Matilda | Harry Styles

TWENTY-NINE

"You scare me, sometimes, too," I admitted, watching his head turn in my direction. "I thought I'd had it all figured out, until I met you."

"Mm?" he hummed, that lazy grin still prominent on his features.

I pursed my lips. I struggled with wording these things. "But," I paused, contemplating aloud, "I don't know how I thought that, because everything felt so wrong."

"Wrong, how?" he asked, gently.

Alarm bells were going off in my head, begging me to stop talking. Even with him; even with how safe he made me feel, this felt like I was entering a danger zone. It wasn't even solely my parents; it was everybody I'd ever sought approval and validation from, and never, ever received it.

"My last relationship," I said. Stop talking. "He, um," I toyed awkwardly with the hem of my dress. "He always told me there was something wrong with me. It was like, what you said about not feeling the way you're supposed to," I said, staring down at my hands. "I didn't realise that, until it was over, but," I chewed on my lip, "I didn't realise I wasn't supposed to be feeling how I did."

I could feel Harry's eyes on me, and it was only then that I finally found the strength to meet them. I felt so uneasy, but like I couldn't bring myself to stop, either. "You're the one who's made me realise it," I said, honestly, "being with you. I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to feel like," I paused, searching for the word, "a problem."

Harry's expression softened, his eyes searching my own. I felt for him, so much, that it almost hurt. And it was scary, yes, but I still never wanted to lose it. I wanted to be honest, as much as I could be; and there were limits, one hundred percent, and there were boundaries I wasn't sure I'd ever find the strength to cross. But the things that I could tell him, I wanted to. I wanted him to know, if I could somehow verbalise it, what he meant to me.

It was like he'd said; when I looked at him, I didn't have any words for it. The feelings he gave me were the best I'd ever known.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," he said, then, his voice soft as he pressed his temple to the couch, enabling him to look at me, properly. I could feel that warmth, as he'd called it, filling my chest. "Come here."

I was sitting on his lap, straddling him, in a matter of seconds, his hands on the sides of my face. I was almost entranced; all I could do was watch, and listen, and feel, as he looked at me.

"Can we make a deal?" he asked, softly, the volume of his voice diligently low, as if he feared breaking the atmosphere we'd created between us. I tilted my chin, awaiting his continuation. "Don't ever be scared to talk to me like this," he urged, gently, drawing a line over my cheek, "I want to know all of the things that bother you. Please." I knew he was referencing everything I'd just said, but I couldn't help but feel that he was hinting at more. It felt like he knew that there was a whole can of worms that I hadn't dared to open; that there was a plethora of troubles and worries that occupied my head even at the best of times, that I lacked the strength to verbalise. I already knew, then, before he'd even finished his declaration, that my end of the deal was futile. Because I couldn't uphold it - there were things I couldn't say; I couldn't tell him, even if I thought that I wanted to. I couldn't break the cycle.

"And I won't let you forget what I see," he said, his gaze fixed onto my own as one of his hands fell to trace over my hip. "I'll never let you think that you're unimportant, or that you're a problem-"

"You already do that without trying," I said, my fingers resting at the nape of his neck. It was true.

"I didn't say it was a fair deal," he returned, "my part's easy, because it's all I'm ever thinking about. How kind, and how intelligent you are; how thoughtful you are. You're so generous, and you're so hardworking. You're diligent at the right times, and you pay such close attention to things that most people don't, because you care - you actually care," he paused, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. I wasn't sure what on earth I could've done in a past life to deserve him, but it must've been something pretty virtuous. "You listen to people, even when they aren't deserving of it; even if it's the most trivial storytelling in the world, you pay attention like you wouldn't rather be anywhere else."