Matilda | Harry Styles

ONE

If it wasn't law, it would've been photography. And it wasn't really law. It was a constant, ceaseless inner turmoil. I hated it. Part of me wanted to just drop out of Uni, move away and start over. Law was a cut-throat profession, its potential to harm only heightened by the fact that, truly, my heart wasn't in it. And it never would be. It was mere stubbornness; my desire to prove a point, not only to them, but to myself - I could do it. I could be more than they made me out to be. That, and that I didn't feel I had much choice. I'd pursued it, now - I had to follow through. For me.

Photography was what I wanted to do - all I'd ever really enjoyed. I took pride in the cameras I'd managed to collect, in snapping photos whenever I could.  I wished things had been different - that maybe I'd been able to embrace that. But they weren't, and I hadn't.

"I'll think about it," I told Johnny quietly, hoping to shift onwards from the topic. He sighed a little, before nodding, deciding it was better not to push me on it.

"I'm just going to clean up some things in the back, okay? I won't be long."

I sent Johnny a small smile and a nod as I watched him disappear through the door, stationed between his shelves of liquor. I turned back to my phone, opening the final file I needed to complete that evening. I knew it wasn't fair, that they were sending me work after-hours; but I wasn't exactly in a position to argue. I needed them more than they needed me.

A few minutes passed in silence, before the bell signalling the opening of the bar door sounded behind me. I didn't react - it wasn't abnormal for somebody to enter a bar, late, towards the end of the week. My head still didn't rear, even when I sensed a silhouette to my left, settling into the stool beside me. It was only upon the incessant drumming of fingertips upon the surface of the bar that I was finally torn from my phone, with a frown. I set it down on the counter.

I looked up, but his eyes weren't even on me. They were peering around the room, eyeing the empty tables and chairs - the old, wooden decor, the flickering lamps mounted upon the walls. Finally, they landed on me, and I felt my chest thump a little at the gesture.

His eyes were a deep, enthralling green, framed by long, thick eyelashes. They appeared to burn into my own, before he tore them away to scan the remainder of my face, before dropping down to scan my body. I might have scolded him, if I could help but do the same. I drew my eyes over him; dark, slightly damp and messy hair, a few stray strands falling over his forehead; his lips were plump, a deep shade of pink, with an unbelievably sharp jaw framed by traces of stubble. My eyes fell to his chest, which peered through a long-sleeve black button-up, loose, and only buttoned the bare minimum, a chain adorning his neck with a cross pendant resting upon his chest. I forced my eyes back upwards, only to find he had done the same, his eyes now burning back into mine.

He pushed his hand through his hair, the corner of his lip turning upwards at our brief, silent interaction. Just from our mere wordless encounter, my body felt like it was on fire. I bit my lip back into my mouth, yearning for my composure to return. Who the hell was this?

His eyes then shifted to my phone upon the counter, with a spreadsheet open, his dark brows furrowing slightly. It was then that I first heard him speak.

"Are you... working?" His voice was so deep and raspy; almost hoarse, that it almost travelled straight through me. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach immediately. I was instantly attracted to this man.

"Unfortunately," I returned, watching how his eyes landed on my lips to almost coax my response, before he brought them back up to meet my own.

"I am too." He tore his eyes from me, returning them to the shelves of drinks in front of us, before adding, "Technically."