Legendary // H.S

29.

'I'm just trying to get you out the friend zone

Cause you look even better than those photos'

*

It's still light out, the afternoon sun not beginning to set yet. There's a pink hue across the sky, though, indicating the end of the day nearing soon. Around us the surroundings blur into one, the car speeding past the allowed limit on the roads. Everything has melded into a distortion of green and grey, trees lining the motorway as we approach the city once more. No music plays, just an angered silence settling in over the roaring of the engine while we weave in and out of traffic.

It feels uncomfortably hot, but the car is locked on his side so the windows can't open to let some air in. I reach forward to turn the air con on, but the scathing glare I receive is enough to stop my movements. I'm not sure where we're going, whether it's to mine or his, but there's clearly much to be said.

I turn to Harry, inspecting his face in the quiet. His eyes seem dark, squinting slightly as he pays attention to the roads. His nostrils are still flared, breathing accelerated and almost matching the speed of the car. With every bump the vehicle goes over, his curls bounce, stray hairs sitting across his forehead and threatening to poke his eyes. I notice his jaw is no longer clenched, but it's hard, like he's biting his tongue. Harry is frustrated. Annoyed because I managed to get my way and defy his wishes. Something I know will come back to bite me once we exit the car.

We're nearer to the main city, now, sitting in traffic in one of the outer boroughs. There's a row of cars behind us, while a man sat on a motorcycle revs his engine next to us. It's busy tonight, the streets are lined with people, taking in the last fragments of the sun before it goes to sleep for the night. The light is taking painfully long to change. Every second that passes only makes the atmosphere more awkward.

I wet my lip, preparing to end the quiet between us. Now would be the best time to talk, there's no threat of crashing when the tension wears too thin. 'I was promised control of my life, that is all I'm asking,' I whisper, hoping he can hear me over the motorcycle that's preparing to set off as soon as the light decides to change. Traffic lights in London take much longer to switch between the settings, though. There's more traffic and pedestrians to regulate.

I hear him sigh next to me, watching as his fingers flex on the steering wheel. 'Not now, Atlas,' he warns, keeping his gaze on the road.

I turn slightly in my seat, the seatbelt restricting my movement. If it wasn't for the thin strap across my chest I would have been thrown out of the car with the haste he insisted on driving at. 'No, I want to talk about this now,' I continue. My eyes land on his lips as he bites on them, pulling at the flecks of dry skin littering them. 'When you make decisions for me I feel suffocated, Harry. More than I usually do.'

The light ahead turns green, his foot slamming on the accelerator. The car juts forward at the transition, the seat belt tugging against my neck. His knuckles are white with the strong clutch he maintains on the wheel. 'Do you know what's suffocating? Knowing that I am the reason you may die, Atlas,' he spits out, letting his eyes fall on me for a split second before focusing back on the road. 'That I promised you freedom and instead have brought you more restrictions.'

I keep my gaze ahead of me too, scared to face him and see the pain on his face that I can hear in his shaky voice. I've always known that he blames himself for this mess but knowing how much it weighs on him concerns me. 'You can't keep blaming yourself for that,' I interject, head falling to look at my hands in my lap.

We stop at another set of traffic lights, Harry now turning his head to face me. 'Why not? It's true. You'd be a fool not to.'

It's a fine line we find ourselves on. If I hadn't been brought into this operation, I would have never been approached by Hugo. Those men wouldn't have stormed my work and tried to find me. I wouldn't have the imprints of that man's hand on my neck as a constant reminder of how easily my life almost slipped away.