invasato [h.s]

36

My brows crease as I look at his tightened jaw bone.

"Stolen?" I question, "Who stole it?"

For a moment, he's quiet.

Like he's fighting himself from saying something, not knowing what he can say to me. Has he said too much? He swallows and looks down to his lap with discomfort, twisting the rings on his fingers in a fidgety motion.

I want to see your vulnerability, Harry.

Instinct is what casts over me, not rational thought, as I reach over and place the palm of my hand on his jaw so he has to turn his head.

Now, his face is held in my hand, and he looks at me with furrowed brows and parted pink lips.

As someone who appreciates the beauty in everything, I can say with honesty that Harry Styles was a breathtaking sight.

Not a flaw on his face, not even the cuts and healing bruises.

He was someone the renaissance painters would have loved.

"It's all gonna work out, Dreamboat." I say in a whispered tone.

He's breathing subtly through his mouth as his eyes dance back and forth between mine, then down to my lips, then back to my eyes in a perfect ballet.

His eyes are such a captivating emerald.

His tongue lapses over his bottom lip and he speaks again, his voice quiet and low.

"W-when her necklace was stolen, I lost my last piece of her." he says, then he looks down again. "But it was my own doing, really."

I gently take my hand away and keep my vision on him, tilting my head slightly. "How could you have made that happen?" I question.

He just shakes his head slightly. "Because, I joined this life and I made enemies. Those enemies found the one thing that could be used as leverage and they took it. I was asking for it—"

"No, it's not your fault." I interrupt, making him look up at me again, a rough crease between his dark eyebrows. His lips stay in a line but he's looking at me like he wants to hear it again.

"We don't choose what happens to us." I reiterate, "That wasn't something you could have controlled."

I expect him to scoff or look away or even ignore me completely, but instead, his eyes are still on mine and his lips part like what I had just told him was something he had never heard before.

Quiet. It's quiet.

His eyes pepper along the anatomy of my face again, very subtly, but when he looks at my lips I feel my stomach twirl.

So suddenly, I was ready to throw my morals away for him.

I'm looking at his mouth now, and he picks up on it, my eyes lifting slowly to his again and our gazes lock.

No dialogue is spoken. Not a lot needed to be said.

He leans his head into mine, our foreheads touching. The contact was enough to take my breath away.

I'd paint your lips such a pretty pale pink, Dreamboat.

Looking into his eyes, we're fighting what we know is wrong and right.

This...what I want to do...it's morally wrong.

"We..." my voice breaks a bit, "we can't..."

He shuts his eyes and his jaw tightens once more as he just nods, knowing what I meant and knowing I'm right about it.