Illicit [Harry Styles]

Chapter 61

After he'd totally calmed down, I helped Harry tidy away all the papers and books scattered across his bed and floor. I made it look like I wasn't taking any notice of the drawings as we gathered his artwork and tucked it back into the books, but I was admiring every one secretly. It just blew my mind how amazing they were; all the details were so accurate and the portraits were just so realistic. I knew he was talented, but to see his sketches of something I knew so well - that being myself - just put it into perspective how incredible his abilities were.

It made my heart swell to imagine a miserable Harry one or two months ago, sitting alone in his dimly lit bedroom, a pencil in his hand as he thought about me and transferred the images planted so firmly in his head onto paper so wonderfully. I wondered what he felt back then, what he wasn't telling me. I wondered if he understood what he was feeling and just pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, or whether he didn't have a clue what was going on in that complicated head of his. What excuse did he have for himself when he decided he wanted to draw me?

Part of me wanted to ask him if I could keep one of the pictures, or whether he'd draw something specially for me to take home and cherish, but I knew it was a sensitive topic. As much as he seemed relieved in the end when I'd told him I was flattered and loved the pieces, they meant a lot to him and deep down he was still holding onto the idea that they were his secret, his escape.

Maybe one day he'd be happy and comfortable enough with the concept of his drawings that he would be able to laugh about it with me, and he would be able to show off his talent to other people. I would love one day for him to be able to draw me from life, and I could tell him how much I adored the finished product and he would say I could keep it forever.

Afterwards, we climbed back onto Harry's bed and cuddled up. The sun was going down as we laid peacefully with our limbs entwined on the soft mattress. The room was getting darker and shadows were coming out, but the sky outside was only getting brighter. For some reason, sunsets seemed all the more significant now, especially those I shared with Harry. I watched through the window as the sky went baby pink, mixing with it's usual blue to eventually become purple. It was a very pale and pastel-coloured sunset, the kind that made the clouds glow and look like perfectly sculpted, fairground candy floss.

As I watched the changing of colours through the glass, Harry watched me. I could feel his thoughtful and absentminded gaze fixed on my face from where he lay on the bed beside me. My pupils were expanding the darker his bedroom got, and it seemed to become pitch black in no time. The moonlight was illuminating his sharp features when he rolled over me, laying between my legs with his cheek pressed to my stomach and hands engulfing my hips in the same way he had on Halloween.

I ran my fingers through his hair slowly. I couldn't even find words to describe what it was like when we were so subtly intimate like this, sometimes when I really think about it I can't believe he's the same person as he is at other times. You can feel that after a lifetime of getting wrapped up in criminality and failure, cutting himself off from feeling anything, he's just craving this impassioned and unfeigned closeness. There was no doubt in my mind that he truly did love me, and I imagined the feeling was overwhelming him.

He was in way over his head. Having opened up and admitted his love for me after what must've been years of putting on this tough front and convincing himself that if he were to feel something that'd make him weak and vulnerable, he'd dived in head first. When he said I was all he had, I know he wasn't exaggerating to some extent. Of course he had his friends and family, but it was as though that was all fake. Those friends he had been hanging around with for so long were almost the same as him, they too had a wall built to keep themselves from damaging their reputation. None of them were really heartless or carefree, getting into trouble and just laughing about it like nothing mattered, it was an act - a method of survival and a competition of who could be the baddest, the most outrageous, who could have the biggest ego and care about things the least.