<Coach Styles>

Fifteen-

Pic is view outside my sisters bathroom in ATL☺️

Neely's POV:

I woke up,slightly cold, and tried to get out of his bed as gracefully as possible. Hearing voices from down the hall, the light in the office was on and I could hear Harry and Louis talking.

"Okay. I know it's hard not to think about her, but you've finally kissed someone after three years of torturing yourself. How many women have thrown themselves at you that you refused?" Louis asked and I immediately felt self conscious.

"A lot," Harry replied and I didn't feel so giggly anymore.

"Your heart is finally beginning to open back up, Harry. Don't slam it shut on Neely. It's gonna take time," Louis said comfortingly. "But great things always do and I believe what you and Neely could have could be great."

"Harry?" I called, opening the door. They both turned to look at me and I smiled.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, looking worried.

"I'm cold," I smirked,hoping he'd come back to his bed with me and ravish my bones. Okay, just kidding, but it really was cold without him.

"C'mere," Harry encouraged opening his arms and I felt like a little girl again, sitting with my dad in his chair and having him tell me stories. I sat against Harry's lap, angling myself to comfortably hang onto him and at the same time not crush him with all of my weight.

"You're warm," I giggled, leaning into his chest and my eyes closed. Taking a deep breath, his scent hit me continuously like a bus. "And you smell good." Placing a small kiss on his chest, my fingers splayed across his broad, tan, peck and I placed my ear to his heart. The soothing thunk-thunk and steady rhythm calmed me.

"Louis?" I smiled.

"What's up, love?" he chuckled.

"If you weren't gay, I'd gladly have a threesome with you and Harry over here." Harry's skin heated with embarrassment.

"I think it's time to get back to bed," Harry sighed, a slight chuckle emerging from his strong chest. As he carried me back to his room like I was a pillow, he softly laid me back in my spot and crawled next to me. Climbing on top of him, I straddled his waist, looking down at him, taking in all of his beauty. I hadn't really looked at him. He was the only person on this planet I knew who could reach inside my chest and steal my beating heart with his bare hands.*

"Neely, you're drunk," he sighed. I could feel his bulge against my leg and I chuckled.

"Your mind and body are saying two very different things," I smirked, putting a little more pressure on his crotch.

"Neely."

"I don't wanna have sex with you, Colby took care of that," I assured him, tapping my fingers on his warm skin. "I just want to touch you. I want to know what it's like to touch someone and really feel something." Tears filled my eyes and I couldn't help but laugh at my emotional state.

"Why are you crying?" he cooed, his thumb running across my cheekbone.

"That tends to happen when I'm drunk and sad." We both chuckled and I realized the only light in his room was a small nightlight plugged in on the opposite side of the room. I leaned down to kiss him and it wasn't rushed or lustful. It was patient and my way of letting him know how much I needed him.

"God, I wish I was as thin as you are," I gawked, running my palm across his stomach. "You are absolutely beautiful."

"You need to give yourself more credit," he chuckled.

My mother once told me one day, someone was going to hold me so tight all my broken pieces would fit back together.

With Harry, I could slowly feel all my pieces becoming whole again.

Harry's POV:

Looking up at her, I was amazed. At school and conditioning, she seemed to have it all together. It's the quiet ones you've gotta watch. Those are the people who really know what it is to act.

"God, I wish I was as thin as you are," she sighed, running her palm across my stomach. "You are absolutely beautiful."

"You need to give yourself more credit," I chuckled, my hands resting on her hips.

"If I did, I'd get more than what was due."

"Why do you put yourself down so much? Do you not realize how wonderful you are?"

"Harry," she laughed, a real laugh. "Oh, sweet Harry. You spoil me so. I'm not wonderful. I'm simply a catastrophic mess that plays basketball and knows what it's like to feel real pain. Not this bullshit people claim to be pain."

"That's the thing about pain," I murmured. "It demands to be felt." (An: so original, I know lmfao)

"Not the type of pain I've felt. I wouldn't wish that pain on my worst enemy."

"We're artists. We don't feel things like regular people. We take the things we experience, the pain, joy, love, we feel and we immortalize it on paper with fluid descriptions of how awful we thought their lip curled when they yelled at us, or how there was a fire in their eyes that looked like it would never go out," we both smiled. "Regular people don't feel things as deeply as artists do. When they see the white crayon, they overlook it. When we see it, we smile, knowing it can be used."

"So I'm a white crayon?" she asked, arching her eyebrow.

"Humor me for a minute and think of yourself as a crayon. You might not be everyone's favorite color, but one day, someone is gonna need you to finish their masterpiece." Rubbing her sides lightly, she grinned.

"Am I your favorite color?"

I merely smiled as she bent down to kiss me. She was indeed and I couldn't wait to complete my masterpiece.