the cool side of the pillow {styles au}

fifteen

Cleo's POV:

My eyes slowly open to reveal Harry's dimly lit room, and the first thing I register is that it's too cold. I roll over and reach my arm out in hopes of finding his warm body, but am met with an empty bed instead. I groan and bury myself deeper within the covers as I let my mind wake up. I stretch my limbs out and simultaneously make baby dinosaur noises, quietly chuckling at my childish behavior. When I feel fully awake from head to toe, I crawl out from beneath the blanket and expose myself to the cold air.

I grab Harry's sweatpants that are lying on the floor and slip them on, drawing the strings as tight as they'll go in order to keep them from falling. Matched with his oversized t-shirt, I look a hot mess, but I can't be bothered to care. My hair is beyond frizzy, so I throw it up in a ponytail and embrace the mess. I quietly make my way downstairs, just in case Harry's parents are asleep - if they're even home. When I step into the kitchen, my eyes land on a nearly naked Harry, wearing only boxers and socks.

I tiptoe up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, kissing his left shoulder blade, "Morning."

Harry spins around and beams down at me, "Good morning."

"What're you making?" I peer behind him, seeing an empty pan and random ingredients scattered along the counter.

"I'm making you that breakfast I owe you from a few weeks back."

It takes me a minute to figure out what he means, "I can't believe you remember that. But you don't really owe me; you made a bomb ass grilled cheese."

"Well, I still want to make you breakfast."

I raise my hands up, palms forward, "No arguments from me. Go right ahead, Chef Styles."

Harry laughs, "Pancakes?"

I nod, "Pancakes."

I hop up onto the counter next to the stove to watch Harry cook. He asks if I want to help and I agree, but I don't end up being too useful. He knows his way around the kitchen, and I definitely don't mind him making me breakfast. Or any meal for that matter. Just as he finishes, I glance up at the clock above the dining room table and notice it's 11:17.

"Shit!" I exclaim, hopping off the counter and sprinting upstairs.

I quickly discard Harry's clothes and scurry around his room in search of my own. I have my bra on and my shirt halfway over my head when Harry screeches to a halt in the doorway. He comes up behind me and pulls my shirt down in the back, even though I'm sure he's confused as shit.

"I have to go," I groan, shimmying into my jeans. "My dad is probably going to check my room soon to see if I'm dead, and when I'm not there... Well, you can guess how freaked out he'll be."

"Just text him and say you're getting breakfast with me."

I turn and realize how obvious and simple the solution is, and how silly I was to freak out like that. I laugh lightly at my own stupidity, dropping my shoes back onto the floor. Harry closes the space between us and, without a word, starts stripping my clothes back off of me. I giggle slightly, but make no attempt to stop him. His hands trace slowly up my sides before coming to a stop on each side of my neck. His smile is alluring as he leans in and presses his lips to mine; a gentle kiss that doesn't last nearly long enough.

I pull away to help Harry out of his boxers and as soon as they're around his ankles, he yanks my face back to his. Our lips collide harshly, hot puffs of air escaping here and there as each of us gasp for air. Harry's large hands push against my hips while keeping our mouths attached, backing me into the nearest wall. He kisses and sucks along my neck, surely leaving fresh marks, while I tangle my hands in his hair. He lifts my right leg and I wrap it around his waist automatically, needing to be closer to him. He pushes inside of me, one of his hands gripping my ass while he steadies himself against the wall with the other.