Dust Bones [Harry Styles]

055

Soft lips pepper slow, open-mouthed kisses up and down my neck, to my collarbones and back. I stir in my sleep, eventually opening my eyes upon realizing Harry's touch. He still lies on top of me, head resting against my chest. I shift slightly, stretching out my legs with a tired groan.

"We were asleep for two hours," he informs me with his raspier, tired voice. I stare at the ceiling for a few moments, blinking away the exhaustion from my eyes. His fingertips brush against my arm, then pushing off to get up from our comfortable position.

I sit up, stretching out my body with soft groans. "When are we leaving?"

"In a few minutes, actually. We've got no time to waste." Harry reaches for the duffle bag, sifting through it almost immediately. Out he pulls out a gun of his, loading it. I hear that familiar click.

My eyes avert to the bag, where I walk towards it, stating, "I want a gun."

Harry looks over to me, stolid expression. I'm almost certain he's going to refuse to give me one, but he shockingly grins lightly to himself, reaching in and grabbing me a pistol. He holds it out for me.

I glance at it and look back up at him, wondering if he's serious. "I didn't think that'd actually work."

"We're fully on my terms. And I personally find it very sexy," he murmurs, leaning forward. I feel his hot breath against my lips, and my eyes flutter before he states, "Just don't shoot me."

He pulls away without giving me my kiss. I smirk lightly at his playfulness, grabbing the weapon from him.

"Only if you really piss me off," I retort.

"I tend to do that a lot," he sarcastically remarks. He zips up the bag again, pulling it over his shoulder. He leads the way out, and taking one last glance at our temporary home, I shut the door behind me.

The air is hot and humid, making me strip down to a plain tank top and the shorts I previously wore. I have little reservation for the apprehension I usually have for these types of situation.

Pushing bad thoughts aside, I grab a bag as Harry takes the duffle one full of weaponry. He's got his way of getting it through security.

The airport is busy, busting with movement and frenzied people. The occasional tourists and their kids. Business men and women. An ordinary scene for any airport.

I keep my head low for a minuscule fraction of reassurance. There are small things I observe to pass the time. If I spend too much time thinking, I spend too much time worrying and screwing up. In my head, I don't hear any noise. There is silence, a habit that I've formed to conceive some peace of mind.

Harry walks casually beside me, pale green eyes focused and alert. Every second, his eye movement switched from all corners in this airport. It was something extremely gifted. As dark as his suffrage was, he was trained. His skills are doubtless, and as he walks beside me, he is the first to notice everything that has flaw.

"Something's not right," he murmurs beside me. I turn to look at him instantly, though he does not return the gaze. He's too busy examining our surroundings. The features of his face showcase focus; eyebrows furrowed and mouth closed, jaw clenched.

My gaze averts from him to every crowd of people and any source that would allow me to differentiate normal from unusually wrong. However, I see nothing.

I lean towards Harry, whispering, "What is it?"

"I don't know, yet." Harry suddenly grabs my hand, and with a abrupt tug, we practically disappear into a crowd of chattering people. That look on his face is one I've come to realize and become familiar with. I spot it at an efficient rate. It saves me the anger and pain.