Where Your Heart Is (A Harry Styles Fanfiction) #pfcc2k16 #Wattys2016

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Lakehouse.

A fox that gains our trust, but then breaks it as he walks away from us.

*****

March 20th, 2015

He is undeniably restless. And it is the most adorable, yet nerve wrecking thing I have ever endured in my life.

He stirs in his seat every two seconds, and I keep stopping his hands from pulling down the scarf I wrapped around his eyes.

"Come on! We've been on this car for hours, now." He pouts when I smack his thigh for the twentieth time. "And I think I might be suffocating with this thing."

"It's been just an hour and a half Harry." I say, fixing the improvised blindfold, which is starting to slip because of all his touching and moving around. "And your eyes have been covered for twenty minutes. Hang in there."

I knew from the get go that he wasn't going to put up with being blinded the entire ride, so I decided to do it the moment we left the city.

He snorts and I giggle, taking his hand in mine. He seems to relax at the touch, so I tighten my grip to keep him in that mood. For my sake and his.

"Talk to me about something or I'll lose my mind over here." He begs.

"Uhm... Okay. What do you want me to talk about?" I ask him, shifting around in my place so I can see him better.

He turns his head towards me, following my voice like the temporarily blind person that he is. His lips purse into a thin line, and then his front teeth appear when a crooked smile forms in his face.

Even with his gorgeous emerald eyes out of the equation, both his charm and handsomeness are as powerful as they can be.

"Anything... Whatever you want." He tells me, and his voice sounds endearingly impatient. "I know! Why don't you tell me the greatest story about you?"

I frown, forgetting for just a second that he can't actually see me.

"We jumped from anything to the greatest story about me, uh?" I say as my mind begins to search for it. "Well... I suppose it has to be the day I realized I wanted to be a dancer." I add when I quickly find the right story to tell.

"If it ends with you peeing your pants, I guess I'll pass." He teases me, earning him another slap on his leg.

"It doesn't!" I bellow in embarrassment, thankful for the fact that he is completely oblivious to my furious blushing. "But it ends with a broken toe, though."

"Of course."

I tell him about the first dance lesson I've ever took; slowly walking him through that day and giving him every detail of it as if I am watching it in an old home video.

He smiles when I tell him how nervous I was as my mum would help me put my leotard and my dance shoes on; and how I would snivel like the pre-school child that I was about how my head hurt because of the tight bun tied up atop of it.

I describe to him the joy I felt when Miss Clutter congratulate my posture as soon as I managed to set my tiny feet into first position, all the way to the faithful moment where I tripped and twisted my toes so badly that one of them actually snapped.

"But I didn't feel the pain, you know?" I say, when his face contorts into a grimace of horror. "Not in that moment, at least. And even when I started to feel it, I was already too in love with dancing to actually care about that."

"It was love at first injury, then." He says, and chuckles at his witty remark.

"It was. And it's still going strong. Fifteen years, three broken toes and one crushed collarbone later." I count my injured bones whilst pointing at the respective places.