Ambition || Harry Styles

*36*

Harry is uncharacteristically quiet after waking up from his extended slumber, contemplation still weighing heavily on his mind as he smokes endless amounts of cigarettes on my balcony and never lets me get too far away. 

I've never seen him this clingy, mumbling sentiments of appreciation and apology. His hands are always on me as if he thinks keeping me close will distract him momentarily from whatever it is he is dealing with. I allow him to find solace in my presence for as long as he needs, happy to help take whatever I can of this burden off of his shoulders. 

"I've fucked up, Lex, there are no winners in this," he tells me as he hugs me close, his chin on the top of my head and both of us standing outside as he takes a long drag from his smoke.

"How can I help?" I ask into his chest for the millionth time.

"You can't, love," he says again and again.

"You know you have to tell me, eventually."

He chews the inside of his mouth and is barely audible when he murmurs, "Eventually, you'll find out, Lex."

"It won't change anything," we continue to talk in riddles, neither of us brave enough to say what we really mean.

Comfortable silence engulfs us, he is pensive and despite the black cloud that hangs overhead, we are surprisingly at ease with one another. Our hands rub comfort into each other in small circles, his on my lower back, mine over his chest, his thumbs on my cheeks, my lips pressing softly over his heart.

There is something between us, something more intense than friendship and my mind is clouded by ambiguous kisses and the logical part of my brain assuring the dreamer in me that he wouldn't be here if he didn't care.

"You keep pushing me away," I say gently, the soft cotton of his t-shirt pressed to my cheek. "This is all so confusing, Harry, I just... want to know if I'm reading this wrong."

"Reading what wrong?" he questions.

"Us," I dare.

My chin tilts up and I squint into the sun to look at him. Sincerity rolls of him, mixing with some form of misplaced guilt as he takes a couple of slow breaths and makes a quiet confession.

"What you're feeling," he licks his lips before kissing my forehead and speaking into my hairline, "Lexi, I feel it too."

My heart is in my throat but panic takes over as he pulls away suddenly.

He doesn't allow me to respond, mentioning something in a ramble about collecting clean clothes from his car. When he returns with a fresh t-shirt and jeans in his hands I wonder if he has been sleeping in there or just prepared for the worse?

I debate trying to discuss further the mutual feelings he just admitted to, but the moment feels like it has passed and the last thing I want to do is push Harry further away from me at a time he clearly needs, and wants, to be here.

I manage to convince him to practise yoga for an hour, knowing it will help clear his mind and anything would be healthier than sitting here and dwelling on something that seems out of his control.

He, of course, teases that he isn't going to let me just sit here watching the free show and pouts until I agreed to join him, which I do begrudgingly and give a half-arsed effort which seems to lift his mood more effectively than the actual yoga.

I didn't go to work or clean like I usually do on a Saturday but I don't care, I feel pathetic but there is nothing I would rather be doing than sitting here with Harry, even if it is under horrible circumstances that I know nothing about.