given her the joy one, and sipped from the other, his green eyes over the rim, dancing at her reaction to every sip. She shook off the memory.

The first sip was hot and everything she loved about the break of day. Rich in smell and possibilities and full or flavor and energy.

Elise drank three more gulps before she set off to scare Harry. She poured carefully and was proud enough to do a tiny happy dance when she didn't spill any.

"Yay! Why are we twirling?"

That time she did jump a foot into the air, and she was glad she wasn't holding the mug to warm her hands like she usually did. It would have shattered on his beautiful floor, and she was sure it cost a million pounds. The floor, though the mug was designer, she knew. A mug couldn't cost a million pounds right?

"Jesus! You scared me!" Elise had a hand to heart, coffee dribbles on it.

"Sorry!" He didn't look contrite in the least. The purse of his lips trying to flatten them into a rubber band. How did he not know better? They didn't flatten, not effectively, ever. His lips weren't juicy persay, but they did seem a little overfilled, like an exuberant cupcake. This morning she noticed they were framed by extravagant scruff, it had been sprouting for a day or so, and honestly she thought it made his face look a little dirty, but today it was filled in, darker, and the frame around the fruited hues of his lips was distracting. As was the beautiful hazard of his curls on his head. All of it was better than the horror of his eyes.

When she was younger, and she'd jumped from Liam as her girlhood crush to him, it had been the green of his eyes. Later, when Taylor sang about them, Elise could totally understand.

She was a little breathless, from the scare, and there was still coffee to clean up. She shifted her eyes and grabbed paper towels.

"Well," he cleared his throat before he spoke. "I feel I owe you breakfast because I gave you a fright. You had a full English yet?"

She hadn't. "Isn't that a lot of trouble though?"

"Well, it takes a bit, I'm thinking we have the time though. And I wouldn't call it trouble, and we both have to eat, yeah?" He said this from the fridge where he was already pulling out the necessary articles. "And it's late enough that we should call it lunch too. You slept in today."

"I did." She nodded.

"Just exhausted, or?" He was slicing tomatoes. She was watching him. He had really long fingers. They curved around the tomato in a way that made her sad. Or curious.

"What?" He was really distracting today. She'd have sworn she was over this crush ages ago. She supposed the real person was different to the images she looked at and created in her mind.

"Why so tired today? Up late?"

Oh, he wanted to know about the book. "Yeah, um, I was finishing Norwegian Wood."

"Did you like it?" He was smiling like he knew the answer.

"Um, I liked the prose." She dissembled, left out the protagonist part to avoid offense.

He frowned over the bacon he was laying in the skillet. Round bacon still threw her off.

"The prose? But not the book?" He guessed.

"It was alright. I didn't really like Toru. He frustrated me."

Harry went to run his hands into his hair, and maybe it was the cooking, which she was thankful for or the new worldwide obsession with hygiene, but he stopped himself. "Oh, I quite like Toru. I think he is like, like most guys. And because you are in his head you kinda get why."

She wanted to tell Harry he was nothing like Toru, way more interesting, and for someone who apparently thought they were indecisive, he was really in charge of his life. That it wasn't a fluke, or luck, not entirely. That it was him. She wanted to tell Harry he was special.

"Did you like my recommendation?" She asked.

He made a funny face. Oh? He didn't. That miffed her a little and she suddenly understood his upset.

"Can I say the opposite? I like the story, and the characters, but not the prose." Oh she'd loved the prose style. The lyrical quality. Way more lush than his pick.

"We must just like different styles." She tried to shrug it off and was totally unclear why she couldn't. "I like my books to almost sound like they are lines lifted from a song."

"Oh, I kinda like minimalism, in songs too." Why did they both seem sad about it.

Breakfast was delicious, and it distracted them for a while.

When Harry was finishing up his last piece of vegan bacon ( he'd broken that to her after she'd praised it), chewing thoughtfully as a beaming smile lit up his face.

"I know- you find a song or album you feel like is exactly what you love, and I will too, and we can share. We may not ever like each other's books, but music, well I like all music." He was grinning and she thought the term firefly wasn't as apt as lightening bug.

"That's a great idea. Let's brainstorm and meet up in an hour." Her literal first thought was 1989, but she would not go there.

Nope.

Two hours later, she had a list of three albums, and trotted down the stairs to find him.

"Alright Styles, show me what you got!"

He looked up from the notebook he was scrawling in and he tried to smile.

"Hey, this is supposed to be fun Harry! It doesn't look like you are having fun."

He went to put the end of the pen in his mouth and moved it down to his chin. "This is harder than I thought. Only three? And I'm trying not to be too predictable."

