THE TAYLORS [H.S]

19.

I didn't know what to make of Harry's proposal. For one thing, he seemed like the last person who would want to sit in my presence willingly, and yet here he was, dragging me up the stairs and onto the roof of his apartment complex. I also didn't know why I followed him up so easily.

Although, I think the view from the roof top terrace was something I think would be painted in my brain for years to come, and maybe it was for that reason, I followed Harry so willingly, without so much of a single protest.

The city lights sparkled, the chaos from the streets below muffled together, raising up to us until it was nothing but a gentle hum. The world looked like nothing more than soft yellows and reds against the dark sky from all the way up here. The twinkling building lights and havoc that was far too out of grasp for me to worry about and it made my heart steady. It seemed it was a lifetime away. I felt a surreal sense of calmness standing at such a great height, away from everything.

I blinked a couple of times, the sudden tightness of my throat and the pinch of my eyes dawning on me. Surely I wasn't crying over a view right now.

Harry stood a few meters to my left, grasping the neck of the whiskey bottle in his hand as he watched me. For a moment, I thought I had gotten away with letting a few tears slip, though a quirk of his eyebrow told me differently.

"You alright?" His voice was unusually soft, far from the sarcastic and rough tone I was so use to getting from him.

I sighed, rubbing my hand over my face in embarrassment from getting caught. "I don't know why I'm crying over a view."

I took another glance at it though, before taking seat on the concrete. There wasn't any chairs up here, so the floor was my only option. The coldness stung my legs, and I winced at the feeling, though didn't say anything. I was afraid if I spoke, it might unleash another set of tears.

Harry silently sat next to me, offering me the bottle without a word. I gratefully took it, taking a long sip and letting the alcohol burn my throat.

"I don't think it's the view you're crying over," Harry spoke. He took the bottle back into his hands, taking a generous chug of it himself.

He didn't hold any judgment in his voice, though it didn't mean I didn't watch his face to see any cracks in his façade. I didn't see any. "I don't cry over anything though."

Harry's eyes met mine, and it tugged at something in my heart when the green in his eyes sparkled, looking at me with something I couldn't quite put my finger on. He had a strange softness to him in that moment, one I wished I could erase from my brain, because made him look more human, more mundane. Far from the uptight and devilishly handsome guard I had first met. Far from someone I wanted to poke at like a stick to a bear without feeling bad about it.

In that moment, with the wind playing with his hair, and the rosiness of his cheeks because of the cold nights breeze, he looked more human than I had ever truly felt in my life. He looked alive.

It was a strange thing to think, because were both alive, we both had a steady heartbeat and blood rushing through our veins, but he just looked like something more. He looked like something poet would write about, all rosy cheeks and a starlit gaze. In a single look from him, my heartbeat stuttered and felt like it went into overdrive.

I hadn't had a moment like this before, where I felt the need to stare at someone so closely, wanting to study their face in order to keep the image of it locked in my brain. He was too pretty, I thought numbly to myself.

He had the type of face someone could get addicted too, I decided. He had lips that would make any girl dream about, and a darkness permanently locked within his aura that made me want to know everything about his past that had carved the darkness into his personality.