Flight risk. [h.s]

006.

★

January 19th 2014

Seven years ago...

"Is this skirt too short?"

When I ask the question, I pull gently on the hem of my short skirt which seems to be showing more of my tanned legs than would be deemed appropriate for the occasion.

Harry leans back on his hands, spreading his thighs subtly as he rests back against the bed we've barely left these last couple of days.

"You look hot, Arls."

Sighing, I mutter a small. "I know," Because I have never felt anything less than incredibly desirable around Harry.

He makes me feel wanted and gorgeous as his bright green eyes slowly rake up and down my body with a sinful smirk that makes me roll my eyes.

I've never actually felt like that before. Feeling attractive because of your looks and feeling attractive because of your personality are two very different things and Harry manages to encapsulate both in each comment he grants me.

"I can't look hot while meeting your mum and sister," I tell him bluntly. "I need to look respectable."

Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, Harry shakes his head so that his growing hair tickles against his ears. "Trouble, when have you ever been respectable?"

"That–" I point at him while glancing down at myself and the dangerously short skirt that hugs my figure too tightly. "You can't call me Trouble in front of them, they'll get the wrong impression."

"Arls, c'mon..." He smiles coyly. "It's just what I call you, they're not going to think anything of it."

"They might." I counter quickly.

"When are you going to be done?" He asks me with nothing but kindness, leaning back, he flops against the bed.

"I haven't even decided what to wear yet."

I hear him hum as he stares at the ceiling. "Well, you just let me know when you're done, Arls."

Turning around to find the dress options that are hanging up in Harry's wardrobe, I pinch my lips into a nervous grimace that I am refusing to show him.

"What are you wearing?" My eyes find his figure lazing on the bed through the mirror.

I watch as he lifts his head with a strain to look down at himself and his plain white T-shirt and then the skinny pair of black jeans that are welded to his skin these days.

"This?"

The nonchalant tone in his voice makes me frown and then spin back around to stare at him incredulously.

"Really? That?"

He laughs with a boyish grin. "Baby, it's just my mum and Gem. She isn't the Queen of England, she's just my mum—"

I shake my head with a shudder at how apprehensive I am about this. This is the first time that I am meeting Harry's family and I need to find the right outfit.

"Your fans consider her the real Queen of England, how am I supposed to argue with that?"

His face practically lights up with a radiance that shines from each of his pores.

"Really?" He scratches at the back of his head while I nod. "God, she'll love that,"

"Harry?" I sharply call his name as I lift out another dress from where it was hanging in the wardrobe. "Focus, Pretty boy..."