𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋! | harry styles

𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈

"WHAT are you doing here?"

Harry lifts his gaze to meet mine, his familiar green eyes a strange sight in this place full of strange sights. "I couldn't wait until tomorrow," he says.

I adjust the top of my dress, covering up as much as I can even though there's little left to cover. I'm not sure yet how I feel about him seeing me like this. It's like the two worlds I've tried so hard to keep apart colliding right before my eyes.

"When did you get in?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

Looking away, Harry shrugs. "Few hours ago."

We're quiet for a beat, the pulse of the music thumping around us. Harry cracks his knuckles, his gaze fixed on the ground at my feet like he's too scared to look right at me. Seeing him like this makes me want to blurt out everything that's happened in the past two days. I can feel it all sitting there waiting to come out, pressing on my chest like a weight.

He's dressed in jeans and a black tee, the neckline so soft and stretched that the antlers of the stag on his collarbones peek out of the top. The piece that covers his exposed throat shifts as he swallows, and the urge to press my lips to it is almost overwhelming. It's then that I realize that finally, after days of wishing him closer—he's here, sitting right in front of me, looking at me like I'm the sun after a day's rain.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Harry sighs, looking tired to the bone.

Stepping toward him, I look around furtively, knowing that Nick has no idea who Harry is, but feeling uneasy nonetheless. This close my whole body feels like it's reaching for him, for the comfort of his arms. "You shouldn't be here. Nick—"

"Doesn't know shit."

Glancing at the bottle that dangles from his long fingers, I wonder how much he's had to drink. It's not like Harry to swear in front of me. Not that I mind; I'm not offended by it—just the opposite in fact. He's a mess of lazy, slow gazes, and I think maybe I like him like this: open, soft, pliable.

"You're right. Maybe I shouldn't be here," he says, sitting straighter in his chair. He scrubs a hand over his eyes, pinching them roughly. "I'm kinda drunk."

He shifts like he's about to stand, and even before I know what I'm doing my hand is pressed firmly against his shoulder.

"Sit."

Green eyes look up at me from beneath dark brows, and I watch as that glazed look of his mixes with curiosity and maybe even a little lust.

"You know…"

I can feel is his eyes on me as I reach for his beer bottle. He passes it to me, watching as I take a mouthful. I don't want a drink, but I have to do something with my hands before I use them to pull him in for a kiss.

I step in a little closer. "If you wanted a dance all you had to do was ask."

Harry tips his head to one side a little, and his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. His focus is intense but his smile is crooked. It's the look that makes me melt, and one that he wears so well.

He leans back into his seat, and for a moment I'm afraid I've crossed a line. That he doesn't want me like this. Covered by a disguise, hidden behind Rose's bravado and bravery.

Tainted.

He brushes the back of his finger against his lips for a moment, holding my gaze. "I'm asking now."

"Ask me nicely," I whisper, still channelling bravery I don't normally have. I don't know where it comes from—certainly not from the mouthful of beer.