𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒! | harry styles

𝐈𝐗

I have a very restless night.

Tossing and turning, I can't help but think over everything Harry and I talked about. The conversation plagues my mind, as well as images of Dr. Ellis leaning in close to whisper in his ear. I never meant to garner such an attachment to Harry, but his persistence has left little room for much else.

What is this attachment? Just a fascination? An attraction to his charm and good looks? Would giving up this time for myself be worth it in the end, when the excitement of experiencing something new has faded away?

It's frustrating. I shouldn't be feeling this way. I should be strong-willed and free-spirited, not bitter and loathing some woman I've never even met. Hell, she may actually be nice... Wait, what the hell am I saying? She's a surgeon. Surgeons are like the goddamn antichrist of the medical field. Every successful surgery is like another pump of air in their gigantic, inflated heads. Of course she isn't nice.

At least this is what I tell myself. Being a surgeon is already a big enough draw for a man like Harry. Throw in the fact that his father likes her and she's nice and well...I may be screwed. Figuratively, of course. I haven't gotten any good action in an alarmingly long time. It only took about three years before Ethan and I turned into the perfect brother/sister couple. He was more like a cockblocking roommate than a lover.

This lack of literal screwing may be a big source of my frustrations. But now I'm cockblocking myself, which really makes no sense. I just figure if I did sleep with Harry, I'd probably want to do it again and again. I'd probably become even more attached, and seeing as how I already think about him constantly, it would only be a matter of seconds before I get sucked into the deep vortex of another relationship.

I really only come to one solid conclusion during my sleepless night, and it's that I don't want to want Harry. And that's a big problem, seeing as how everything he does makes me want him a thousand times more.

What little sleep I do get doesn't really feel like sleep at all. I'm teetering on consciousness, never able to fully let go of my worries. I wake a little after seven and find myself creeping out of my bedroom, wondering if he'll still be on the couch.

He is. The blanket still covers him, one leg draped over the edge. His right arm is slung across his eyes to block the incoming light from the window. He's got stubble forming on his jaw, and I can see the darker shade against his light skin from several feet away.

I hesitate near the hallway a moment, wondering if I should just go back to my bedroom and give him more time to sleep. It's still early, and if I start rummaging around in the kitchen, I may wake him.

But I'm drawn to him. I step closer, until I'm only a foot or so away. I could easily reach down and touch him. And I want to.

Oh, how I want to.

Suddenly, Harry springs out of his supposed sleep coma and lunges, grabbing at my shirt. It scares the ever-loving shit out of me and I scream, a loud, petrified sound, and try to get away, but it's no use – with my shirt in his hand, he pulls me closer until he can reach my flailing arm and pulls me down on top of him.

He locks both arms around my body in a tight grip, refusing to let me move. My heart thunders like a jack hammer against my chest, a sporadic rhythm that pounds in my ears. And I may have peed just a little.

"What the hell was that?" I wheeze, breathless from fright. I wiggle to try and smack his chest, but my arm is bound. "You scared the hell out of me!"

Harry just chuckles calmly, the vibrations soothing against my flushed body.

"How did you know I was standing there?" I go on, aghast.

"I heard you breathing. You sounded a little asthmatic over there," is his cool reply.