Complicity [h.s]

41

Harry Styles

I didn't give her a time, I didn't give her an exact location. But if our souls are truly tied, serendipity will take its course.

A quarter past 1 am, I sit on a bench along the subway platform, the same station where she usually parks her car. Slouched back, hand in my pockets, hood up. I watch as people come and go, some catch their trains and others run off of them. New York really is the city that never sleeps. But as the night goes on, the crowds die down. No one approaches me—my demeanour and appearance are a little off-putting. A strange man sitting alone with his head down isn't very welcoming.

Until I feel her presence.

I don't know how, but there's an instinct in me that feels like pressure in my chest. It deflates my lungs and clutches my throat but makes my heart swell in excitement all at the same time. How is that possible? Turning my head to the left, my instincts are spot on yet again. There she is; leather coat, black dress, long beautiful legs. Her looks could kill. She walks along the platform, hands buried in her coat pockets. Her heels tap in an echo I can hear over the rest of the room. It's impossible to focus on anything else when she's around.

God, Av...can't you see what you do to me?

Her eyes catch mine through the passing people, a guarded look on her face at the sight of me.

I stay slouched on the bench with my legs jetted out—baggier blue jeans instead of black this time. I smirk to myself and stand up, meeting her across the platform. A slow walk to each other, we meet face to face. My grin doesn't leave, staring down at her as we almost align.

"Angel," I say in greeting.

"Why did you want to meet?" She cuts to the chase.

"One kiss and I'll tell you," I knit my hands behind my back.

She crosses her arms and tilts her head, the train pulling up.

"Worth a shot," I shrug as the doors open. "C'mon."

I nod my head for her to follow, heading on the train. It's not as busy as it usually is, giving us a lot of space to choose from. I politely gesture her into a set of two seats, she rolls her eyes at my grin and sits down next to the window. I sit beside her. The door shuts and we're suddenly off. She crosses her legs, tugging down her dress.

"And where is it we're going, Harry?" She turns her head to me.

"The kiss is still on the table if you want information." I turn my head, smiling down at her glossed lips.

She chuckles with a head shake, eyes narrowing to my neck. Her hand reaches up and pulls at my hood so she can see it better, her eyes catching the bruising hickeys.

"Look at those marks..." She examines them. "I did a number on you."

I slowly smile, remembering a specific moment from a time she's probably distorted. It still lives bottomlessly in my mind—waiting for moments like this to come alive again.

"You did." I whisper.

She lets go of my hood and peels her eyes away.

"What did the others say?"

"Niall hasn't let me live it down, obviously. He thinks it's the funniest shit he's ever seen. I knew that would happen."

"You just love being humiliated, right?"

"Funny." My eyes roam her face. "And Louis won't talk to me."

She nods, looking ahead again and yawns into the back of her hand. She's tired, I sensed it from the beginning. I'm also tired, I've barely slept since our last meetup. I wonder if it's been the same for her. Have we both lost sleep?