Matilda | Harry Styles

FOURTEEN

The bartender spoke, suddenly, resurfacing from the other side of the room where I supposed he'd wandered after pouring our drinks, reminding me that Harry and I were not the only two people in the room. "There's a seating area outside on the balcony, if you two wanted some privacy."

Harry looked at me, cautiously, as if the bartender's proclamation had reminded him of the very same thing that it had reminded me. "Not for privacy," he said quickly, to me, as the bartender went back to whatever he'd been doing. "Just somewhere to sit..?" he almost asked, looking at me, still, making it clear he just wanted to chat; no need for privacy, or alone time. All good. No need. 

I only nodded, heading towards the stairs at the far end of the room, where the bartender had pointed, and I could sense Harry trailing behind me as I took my first step up them. Harry waited until I was a few steps up, before I heard the tap of his shoes against the stairs behind me. At the top, was a singular door, unmarked. I glanced back at him, but he only sent me a small shrug, and so I reached out and pushed the door open.  He outstretched his arm over my head, holding the door open for me to step through. A slight breeze hit my bare arms, but it was far from cold; a beautiful, warmly lit balcony, adorned with very expensive-looking furniture. A number of couches spanned across the large space, with a wooden gazebo of sorts covering the area, whilst a number of plants and baskets of flowers hung from each corner. I couldn't believe this was so hidden away; and given Harry's similar expression of awe, neither could he.

I walked to where the edge of the balcony was, laying my free hand on top of the bannister rail, there. I peered out over the skyline ahead of me, my eyes widening at the sight. It was pitch black, and the streets directly below us were rather desolated, but the skyline was still illuminated with lights from buildings, and the bustle of traffic from further ahead. It was near enough silent, and I could make out the glow of the stars in the sky from where I stood. It was beautiful up here.

I suddenly remembered Harry behind me, having grown momentarily lost in the sight before me. I turned around, to see he hadn't followed me further into the setup of the balcony; instead, he'd lingered by the sofa that was positioned by the entrance to the space, and his eyes appeared to have been on me, rather than the view, ahead of us. I felt my cheeks heat as he didn't even bother to shift his eyes from me as I turned around, his gaze holding such intensity that it could've pierced straight through me. I wondered if he knew how he looked, really - he stood there with his shirt near enough entirely unbuttoned, his blazer hugging the broadness of his shoulders so magnificently, his hair so effortlessly, but somehow so perfectly tousled, framing his face, so beautifully illuminated by the warm hue of the balcony lighting.

Somehow, my legs remembered how to function, carrying me over to one of the sofas, right by the edge of the balcony. I took a seat on it, and only a moment passed before I felt it dip beside me, announcing his presence without me having to look to confirm it.

Everything about our situation was causing my mind to do somersaults, my own head practically screaming at me. It was as if each time I thought I'd reached some kind of conclusion regarding our complications, I was hit with yet another. Harry wasn't exactly pining after me, but the intensity of his eyes grew harder and harder to push from my mind, the longer that I stayed before them. If I was seeking to avoid my feelings, rather than confront them, our situation wasn't exactly optimal; seated, with Harry, sharing a drink and peering over a very beautiful skyline. I wondered if he had the same reservations that I did, here - I supposed he couldn't have, because he couldn't have been thinking the same way that I was. This was clearly an innocent gesture to him, as I was aching for it to be, for me. 

I watched him sip his tequila as he admired the skyline ahead, just as I had done moments ago, whilst his face didn't budge even an inch at the bitterness of the liquor. My mind flickered back to his demeanour earlier on today, and how uncertain, or even jarred, he'd appeared; how he'd dodged sitting beside me, or even exchanging the simplest of words, but now sat beside me with the sole intention of socialising. I didn't understand him; I didn't understand what he wanted, or what he was thinking - all I knew, was that it certainly was nothing to do with me. There was no way that I was even a factor in Harry's thinking, or Harry's turmoil, or Harry's moods - that simply couldn't be it. Harry must have had other things going on; I needed to get that through my head. I needed to get it through my head that Harry had been very clear - there was nothing more here. And that was ideal; that was exactly how it ought to be. But I couldn't stop myself from mulling over him; from pining over each of his movements, and every word he said to me, or the way he looked when I was in his company.