Bound to Happen • HS

2 || Easy

Who's this man that's holding your hand and talking about your eyes?

Initially, he doubted the attraction. After all, she was the only woman—human being, he had seen since he was kept here. When she tugged his blindfold down, he remembered tilting his head at her, both trying to figure out if he had already seen her or maybe he just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that someone as pretty as her did something like this.

As much as he wasn’t screaming and asking for help (like most kidnapped victims were supposed to do), he knew for a fact that this was against the law. Simply said, she didn’t look the type. She didn’t look mental nor a crazy cat lady. She looked like a normal single woman who was doing well with her life. There weren't even any 1D paraphernalia around. 

However, the longer he stared, the paler she got. Weren’t girls supposed to blush when he looked at them? He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but she suddenly squeals, her expression completely terrified, and did the unthinkable--

She threw a pillow on his face.

Despite the shock of having someone whack him with a pillow, his expression remained unchanged, and he just stared. And stared, and stared, and stared.

“What the fuck!!!” she exclaimed all of a sudden, smashing her palm against her lips. “What the fuck have I done?! You’re really Harry Styles! OH MY FUCKING GOD!!! I’m going to die!” 

She started pacing and mumbling to herself, and he couldn’t help but regard her appearance. Light brown locks swished about her shoulders, contrasting against the creamy complexion of her skin. She was wearing a cami and short shorts... and socks. 

Barmy, he thought, I'm off my trolley. This moment would probably have ignited an “oh this is why she’s crazy” to other people, but Harry wasn’t like other people, was he?

Instead, he found her adorable.

Fine, maybe he was the one with screws loose. 

“So. What’s your name?”

She stopped moving and gaped at him, as if surprised he was talking to her.

He was almost tempted to smirk. “Well, considering I'm staying here, you might as well tell me who you are.” He tried to sound normal, like he was playing it cool. But he was nervous as hell. He felt like he was fucking things up, and he didn’t even know why. He was the one tied up, wasn’t he?

When she began to pace and talk to herself again, he knew he had to do something to distract her, so he yelled under his breath, “MY HANDS!”

For some reason, both of them were panting when their eyes met again. 

“My hands,” he croaked, “My hands are numb.” He began circling his shoulders, trying to make it seem like he was in pain.

The worry on her face disappeared, immediately replaced by concern. Without another word, she hopped on the bed and sat beside him to reach his bound hands. 

Then she touched him. Began to rub slowly and firmly. 

He closed his eyes as relief flooded his being. As she tried to squeeze and wiggle his fingers, he caught her touch and clasped her hand in his. She froze, and he looked at his side, trying to see her face. “Are you alright?”

Why wasn’t she looking at him? Why did she look so sad? He wanted to make things better. “Hey...?” Was she still in denial that this was happening? 

She pulled her hand away from his and scrambled away from the bed. “I’m so sorry, Harry—I mean, Mister Harry Styles.” She shakes her head in confusion, and went for the door.