The Weeks Between • HS

Week 8 • Nola *

This morning, I wake up to the undeniable sensation of an evening spent falling apart; a throbbing temple, puffy parched eyes and a raging headache. I expected all of that this morning. What I didn't expect from my evening of falling apart was waking up in the arms of Harry Styles.

It is clear that I am the first one awake. His body is relaxed in a way that only sleep can accomplish. There is no tension in the arm that he has draped over my side holding us together. I wish I was able to watch him sleep, but he is wrapped around me from behind and moving from this position would definitely wake him.

It takes everything inside me to stay still and just take in the subtle nuances of waking up with next to someone for the first time. I feel him breathing steady and unhurried breaths against my back. His chest rising and falling against the fabric of my tank top causes it to shift slightly. The pull of the shirt over my nipples only makes the fact that I need to pump more obnoxious. It also turns me on a little, but not nearly as much as his growing erection against my backside.

My body is trying to talk my brain in to making a move, but I don't know where I want that move to go. I mean, I do know where I want it to go, but I've never been that girl. Could I be that girl? Eventually my brain gives in and I grind my lower half into him, desperate for some relief from the situation unfolding underneath the thin little layers of fabric separating our bodies. The action causes a moan to release, waking him.

He inhales, and instinctively tightens his grip around me, thrusting up against me as he stretches his body awake. Yup. He is fucking rock hard. I return his actions with my own and add, "I wish I was the kind of girl that could just roll over and fuck you." Make me that girl. Make me that girl. Turn me over and make me that girl.

But he doesn't. "Nola, I don't even know what to say to that." Me either, H.

I roll my body over to face him, disconnecting from our comfortable embrace. One of his hands finds its way between us and he adjusts himself with a tiny, barely audible, moan followed by him biting is goddamn lower lip. It is clear he is still attempting to wake up and can't speak, so I do. "How 'bout we just start with good morning."

"Good morning," he says, returning his hand to my hip and pulling us closer together as he watches me intently, like he is trying to figure out how broken I still am this morning. "Are you still good with the fact that I stayed here with you last night?"

We are clearly both overthinking all of this, but I am not sure that he is overthinking the same things that I am right now. Right now my brain is screaming 'HARRY STYLES IS IN YOUR BED' repeatedly, while my body, specifically my needy bitch of a vagina, is screaming, 'AND WHY AREN'T WE HAVING SEX?' I think he asked me if I am good that he stayed, but I can't process that right now. Luckily, my brain checks back in and takes over, giving a somewhat normal answer. "Yes, Harry. I am good with everything from last night. Except maybe the fact that you found me mid-breakdown in the shower."

"Let's not talk about that right now," he replies, much to my surprise. I am so thankful for that. I don't know how to process all the firsts I had with Harry last night with him still in my bed. First kiss since Luke. First person in my bed since Luke. First time I didn't think about Luke when someones hands were on my body.

I curl into Harry and settle into a comfortable position, resting my head just under his chin as I trace over his butterfly tattoo with my fingertips. "Harry?"

"Mhm?" he deep morning voice vibrates against my head. I've been wondering something that I am somewhat embarrassed to ask. I know that we kissed last night, but I am not sure if it was an actual kiss or if he just felt required to reciprocate my spur-of-the-moment peck.