DUNKIRK | HARRY STYLES

[Scene Ten]

I smelt like Harry's minty shower gel when I stepped out of the bathroom, redressed in my clubbing outfit and trying to prepare myself for the walk of shame that was to come. All I wanted to do was leave and go back to the hotel, and pretend that the night before had never happened. 

I had vague memories; the tune of Cigarette Daydreams playing through the back of my mind and the feeling of Harry's arms tight around my waist. Wine, whiskey, shots. I regretted it all. 

"You want some breakfast?" Harry called out from downstairs as I shut the door behind me, his voice not far away in the small house. I could hear the sizzling of oil, and the radio playing gently in the background, and for a moment I let myself think of what it could be like. A life as Harry Styles' girlfriend. Waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs, and the sound of Harry softly singing along to a jazz song. 

In reality, it was more likely that I would wake up to a tabloid article about Harry cheating, or simply an empty bed. With that thought held in the front of my mind, I steadied myself and walked down the rickety stairs. 

"I think I'm just going to go." I replied, holding my high heels in one hand, and my thin jacket in the other. I wasn't looking forward to braving the cold winds, especially not in my scanty outfit, but there was nothing to do about it.

"I can lend you some clothes if you like.." Harry said, like he'd read my mind, his eyes looking up and down at my bared body and I immediately shook my head. 

"I'm fine, thank you." My voice was stiff and polite; the air thick with awkwardness. 

"I insist. It's freezing out there."  Just as he said that, a few droplets of rain landed on one of the windows, and within seconds the familiar pitter patter sound echoed through the house as the sky opened up. I reconsidered both my answer and my pride. 

"Okay then." I reluctantly said, and Harry rushed upstairs, but not before handing me the spatula and telling me to flip the bacon. The sizzling sound and the delicious smell had me transported back to simpler times. Mum dancing around the kitchen, cooking up a breakfast on a weekend, pausing for a second to kiss Dad, each looking as happy as the other. My brothers and I tearing apart our food, racing to see who could eat the most slices of bacon. (Ozzy always won). The memory filled me with sadness, my heart aching to go back. 

I was jolted back to reality by my hand accidentally touching the hot pan, and I hissed in pain as it burned my knuckles. By the time Harry came back, holding a pile of clothes, I was running it under cold water and trying not to let the pain show on my face. He saw right through it, and ran over, questioning me on what I'd done.

"I leave you for 2 minutes, and somehow you manage to injure yourself." He teased, taking over control of the stove and nodding towards the clothes. "They'll be something in there to wear, and after you've changed I'll bandage your hand."

I tried to stay angry at him, but as I grabbed the clothes and trod back up the wooden stairs, I couldn't help the warmth that filled me. He was a nice guy. He may not be the most reportedly stable person to have a relationship with, or the most loyal, but I couldn't lie. He was kind, lovely and generous. 

I found a pair of skinny jeans and a flannel shirt that just about fit me, and walked back into the kitchen feeling a lot more comfortable and warm. My hand was still stinging, and the skin was tinged red but the sight of Harry opening a small first aid kit had it feeling better already. He took out the bandages and instructed me to sit at the table.

"Give me your hand." He said and I did as I was told, outstretching it and scolding myself for letting my heart jump in my chest as he slid his fingers around it. The roughness of his large hands around my soft ones, the gentle skim over my knuckles as he held it still and his flushed lips as he ripped the bandage with his teeth. It all had my head spinning.