21 Murders | Harry Styles AU (discontinued)

XXVIII. Mesmerize

I feel bad for making them clean up such a mess, but there isn't anything I can do to change their job description. I'm taken from my thoughts when a hand tightly clenches down on my forearm, Fred smiling down to me when I frightfully turn.

"Oh, you scared me for a second there,'' I laugh it off, awkwardly.

"Sorry, forgot about the whole 'once kidnapped and still paranoid' ordeal,'' he rudely speaks, making me cringe my eyebrows together. He doesn't seem to notice how rude that was, so I swallow and try to forget about it.

"Thank you once again for giving Harry and I that musuem pass, I really appreciate it. And even though Harry doesn't look like it, I know he is grateful as well,'' I trail off, uncertain about why I was approached in the first place. "Where's Trish?"

"She's gone to the car, but I wanted to have a quick word with you before we left." His hand digs into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. My eyes trail down to his hands until he forces the paper into my palm and clasps both hands over mine protectively.

"What is this?'' I go to uncrumple the paper but he stops me hurriedly, pushing my hands down in the process. A lump forms in my throat at the way he is acting; surely he wasn't this... skiddish when we spoke earlier at dinner or when Harry and I arrived.

"This is just my number, I want you to call me after you visit the museum and tell me about how you enjoyed it." Fred grimly speaks, lips wet and being brought in and out of his mouth. "Harry isn't coming, right?"

"How-?"

"I figured, he has never liked me. Ever,'' Fred cuts me off. "Now I have to go before Harry gets back, but remember what I told you. I'm a writer and gave you this tour so that I could hear your views on the spectacle. Don't let me down."

Sauntering off without another word, my mouth parts into an 'O' shape. What does being a writer have anything to do with me visiting the museum? Why did he say he had to leave before Harry got back? My mind spins with all the possibilities of what he could possibly mean - when Harry approaches my side, a relieved smile on his face until he sees my less-relieved one.

Shit, what am I going to tell Harry?

"Are you okay?" His rough fingers cup the back of my forearm kindly, and I just nod and grip the piece of paper tighter in my hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. Can we go now?"

"Of course,'' Harry nods, placing his hand on my lower back as we exit the large building. I take a glance back at the hall and see Des standing with both hands in his pockets, staring at us as we exit. A lump in my throat forms as we turn the corner and his figure vanishes from my sight. He almost looked... knowing?

This has been a long, tiring day and I can't wait until I get to crawl into bed and forget about whatever it is that is stressing me out. To say that one thing in particular is weighing on me - would be difficult, when in reality, many things that aren't related seem to be pushing down on my shoulders and keeping me from staying afloat. It all started when I was kidnapped and brought to the department, but since then, so much has happened.

I witnessed Harry's nightmares firsthand. Learnt about his mother and argued over eating baby ducks over dinner. Got swarmed by camera men in a bakery. Had a sweet encounter with Harry's uncle - Martin. Had a 'wet' situation with Harry before redecorating my room with Trevor's help. Spoke in front of a hundred reporters on national television. Held my first interrogation with Mendy and watched her drag John and Tracey down alongside. Saw my first dead body, which was Marie Meeks hung on a hanger. Butted heads with Klara while creating a nerdy bond with Royce over old-fashioned cloaks. Met face-to-face with my potential kidnapper while being present for Jeremy's death. Danced with the French beau: Arthur, and caused Harry to go ballistic. Was kissed passionately against his bathroom door. Intentionally was invited to Albany. Spoke with Des about schooling. And finally, here I am.