Matilda | Harry Styles

FOURTEEN

"I thought I'd have to pull out all of the stops to persuade you."

I turned to glance at Harry as we walked, catching him grinning over at me with that familiar glint in his eye. I pressed my lips together, playfully raising my eyebrows at him.

"What, did you have a speech prepared?"

"Maybe," he countered with equal wit, raking a hand through his hair.

"I could always change my mind," I teased, deliberately slowing my pace to create some distance between us. I was only joking, but I noticed how he slowed his own pace an equal amount to keep in line with me. Whenever I saw Harry walking around, bustling about backstage or hurrying from place to place, he walked with a speed far quicker than my own, whether he was alone, or trailed by Stella, or Ally - he would walk far ahead; something I could likely credit to his long legs, but even before I'd slowed down to poke fun at him, he matched my pace instead of leaving me behind.

"Mm," he hummed, with the roll of his eyes, but the grin on his lips told me he was still humouring me, as he nodded his head towards the bar that we now only stood feet away from to prompt me forward. A little of his confidence appeared to have returned, where it had seemed to be lacking, today. I liked seeing him more relaxed, even he still appeared to have moments of uncertainty - like how he seemed to raise his hand towards my own in trying to coax me to keep walking, before he quickly dropped it back to his side. I ignored the gesture.

He asked me what I wanted to drink, as we approached the bar - empty, and desolate, with it being the middle of the night, now. I decided on wine, which earned a tiny, unexplained smile from Harry, before he ordered it.

"I'll have a tequila, please. Neat," he said, placing his card down on the counter, nonchalantly. I grimaced, as he caught my eye. 

"You're gross," I wrinkled my nose at the idea of drinking a glass of pure tequila. I could handle whiskey, at times, but the idea of sipping on a glass of neat tequila made me shudder.

He sent me a puzzled frown, "Ice dilutes it," he said, as if it were obvious, thinking I was grimacing at the absence of ice, rather than the drink itself.

"I've never known anybody who chooses to drink straight tequila," I said, honestly. Granted, nobody at university could afford to do anything of the sort.

He raised an eyebrow, "If I recall, I poured you more than one tequila shot last week," he pointed out, as he lifted his card to the reader. He glanced at me, as if predicting that I would attempt to interject and prevent him from paying, before merely raising his index finger to his lips in a gentle motion to shush me, before I could argue. 

"That doesn't count," I returned, taking my glass of wine and thanking him for it. "I don't exactly nurse it."

He took a sip, letting his eyes close in a dramatic display. "Mm," he pretended to groan at the taste of the drink, jokingly throwing his head back. "Beautiful," he announced to me, opening his eyes again. He offered the glass to me.

"No," I wrinkled my nose again.

"What?" he laughed, continuing to hold the glass out to me. "Didn't take you for a wimp, Iz."

My lips parted in mock offence, before I snatched the glass from his grip, taking a sip at his request. He watched me, his eyes set on my face in a knowing anticipation, as I brought the glass back down from my lips and held it back out to him. I attempted to keep my face straight, but I couldn't hide the expression of disgust that was aching to cross it.

"Oh, good girl," he goaded, his eyebrows teasingly raised, his chin tilting upwards as his lips twisted into a smirk that would've sent a shudder down my spine if I wasn't attempting to chase the taste of tequila from my mouth with my glass of wine. I pushed him away from me by his shoulder, as he took the glass back from me with a laugh.