"Just be honest," she shrugged, and plopped on the carpet next to him with her legs pretzeled, her air pods and her phone.

"I'll do one first. Are we doing the whole albums, or like songs that are great examples?" She asked as she opened her Spotify.

"Whole albums! What else do we have to do?" He quirked the more masculine side of his face and she realized she'd chosen to sit really close to him. It wasn't really necessary with the air pods, but he didn't seem to mind, he was leaning towards her.

"Alright, well let's go. I'll show you mine, then you show me yours, then again. Til we're done."

"Or naked!" He chuckled and she blushed, tried to hide it. He sobered and got back on task. "Can I have some honorable mentions?" He asked.

"Yeah, but those you gotta pick a song!" Elise nodded at her brilliant allowance.

"Deal!" He put out his hand and they shook. Then she placed an air pod in his hand.

"Let's go!" She pulled up the first album she had in mind. "This one is Oh Wonder's self titled."

"Oh, I know them a little."

By the end of it, Harry had scrawled his favorite songs, and downloaded a few.

"Good?" She asked.

"Yeah, they sound great together, and lots of metaphors."

"That's what I like!," she said.

"You'd like Arctic Monkeys, specifically AM." He told her, so she made a note of it. He'd already mentioned he liked them when he was younger. She knew of them, but they must have been much bigger in Britain or something, she'd download something.

And then he played her Astral Weeks, and they wound up laying back on the floor with the cord of his ear buds laying slackly between them. And she got what he meant about minimalism. She usually liked it wordy, got her emotion from lyrics, but she still felt a lot, even without the words.

"Alright, I feel like you are bringing the oldies, Styles. All of mine are this decade."

"Yeah, I thought about that, but I only have one from this decade."

She laughed, "I'll allow it. This one I'll bet you know." She put on Hozier and if she thought sitting so close had been overwhelming, him singing in his lower register, essentially in her ear was wholly distracting. He knew most of the songs.

"I feel like it's not my favorite, but it's clearly amazing!" He said when it was over.

"Well, what's your favorite?" She sat up with him and they were facing each other, their knees were touching and her yoga pants were hot all the way up her thigh.

"This one." He spent a moment looking for his ear phones snake like cord and turned back to her. She was glad when he arranged them side by side before Harry Nilsson started to play.

"Like it?"

"Yeah-!" She butted into him with her shoulder. "He uses some figurative language." She raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose he does."

"But he does that sound thing you like." She mused.

"How do you know I like repeated sounds?" Oh, he looked amused.

"I like your first album." She confessed.

He bit his lip and dimpled and Elise had to turn away. This was normal. He was the only person she'd seen in days, and well he looked like, was, him. She was gonna forgive herself the butterflies. "Um," she picked her phone back up. "Do you want to get a snack? Or keep going. I need some water at least."

He was spooling up his cord and standing. "I got an idea." And he was gone before she could follow him. Elise sat for a moment. Should she follow him? He didn't really invite Her. Did you have to be invited to follow your de facto housemate? She supposed she'd just wait.

But that was an awful decision, because she just sat there and thought about how this quarantine day felt like the best date of her life. Dammit. She was gonna wake up tomorrow sad she wasn't in his bed. She could just tell. She was also probably going to have to touch herself to sleep. She knew exactly what she'd think about. It would be when she turned to her side and watched his mouth form around the deathless death lyric in Take Me To Church.

Elise was actually fanning herself by the time Harry came back in.

"Is it hot in here?" He asked.

"Oh, no, I was just dancing a little." God she was lame.

"Oh! Hold that thought for my last album. And I've brought provisions!" His eyebrows were so high and perfect. She liked his proud face.

He'd brought alcohol. That was exactly what her libido needed. Shit.

"Pick your poison. I have an excellent red, or we can just skip to the party with tequila shots."

"Yeah, no tequila, sun's still out."

"Oh, is this a rule of yours? No tequila until sundown." Why did he look like he found that hilarious?

"Not if you want me to keep my clothes on!" She resisted the urge to slap a hand over her mouth.

"Right!" he crowed. "Tequila it is!"

"No, no, I'll take wine." She pulled his hand down from opening the bottle of amber liquid and started on the darker bottle.

"You are a party pooper!" He laughed.

"Can we plan the tequila party for another day?"

"Oh, we should do that. I have a pool! We can make margaritas and lounge."

"Harry, it's March! In London," she added. Because it was definitely pool weather in Arizona.

"Well, I have a hot tub."

