Art | Harry Styles

30

His hand is running smoothly over the lower point of her throat, his fingertips tracing over her skin, watching with quiet infatuation as goosebumps arise under the pads of his fingers. Her eyes are on him, as his own eyes follow his tracing of her skin, watching her head sink further into her pillow. Each time he touches her, he finds his fingertips tracing over the left side of her chest, where her heart is, to feel it pumping against his touch.  It acts as reassurance - a gentle reminder that she, too, feels about him the way that he does about her. He makes her heart beat faster; chills run up her spine - and he finds undeniable fascination in that fact - the fact that he has the effect on her she does on him.

"I think I could look at you forever," Sophie murmurs suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence between them. His lips twitch, as he tries to stifle his grin and hide the blush spreading over his face, burying his face in the crook of her neck. A soft, short laugh of content leaves her mouth as he nudges his nose against her jaw in the way she often does to him, brushing his lips over her skin.

Harry's lips trace lightly over her collarbone, his messy curls brushing over her neck, now. He tilts his chin upwards, bringing his lips to her jaw for a moment as her hands move to cup the sides of his face, lifting his head back to meet her eyes.

"Hi, angel," he mumbles with a playful grin, his nose scrunching a little before he drops his lips to her face, peppering kittenish kisses across her skin.

"Stop," she giggles, scrunching her own face up as he lightly asks her, "What? What?" between his kisses, his own laughter slipping through.

His forehead dips down to rest on her shoulder, a lazy smile on his face now as his body remains pressed to hers, her own hands trailing downwards for her fingertips to curl innocently around the hem of his t-shirt.

"Can you feel that?" he murmurs lowly.

"Mm?"

"My heart," he clarifies softly, "can you feel it?" His chest is pressed to her own, and she nods slowly. Undoubtedly, she can feel a soft thumping against his chest, faster than its natural state due to their proximity.

Catching her smile, he tilts his chin upwards to bring her lips back to her neck, only to be interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Harry rolls himself off Sophie a little too quickly, his relaxed state absent for a moment as both of them move to sit up on the bed before the door can fully creak open.

"Not to be a buzzkill," Jackie's folding what looks like a bedsheet in her hands, her eyebrow raising, "but the 'door open with boys in the house' rule still applies. Even in college."

"Doesn't that rule lift after high school?" Sophie raises her own eyebrow, but doesn't argue.

"Not until you're thirty," comes her mother's reply, as she glances at the boy beside her daughter, "it's nothing personal, Harry."

"No offence taken, Ms. Ashford," he responds, bringing his knees to his chest with a small smile as Sophie's hand reaches for his, tangling their fingers together.

"Jackie," she corrects, as she often has to, "are you staying for dinner tonight, Harry?"

"I was actually gonna go and meet with my Mum tonight," he tells her, glancing over at the girl beside him for a second, "thank you, though."

"Well, the offer's open if you change your mind. You know it's always a pleasure having you here," she smiles sincerely, as she makes a point of pushing the door open as far as it can go, "with door open, though."

"Duly noted, ma'am," Harry salutes jokingly as Sophie's mother makes her way back down the hall, and Sophie shuffles backwards, resuming her position of laying down, her head against the pillow.

"So," Sophie begins, as Harry props himself up onto his elbows beside her and diligently eyes her side profile, "big question."

"'Asking me to marry you, darling?" He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"Your birthday," she corrects, grinning widely, "next week. Did you think I forgot?"

"Was hoping you did," he exhales, his fingertips stroking against her hair.

She tilts her head to look at him, "Why?"

"Why not?" he shrugs, "not really a big deal."

"It is a big deal!" she argues, "your day. A day to celebrate you."

"Can't it just be a normal day?" he pouts slightly, "just a day for you and me, maybe."

Sophie shifts onto her side, "Is that what you want?"

"Honestly, yes," he says, almost relieved at her willingness to meet his wishes, "I'd really like if we didn't make a big thing of it."

"Okay, okay," she obliges, "a day for you and me."

"Maybe we could go to Empire State," he suggests, "I've still never been."

"Yeah?" She shifts her position so she's hovering over him, and it's now his turn to lay on his back. "We can do that. It's a good place for you to get photos."

"Speaking of - I was gonna ask if you'd do some photos with me on Saturday," he says, weaving his ring-clad fingers in her hair, "I have some new ideas 'n I really miss taking pictures of your face."

"If that means I can crash at yours after India and Liam's."

"Of course."

"Then of course," she responds, watching as he tilts his chin upwards, puckering his lips for a kiss, grinning happily once he receives it. "You're cute," she can't help but remark.

"Mm?" he hums, snuggling back against the pillow and winding his arms around Sophie, pulling her into his chest, "give me a cuddle."

Sophie definitely isn't objecting, as she nuzzles her head against his chest, the warm, cologne-scented surface a comforting sanctuary for her. Harry always radiates calm, despite his often anxious demeanour.

"You're an angel," he murmurs against her hair, and Sophie has to stifle her grin, as the words sound the very same as they did the first time he'd said them way back last year, in his drunken state.

"I think that's you," she whispers back at him, pressing her lips lightly to his throat, "the prettiest, at that."

"Y'think too much of me," he replies, his fingers running along her back as his cheeks heat at her compliment. He wonders if now's the time to say it - to sum up how he feels with a simple string of words. Perhaps, to blurt it out - get it all over with so that he can remind her at times of dismay, or even in the most playful of situations.

But instead, he presses his lips to hers, allowing their mouths to mould together in an action that is more fulfilling than any sentence of his.