Matilda | Harry Styles

TWENTY-THREE

I woke up in Harry's bed.

I hadn't expected to, or planned to - it had gotten to a point last night where we'd been talking so long that I couldn't really contemplate getting up and dragging myself back to my own room. I wasn't sure what time it was when he'd unwrapped his arms from around me and pulled himself up to get changed, offering some clothes for me to borrow. It hadn't felt like we needed to sleep yet - we'd talked for hours, and it felt like we could've talked for hours more. But we'd been wearing the same thing since before dinner, and they admittedly weren't the most comfortable to be laying there in.

He'd given me a t-shirt, from his suitcase, and a pair of black sweatpants that I'd gladly accepted, and had a strong feeling I would not be giving back. I pulled them on, instantly far more comfortable than I had been, having to bunch Harry's sweatpants around my ankles and roll the waistband with how ridiculously tall he was. He'd watched, amused, as he'd unbuttoned his own shirt and replaced it with a t-shirt similar to the one he'd given me. There was a funny thrill in watching him undress - not even for the sake of sleeping with him, or in a drunken haze; but to see him undress for something as simple as changing his clothes,

I didn't remember actually falling asleep, or if it was even a conscious decision. I'd just woken up, feeling warmer than usual, with the sensation of touch on me. I could feel his arm, immediately, thrown over my waist, and I slowly drew my head back to realise my face had been buried against his chest. My senses began to adjust, and I could smell the familiar remnants of Harry's cologne, and my stomach twisted momentarily.

I hadn't meant to spend the night. Sure, I hadn't gone out of my way to prevent it - but this wasn't something I'd ever really done. I'd shared a bed with Calvin less than a handful of times in our long relationship, and I'd hated it - the forced intimacy, the weird, overwhelming expectation to intertwine every limb with one another's even if you didn't typically do so. Even when Harry and I had been together before, I'd never woken up beside him - one of us had slipped away, each time, to prevent that very thing from happening. And my instinct now, was to panic - this was real, this was intimate - to wake up in the arms of somebody, to share that particular silence with them; the sun streaming through the curtains, the sound of birds and traffic starting to pick up outside. Being able to hear the sound of him breathing, gently, subconsciously - peacefully, was something I hadn't so much as considered the feeling of - this feeling, I couldn't even pinpoint it. Although my heart's instinct had been to drop, and worry, and fear the vulnerability of it all - when I drew back, barely a couple of centimetres from his face, still in his arms; the panic somehow alleviated.

I was so close to his face that I could see every detail. His lips, so barely parted to blow gentle breaths from them, his eyelashes brushing over the heights of his cheeks; his face free of those knowing smirks he'd so often send my way, or the little glint in his eye when he'd make a witty comment, or await a response from me in conversation. The performance, the grandeur - it was all gone.

I couldn't help but bring my hand to trace over the line of his jaw - my touch barely there, and not really intending to wake him, but the slight shift of his arm over my waist told me that I had. His grip tightened on me for less than a second, before he loosened it again, his eyes flickering in the slightest. They didn't even really open, but I kept my hand upon the side of his face, watching a small smile ghost over his lips without any other real movement from him. His arm then wound further around me to pull me back toward him, closing the very short distance between us.

If there was a peak, this felt like it could be it. I laughed as his body gently collided with my own, his arms tightening around me as I nudged my nose against his jaw, unable to stop myself from pressing my lips to his skin, there. His eyes still didn't open, but the smile on his face seemed to only grow as I kissed him, across the line of his jaw; his chin; the corner of his mouth, a funny satisfaction overtaking me at his reaction.