WEAK // (Harry Styles)

5

CHAPTER 5

*three years ago*

HARRY

She keeps looking at the view. I thought she would come back and sit down beside me after a few minutes, but no. Her hands are clenched around the top of the metal fence, as she leans over it, her eyes soaking up the stars.

I get off the bench, the old wood making creaks. The pebbles on the ground churn against my shoes, as I get closer to her. Her hair is blacker than the midnight sky, yet the light from the lamp posts branched along the gravel path reflects in some of the strands, making it look like a fountain of diamonds.

I met her just a few hours ago. I was driven to the wrong bar, and I didn't want to go in at first, but then I saw her. She was walking through the door, and I felt compelled to enter as well. The bar was unusual. The entrance led straight down to a basement, where multiple picnic benches were placed evenly throughout the large room. At the end of it, there was a slightly elevated platform where a live jazz band played. They were playing renditions of old rock songs, and I sat down in a corner to watch with my cap low on my head.

When they played upbeat songs, she appeared suddenly, and she danced. So freely, so unrestricted, like no one was watching her. But everyone was, including me.

It's been a long time since I have been nervous around a girl. When I decided to approach her, I thought I was going to hurl. But I knew that if I didn't try and talk to her, I'd regret it. She didn't talk much. I said hello and all she did was smile back, pulling me into the crowd that was gathering around her. And then we danced until we were both out of breath, proceeding to leave together, not speaking a word to each other other than hello.

I told her my name when we got in a cab, and she told me hers. It's beautiful.

I put my hand on the arch of her back, and she leans back from the fence. She turns to me, her dark eyes gleaming just like her hair. She turns her back to the view, hoisting herself up to sit on the fence. I place my hands on her thighs, and she smirks, her full lips apparent and soft-looking.

"So what do you do exactly?" She asks me, placing her arms around my neck. She laughs at me once I smile, and she places her thumb on my bottom lip, tracing it to the corner of my mouth.

"You don't know what I do?" I ask, my smile wide. Her brows furrow and her lips press upwards in a wonky smile.

"You haven't told me yet, so how would I know? All I know about you is your name," she says, confusing me fourthly.

"I make music," I say, and her brows lift. She nods slowly.

"Really? How's that working out for ya?"

"Good, I guess you could say," I tell her, and slicks back her black hair. It quickly falls back to its position, and I gaze at it. It's like it glows.

Many people pretend not to know who I am to make me feel normal, but... I don't think she is pretending. When my hands travel further down to her hips, I feel a phone in her back pocket. She must not use it to read gossip blogs or anything like that. My eyes are locked into hers, and I feel amazed.

"What do you do?" I ask her back. I move an inch closer, and she leans back. She would fall, but her fingers are intertwined behind my neck. She inhales heavily, the moonlight glowing on her pale skin. Her eyes close, and for a second it turns dead silent, the only sound coming from the crickets deep in the bushes.