Ambition || Harry Styles

*45*

When Harry told me he wasn't leaving until I asked him to, he meant it.

We had talked on the couch until all hours of the morning, deliberately avoiding topics that were going to make us both upset, instead discussing things like travel and all the places we wanted to visit. 

He told me about New Yorkers and how different they were to Londoners, his American accent making me laugh until he had had enough and retaliated by digging his fingers into my ribs and tickling me until I begged for mercy. 

I told him I thought it was the first time I had laughed properly in a year and he kissed my lips so delicately I questioned if I had imagined it.

We ended up falling asleep on the couch as the sun started to peek through the curtains, Harry promising to hug me until I shooed him away, which of course never happened.

Further into the morning, Harry led me in an hour of yoga, which I still despise and he grunted at my lack of enthusiasm despite having promised him I do this almost every morning on my own.

Towards the end of Saturday, he forced me to change the dirty sheets on my bed which he said were a 'safety hazard,' and I tackled him onto the bare mattress for telling me I was a slob.  He helped me re-dress the bed and we slowly fell asleep side by side, his arms around me and the cracks in my heart finally starting to mend.  We had kissed softly in the dark, his countless apologies swimming around my head but his hands never wandered and so mine didn't either.

After asking permission and me rolling my eyes, Harry left only once the entire weekend, going home to fetch more clothes and came back with what could have been his whole damn wardrobe and a holding a blender, "for smoothies!" which made me think of Katie's banana comments and laugh too hard.

By Sunday evening I expected him to leave, it would have been reasonable given we had work the next day, but Harry simply smirked and said, "If you want me to leave, then you tell me to leave, Lexi. Otherwise, I'm making myself at home!" He jumped over the arm of the couch theatrically, landing ungracefully on the cushion and patting the space next to him, which I took up immediately.

He forced me to practice yoga every morning when we woke up. Slapping on his nicotine patch with a grin and pointing to my tight leggings, telling me that this is harder for him than it is for me.

At work, Harry silently set my stuff up on the table in his office and no one dared question him, no one except Tony in Accounts of course, who just seems to have a fucking annoying joke about everything and doesn't know when he isn't welcome.

We would take it in turns to cook each night, Harry's meals significantly better than mine but he never complained.

We sat at the dinner table to eat, Harry insisting it's what, "families do" and when I tried to tell him that's precisely why we didn't need to, he would clutch his heart and pretend like I had shot an arrow through it until I shoved him or kissed him, or both.

He would take an odd number of showers, shaking his head and rubbing his thumb and index finger into his eye sockets with a laugh when I questioned it.

"It's hard times, baby," he joked which only confused me and he laughed more than ever, telling me he would explain it to my innocent ears one day.

His eyes dropped in quiet reflection over things I had no idea about every now and then but neither of us mentioned it.

Harry offered every night to sleep in the spare room but I begged him to stay with me, loving how peaceful I felt with him next to me and waking up to his raspy grumbles in the morning.  I secretly wanted our nightly make-out sessions to progress but they didn't, Harry out of breath but stopping my hands in their tracks and I was too embarrassed to ask why.