Illicit [Harry Styles]

Chapter 23

"This do?" Harry asked me, holding up a pair of dark blue sweatpants and a plain white tshirt that he'd found in the dresser in Louis' spare room.

"I'm not sure how I feel about wearing Louis' clothes..." I admitted, kind of wishing I'd just taken Harry's shirt because that'd be slightly less weird.

"He won't care, he obviously doesn't wear them or they'd be in his room, wouldn't they?"

I suppose he's right. I took the clothes from him with a sigh and went into the bathroom. When I changed into them, I was surprised to find they actually weren't too big on me - I guess Louis is kind of small, because when I wore Harry's shirt it was practically a dress. I washed my face with the cloth Harry had given me and luckily I had a hair tie on my wrist that I could use to keep my hair from matting together overnight.

When I re-entered the room Harry was lying in the bed staring emotionlessly at his phone with the duvet hardly covering his left side; confirming to me that he was indeed only wearing a pair of black boxer shorts. I attempted to keep cool and not look like my eyes were crazily darting all over his exposed body as I rounded the bed to the left side to get in. Deja vu struck me once again as I climbed under the covers beside Harry again.

He switched off his phone and placed it on the nightstand beside him whilst I switched off the lamp and we were swallowed by darkness, my eyes feeling wide as I stared at the ceiling waiting for them to adjust to the lack of light. After a while of just blackness and silence, Harry's quiet and coarse voice became apparent, "Did you know someone who got... hit? By a drunk driver?"

I gulped, hoping it wasn't audible. I didn't want him thinking the only reason I didn't want him or Louis driving was because of a family member's experience, because I knew that whether or not that had happened to my mum, I would still have the same opinion. Unlike him, apparently, I knew right from wrong.

"No."

"You're lying," he stated, "You know I can tell when you lie."

"Actually I'm not lying. I didn't know them."

"Who did? Your parents?" I let my eyes search the darkness to my left and I could just about make out Harry lying on his side facing me with his arms crossed atop the covers. He seemed to be speaking tenderly, and watching me carefully.

"My mum. Her best friend - they were about your age."

He stayed quiet and the whites of his eyes were practically glowing the way a white shirt does under a blacklight. As he inhaled, he muttered a lifeless, "I'm sorry."

"You're... sorry?" I repeated, taken aback, rolling over so that I was lying on my side facing him as well, he held a thoughtful yet still rather blank expression as he stared at me. Since when was Harry Styles sorry? And what was he sorry for?

"Yeah, he simply replied.

"For what, exactly?"

"I uhh... dunno," he gulped and his gaze shot away from mine and around the room, like he felt embarrassed for expressing any kind of feeling.

"You're sorry, but you don't know what you're sorry for?"

"Jess," he cautioned, his face twisting into an unexpected scowl. I guess feelings are a touchy subject for Harry, and I suspected I'd ruined whatever sympathy he'd been expressing by pushing him too far. He obviously didn't want to talk about it any further because he changed the subject, confidently asking, "So where's Mr Perfect on this fine evening?"

It was two in the morning, hardly evening, but I let that one slide. I quirked an eyebrow in confusion but I doubt he could see. "Who's Mr Perfect?"