Scrabble | Harry Styles

12

"I'm happy for you, honestly."

I looked up from my lap, my red plastic cup clutched between my fingers. I raised an eyebrow in Vic's direction, my lips parting.

It was a random comment, of sorts. I'd say so, considering our previous exchange from moments before had been on the topic of the Maths quiz due to take place on Friday during second period. I met her eye.

"What?" she laughed, "don't look at me like that. You've got that relationship glow."

I shook my head, stifling my smile by raising my cup to my lips. I took a sip of my drink, sending her another glance. "I'm not in a relationship."

"Well, you might as well be," she argued, her tone still light. "It's okay - one of us would get into something proper sooner or later.  I was just hoping it'd be me," she teased.

"Does this mean you're done hating him?" I asked, rather boldly considering I was still quite possibly on thin ice, in her eyes. But I needed things levelled out, and I needed her to find a middle ground. Though Harry had only been a part of my life for a matter of weeks, I already knew that I'd hate it if he did anything other than stick around. Just the idea brought an odd feeling to the pit of my stomach.

Her brows furrowed defensively, "I don't hate him-" I caught her eyes travelling upwards to the space above my head.

"Who?" A low rasp sounded from behind me, and I craned my neck for my eyes to land on Harry's frame behind me. The soft embers of the roaring bonfire casted an warm orange tint over his face, his green eyes lit up by the reflection of the light. His soft pink lips are parted slightly, forming a faint smirk as his eyes shifted to meet my own. "Hello, you."

"Nobody," Vic answered his former question before I had a chance to greet him in return, and he raised his eyebrows, as if he knew better. He glanced at me again, slipping into the vacant chair beside me, choosing not to reply to Vic. Her eyes shifted between Harry and I for a moment, and she stood up. "I'm gonna go find Zayn."

"Oh." I didn't object, but felt slightly defeated once more. I wasn't sure what she wanted me to do - all I wanted was for her to stop being so narrow-minded, and for her to simply act on her words; for her sake, as much as mine. It left me feeling a weird sort of torn, but as she took off in the other direction, I didn't say anything else.

"She doesn't like me," Harry remarked nonchalantly, eyes landing on my lip trembling against the cold air whipping against the skin the fire had yet to warm. I watched him slip his arms out of his coat and remove a dark grey hoodie he wore underneath it. His shirt rode up a little, revealing a slither of his tanned abdomen and causing my breath to hitch in my throat. He didn't seem to notice, offering the hoodie out to me. I was reluctant to take it, as I was worried he'd be cold without it, but he didn't seem to mind as he laid it in my lap, and slipped his coat back on.

"She does like you," I argued, furrowing my eyebrows at him. I caught the twist of his lips as I murmured a 'thank you', setting my cup down beside me and slipping my arms into his sweatshirt and tugging it over my head, inhaling the sweet smell of Harry's cologne and suddenly feeling a strong desire for him to engulf me in a hug so I could feel myself absorbed into his warmth. 

"It's okay," he shrugged, his voice gentle. "As long as you like me." He seemed to be asking for confirmation, but I somehow couldn't detect an ounce of insecurity in his voice. I was falling in love with the way the fire was illuminating his skin, and the way his it only emphasised the nature of his deep green irises, daring me to respond. He was always daring me - playing with the thoughts inside my mind and dragging them through my lips to the beat of his drum, for his personal satisfaction. I was oblivious.

"I do," I told him honestly, my lip falling between my teeth. I'd yet to say that out loud - or, to him, at least. I quickly brought my cup to my lips, shielding my unsure expression, a tinge of disbelief at my own words. Harry caught my actions, sending me a boyish grin.

"Oh? That explains a lot."

I frowned, "Like?" I asked, curiously.

"We kiss a lot. You also can't keep your hands off me."

"That's only half true," I countered, eyes flickering between him and my now-empty cup.

"You're right," he replied, the corner of his lip arching upwards in the slightest, before they shifted to form a pout of sorts. "I just wish it fully was."

My cheeks heated, and I was thankful for the cast of the fire over my face hiding such a change of colour. I noticed his chair shifting closer to my own, and a soft flutter of butterflies making themselves known in the pit of my stomach.

"I missed you this afternoon," he said, his voice quieter due to our proximity, as if he needed me, and only me, to hear the words that left his lips. He hadn't picked me up from school - instead, I'd gotten the bus back to my house, accompanied by Vic. As promised, she was going to be staying the night at mine, which meant no ride from Harry, and no phone calls from him before I went to sleep. It would be a Harry-free night, which quite simply, wasn't going to plan, as I felt his hand intertwine in my own.

I didn't feel guilty. And looking back on it, I'm not sure how I could have. That was it - with Harry, he was just so captivating, that it was impossible to feel anything other than what he allowed you to; because that was his power. He'd cast a spell, and I was hopelessly devoted.

The heat of Harry's hand basically engulfed my own, his large palm closing over mine and causing my eyes to flicker between his eyes, and the black cross etched in tattoo ink just below his thumb. 

"You're warm," I murmured subconsciously, eyes connecting with his, and watching his defined features soften a little at my words.

"You're hot," he whispered, his breath fanning over my parted lips as he inched closer, curling his finger under my chin and guiding my mouth to meet his own. I melted into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut as I was completely enveloped in him; the hold of his sweatshirt on my body, the touch of his hand, and the feel of his lips against my own, pulling me further, and further under.