Matilda | Harry Styles

TWENTY-SIX

My skin felt bare as he drew back from me for a moment, reaching into the shower and switching it on, only to move back over to me only a moment later. The moment I could touch him again, it felt like a breath of fresh air in the depths of my lungs; feeling his arms snake around my waist, or his hands cup at my face; feeling his body press to my own. It wasn't even like he was executing something inherently sexual - that was it, with Harry; he did things with me because he wanted to, rather than because he wanted something from me.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of my mouth, before he brought his fingers around the hem of my sweatshirt, letting his hand slip under it to press to my bare skin. My skin immediately felt like it had been lit on fire, burning in the best way possible; in that way that only he seemed to be able to provoke. Each movement that he made reminded me of how much I felt for him, just by how my body was reacting to him.

He gently lifted my sweatshirt over my head, before removing the rest of my clothes, his head occasionally dropping to allow him to press a kiss against my jaw, or the side of my mouth, each one causing my breath to hitch in my throat. I brought my hands to the shirt on his body, slowly drawing it upwards; if there'd been a single doubt about whether he'd be joining me, or not, this alleviated it.

The second that the hot water hit my body, I felt my tense muscles ease a little. I exhaled, almost as if the weight on my shoulders began to actually lift, and I felt Harry's hand press to my hip. I turned to face him, properly; a glazed-over look in his eyes as they'd been fixed on me, which caused my stomach to flip. The tan of his skin began to flush, the tiniest bit, at the hot water hitting it, and my eyes followed the droplets as they streamed along the curve of his shoulders, and arms, seeming to outline every intricate detail.

He almost didn't look real. His hair began to curl slightly at the steam, even though he hadn't fully submerged it in water. I couldn't even describe how I felt in that moment; this felt like the most intimate setting I'd ever shared with another person. A shower had always felt like solitude - it was that tiny chamber of privacy and isolation, that no matter where I was, or what I'd endured throughout the day, I could escape to it, always. I could think, there, I could clear my head, and be on my own. I'd never have thought I could want to share that brief time of silence and privacy with somebody else; but that seemed to be it, with him. Harry pushed every subconscious boundary I'd ever set without even meaning to - every private place; I suddenly wanted to share it with him - every burden, he seemed to want to bear, too. That, I couldn't imagine enabling; but with him, I found myself wishing that I could.

When I'd heard about his fears; his insecurities, and his struggles, all I wanted to do was help. I wanted, somehow, to protect him from any more difficulty. I wanted to be for him, the very thing that I'd been certain I would never need; I found myself wanting to look after him. And as he pushed his hands into my hair, delicately lathering shampoo into it for me - I wondered if he could look after me, too.

Perhaps it didn't have to be all-encompassing. I'd always thought mutual reliance was negative - that it was a sign of weakness, but perhaps it didn't need to be. Maybe it didn't mean throwing every little thing onto the other's shoulders; maybe it didn't have to erode from your own independence or capability - something I'd worked so hard to secure. It didn't have to make me completely useless in aiding myself. Maybe, instead, it could just be this. It could be this warmth, this silent affirmation that whatever the other person wanted, or needed, you'd do anything you could to lift the weight, just a little. Maybe he didn't have to know every single thing that had ever happened in my life, and nor did I, for him - but maybe he could still be there.