She swallowed and focused on getting the bottle opened. "Are you having what I'm having?"

"Yeah, I guess. But in a couple days, we are opening the other bottle, deal?" He handed her the waters he'd brought in too. She needed to drink that first, and between, and after. To slow her intake down.

"What's with you and hand shakes?" She laughed and handed him his glass instead of taking his dangerous palm.

"I dunno, gotta seal the deal!" He shrugged. "So what's next?"

"Right!" She scrounged to find both earbuds and they cheesed to the beginning notes of 'Red.'

"I already said you love her. Typical! And well, I can't blame you." He mused towards the end.

"Why?" She felt like that would be a slight, but he didn't say it like one. Typical stung just a little. Basic Arizona bitch sounded in her head.

"Just you like lyrics, and she is so clever and relatable, and I'm not an American, or a girl, but I imagine it's more specific to you." He titled his head.

That made her feel better. Was kinder than she'd been to herself. "Yeah, yeah, I've liked her since I was way younger. I saw her at a county fair really early on and fell in love."

"And you like this one better than her newer ones?" He asked. "I haven't gotten around to listening to Lover yet." He had a look that meant he may never. She wondered about that but decided to pull him from his dip in mood.

"Well, actually, 1989 is my favorite, but I thought it would be too weird to listen to that with you."

"Ha!" He burst out laughing at that, and they giggled helplessly, aided by the bottle of wine they'd finished. "Well, I'll thank you for that thoughtfulness. We need another bottle." He started towards the door. "But it's my favorite too!," he threw back over his shoulder as he got just around the door.

"I'll bet." She said to herself.

His last album was a surprise.

"I'm surpirsed it's not Stormzy Everybody here talks about him all the time." She mentioned when they started.

"Nah, though I love him, and his music, he's very clever. But Kendrick is more honest." They danced to the upbeat songs and Harry shocked her when he pulled her close and danced up on her a little. She tried to chalk it up to the wine, but the feeling of his thighs cradling her ass was gonna follow her into her bedroom, into sleep, and maybe forever.

By the end of the second bottle, they'd gotten the munchies and were raiding the fridge.

"Should we do take out?" He asked.

"Nah, let's cook something." And they spent an hour making squash stuffed with quinoa scented with maple syrup. He was a good cook too. Fucker.

"Can we do my honorable mentions now?" He asked after they had popped the third bottle of wine and were sleepy and full and a little wine drunk.

He was on the couch and she was sure her jaw was gonna unhinge when he stayed stretched out and opened his arms like he wanted her to come lay with him.

"Do you want to?" She made some idiotic motion between them.

"Yeah, I sat my headphones down in the kitchen and can't be fucked to go get them. We can just play it out. Come cuddle me."

How could she say no to that. Should she disclose her ear buds were nearby? What didn't he have ear buds? She went to him and laid down. Because the opportunity was too compelling.

They listened to Dark Side of the Moon, well he did and she mostly listened to his heart.

When he put on Otis Redding, well, she already thought she was in trouble. She was hoping he hadn't given her coronavirus, but if he kept acting like this, she was gonna have caught more than a bug, and she was sure it would last more than 14 days, or three weeks, or however long the world was on pause.

Feelings didn't have a pause.

She was trying to figure out if she was too tipsy to get herself off him gracefully, when she realized he was asleep. She looked up at his smooth face, all gorgeous angles and bright spots.

She was infected.

Elise was steady on her feet while escaping up to her room. She was less steady as she revisited her morning musings. Harry wasn't a Toru, he wasn't an Everyman, he wasn't like anybody she'd ever met.

He was lightning in the night.

Elise was surprised she hadn't gotten anxious yet? Normally she would be itching to go, do. She wasn't even missing the parks she had on her list of things to do. She felt content.

It must be that she felt excited most days to go downstairs, to see what she and Harry would get up to on any given day of their quarantine. She had loved dance time tonight, and she'd plug in headphones and share conspiratorial smiles over Harry Nilsson with Harry Styles any day.

There was a part of her that wanted to listen to this with him. Have him explain it to her. She'd liked it the time she had listened. Liked the singles enough to stream and download them.

Elise imagines laying next to him on the couch as the"dun-dunnnunas" started playing in her ears.

She didn't think much at any sensations for the next forty minutes, she let herself drift away on Harry's Fine Line. She had to listen again to answer her earlier question about whether Harry was melancholy or merry.

He was both, she decided.

Maybe he just needed to see that he was a fine line too. And the duality between sad boy and pop star was what made him everybody's favorite fixation.

Elise knew she was a fine line as well, she hoped she ended up alright.