antidote | h.s.

19 - oh, pretty woman

ashton mackenzie

After an extremely elongated hug, Harry pulls me out of his bedroom. I'm not complaining about the hug, though. 

His whole attitude has completely shifted from when we walked into the room, for obvious reasons. Mine too, though. We're happy now. Looking up. 

His presence behind me pushes me along as we enter the party that definitely isn't game night with just the eight of us anymore. 

The whole loft is filled with complete strangers, and someone has started playing music through the speakers by the big windows on the back wall. It has become a lot louder than I have ever seen the loft be, and I really don't know how to feel about it. I've never been one for parties, but I guess if I were to go to one, I'd want it to be with Harry. 

I feel Harry's hand come to hover over my back and his mouth to my ear, giving me flashbacks of the night I met him, when it was an actual game night, and he helped me find Drew, who had abandoned me completely. 

"Will you stay with me?" he asks, as if I have any intention of leaving his side. I nod embarrassingly quick, feeling his lips turn up into a smile against my ear. His hands move to lightly grasp my hips from behind, effectively heating up all of my skin in the process. He turns me into the kitchen, which is surprisingly empty, as he speaks again, this time further from my ear, but I can still hear him, "I need something to drink, and then we can go socialize," he says, rolling his eyes over having to be a social human being, and if I didn't already like this boy so much, I think that would have solidified it. 

He's so perfect.

I laugh at his over the top exasperation, feeling the exact same way about having to be a friendly, cordial person. 

It's a bit weird that I don't feel that way about Harry. I honestly feel like I could never get enough time with him. I would be completely content just staying in this kitchen with him, away from the party altogether, but I know we should probably go say hi to people. 

He lets go of me once we step close enough to the counter, and he walks around me to take two big strides over to the fridge, his eyes scanning the shelves with a line between his brows and his lips pursed. 

I smile at the side of his face, taking the opportunity to set down my drink and grab another one of the red cups from the stack, sneaking into the same drawer he got the permanent marker from earlier, and going in to write over the bright red canvas. 

I smile to myself at the cheesy drawing to the side of it, pushing away the annoying apprehension that wants to sneak in the way of this. I want to be sweet. I can be all sweet like him. 

He turns around just in time, a bottle of juice in his hands as his eyes fall on mine with the cup and sharpie in them. A smirk forms on his lips as he looks up at my face, my lips rolled into my mouth to hide my guilty smile. 

"What's that, Beautiful?" he questions, stepping closer to me slowly. I can't help but feel like I'm shining when he calls me that, but I have to turn it down so I don't look too pathetic. 

I shrug jokingly at his question, keeping my eyes on him while I blindly put the marker away right as he reaches right in front of me, glancing down at the cup that is the only thing providing any space between us. 

I try to hide the sudden burst of shyness I feel by looking down too, watching his hand come over mine to turn the cup so he can read his name on it, written in my best handwriting with a colored in heart on the end of it. 

This was stupid. I shouldn't have done this. His is just a flower for me and I put a heart, that's so fucking lame of me. 

It feels like I hold my breath while he watches it in silence. I hate silence.