Malignant [h.s]

Fifty Six

Harry Styles

I rip open all the new mail I've received and read over the same bullshit for each one. Each one of these letters are just discussing deals that I don't want to fucking make. If someone doesn't agree with a deal then it's not a deal; it doesn't mean send me five more fucking letters discussing the deal that is basically identical but just changing a few words.

"Fuck you"
"Fuck this"
"Fuck that"

I say while flipping through each stupid letter. God I much rather be reading a good book right now instead of this shit.

I shoot my head up and realize that there's a loud bass sound coming from somewhere in the apartment. What the hell is that? Is my stereo playing?

I stand up from the chair and walk out of my office into the hallway. The second I leave the office, the music becomes more clearer and louder.

My stereo is playing.

I walk down the hallway, following the noise from the living room. Some rock song is blaring from the speaking in the living room, but no one is in there. I trail my feet down the stairs and towards the kitchen, and of course there she is, standing with her back to me and whisking something in a bowl.

Amelia bops her head to the music while lightly swaying back and forth. My black shirt devours her petite body, letting the material fall to her tanned mid thigh. I'll never get over how amazing she looks in my clothes. The shirts so big on her that I'm not even sure if she's wearing shorts underneath, she probably is- but god I hope she isn't. Her long wavy brown hair cascades down her back, looking effortless but none the less beautiful.

I smirk as she sways to the music, moving her hips ever so slightly but enough to make me weak. I quietly walk over so she doesn't hear me, stepping right up behind her.

My hands grasp her hips and I lean down to nuzzle into her neck, she flinches slightly but relaxed to my touch. I lightly kiss her soft skin while watching her whisk what looks like flour, milk and eggs together.

"What are you making?" I ask while she whisks. She usually hates cooking so I have no idea what sparked in her to actual make something from scratch.

"Cookies." She snickers while I look at the flour spread all over the countertop and the broken eggshells mixed with it. It doesn't really look like cookies if I'm being honest. What ever she's mixing in the bowl looks like pancake mix.

"Interesting." I murmur.

I run my finger in the mounts of flour on the counter and bring it up to wipe across her forehead. She immediately freezes and I can tell that her jaw dropped.

"Don't mess with me Styles." She playfully threatens while using the back of her wrist to wipe it off her forehead.

"Maybe I want to, Adams." I shoot back while grabbing my flour and wiping it on her cheek. Her eyes widen and she immediately grabs a handful of flour and puts it on my hair. I step back away from her in shock, realizing she actually did it.

It feels like a pound of flour is sitting on top of my head. She looks at the flour on l head and laughs hysterically, crouching over.

I take the opportunity and grab on of the unused eggs, cracking it in my hand and dropping it on top of her head, letting it leak down her brunette locks.