Ambition || Harry Styles

*18*

"Lex," I think I hear a whisper deep in my subconscious.

I'm somewhere between a dream and the real world; that delicious place where you still feel warm and cosy, like your insides are melting toffee, sticky and pliable but you are awake enough to understand the fleeting nature of the moment.

"Alexa."

This time the call is paired with a feather-light touch to my hairline and my half asleep reaction is to grumble and bury my head into the pillow.

Harry's raspy chuckle snaps me into reality with the speed of a whip crack.

"I knocked, like ten times, I swear." 

I see him starting to smirk from the corner of my eye as I push back my eye mask and sit up in shock, trying my best to cover my body with my duvet as a gasp whooshes down my throat.

"I shouldn't be surprised you sleep with a silk mask on, Princess," he mocks far too early in the morning.

I frown a little, my mind still trying to catch up with the fact Harry is sitting on the edge of my bed, dressed in what looks like workout clothes and his hair pulled back into a bun.

Only then does it register that he never came into my room last night and my heart sinks at the realisation.

"I'm not a princess," I snap, pulling off the mask and hiking up the covers up so that they sit under my chin.

"God, you even wake up angry," he winks before standing up and I hate that my stomach flutters.

"What time is it?" I ask, my brain finally functioning properly and noting that it's Saturday and I'm probably behind my schedule.

"Eleven," Harry says casually but clearly amused by my disorientation.

"Eleven!" I yell, throwing him off guard. "Shit, I have stuff to do!" I jump out of bed without thought and suck in an audible breath as his mouth drops open, the smirk wiped clean from his face and his gaze dropping to my bare legs and lace underwear before I'm squealing and jumping back into the safety of my sheets.

A childish cackle bursts from his lips and I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"What have you got to do, AP?" he says as indifferently as he can, his voice straightening deliberately. Clearly he is not affected by my lack of clothing in the slightest. "Disinfect the kitchen? Work? Eat a shitty salad? C'mon sleepyhead, get up and put on something comfortable," he commands before making his way to the door.

"Trousers optional," he grins on the way out and my heart surges forward at his suggestive tone that is a complete contradiction to his reaction just seconds ago.

I squeeze my eyes shut and remember my place in the friend zone that I concluded last night and cemented this morning, and throw on a pair of old, grey, cotton gym shorts and my university sweatshirt.

Begrudgingly, I drag my feet down the hallway, ready to tell him I don't own sneakers so whatever form of physical activity he is trying to force me into will have to wait.

Shock drops my jaw open at the state of my living room, the furniture pushed back and the coffee table moved out into the hallway. My blood starts to boil and I'm just about to ask him what the fuck he is doing when he speaks with a boyish smile and a dimple in his left cheek that simmers my temper only a fraction.

"Whoa, okay Lexi, hear me out," he negotiates softly and holds his hands up in the air as a sign of peace.

Crossing my arms over my chest, my eyebrows rise up in waiting and he exhales a laugh at my behaviour.