Stranded [harry styles] ✓

15

I sit in the sand with my legs crossed and watch Harry jab randomly at the sea water with his spear, flinching each time the water sprays back at him. My heart rate has just about eased after my incident in the water although I'm not sure my pride will ever fully recover.

The fire crackles beside me; another act of kindness from Harry. With our original firewood dried out and plenty more kindling available as a result of the storm - making a fire had been easier this time and Harry had insisted it was necessary anyway in case he caught a fish. A good omen perhaps?

"You feeling better?" He calls over his shoulder before slicing into the water again. He'll be a prune all over if he stays out there for much longer.

"Yes, thank you." I call back and scoot closer to the curling flames. The light has dimmed now so regardless of his prune-status, he won't be able to keep it up much longer anyway. My stomach growls in protest of my thoughts and I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to silence it.

What I'd give right now for a McChicken Sandwich, large fries and a strawberry milkshake. And maybe some cheese bites too. I feel my lips curl into a smile as I wonder what Harry's regular Maccies order is. Or if he even eats McDonalds. He's not one of those raw-organic-clean-eating-only celebrities, right?

There's suddenly a lot of frantic shouting and splashing.

My eyes dart up and focus on Harry who is jumping around in the water, waving his stick in the air like a super-fan at a concert. "What's happened?" I shout, pulling myself to my feet. "What is it?"

Even from here I can see the grin stretch out across his face. "I got one!"

I squint my eyes and spot the twitching object impaled on the end of his spear. I almost can't quite believe it but he has genuinely gone and caught one.

Harry Styles has caught a fish with a stick and a stone.

I clasp my hands together against my chest as he bounds towards me; legs leaping out the water as if he's been stung by a jellyfish. Yesterday I might have thrown my arms around him in a celebratory hug but today I'm not quite sure what to do.

He reaches me, still beaming and wiggles his winnings in front of my face. The fish is stationary now and hangs limp and slimy on the spike.

Yuck.

"I can't believe it! Seriously, well done, Harry." I tell him although can't help help scrunching my nose up as he continues to reanimate it like some sort of puppet.

"I do recall," he says in a smug tone. "That you thought this idea was highly amusing and near enough impossible."

My face flushes immediately.

"I did." I admit. "But here you are having proved me wrong."

I smile up at him and he smiles back, the dimples in his cheeks popping. I'm relieved at this exchange between us; it's effortless. Easy. But suddenly it's like the atmosphere has shifted into something awkward and uncomfortable and we quickly look away from one another, embarrassed.

Harry swallows. "So, who wants do the honours?"

My eyebrows mash together, confused. Honours of what?

Sensing my confusion, Harry waves the stick around again. "We need to gut this before we eat it."

My heart plummets to my stomach at the grotesque thought of spooning out the insides of the fish and I grimace, knowing that it's only fair I take one for the team given that Harry put in all the effort to catch it. I stretch out my left hand and reluctantly curl my fingers around the stick.