Chapter 25 - Childhood crushes & whispering west

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"Harry, I really insist that you and Norah stay with us. There's plenty of room. And it's only for one night," His mother begged, turning around from the front seat to lock eyes with him as if to prove how serious she was.

"Mum, I have already booked a hotel." He sighed.

"Don't use that tone with me, Harry."

"I am 24 years old." He shot back. His voice actually faltered at the end and I could see his resolve visibly fading as he argued with his mother, eyes softening at her words and shoulders slowly relaxing.

"And I am still your mother. And I am begging you to stay with us. We never get to see you, and now your here and you won't even stay under my roof? I won't have it. I absolutely will not have it." She huffed.

I had to fight back my giggles as I watched Harry, whose right eye was now twitching in frustration. Only when Gemma started laughing did I join in, leaning against his shoulder to muffle the sound escaping my mouth. Of all the things that Harry could have been, the last thing I would have pegged him for was a family man, let alone a mummy's boy.

But that was exactly what he was, and the fact that he didn't want to stay under the same roof as her only proved my point further. He adored his mother, although she obviously set him on edge. Behind the clenched jaw and cool expression was a hint of caring and almost reverence for the women who had raised him.

"Stop laughing," He suddenly hissed into my ear. I pursed my lips together in a pathetic attempt to stifle the small giggles. His grip tightened on my hand in warning and this time, I managed to hold back the rest of my laughter.

"So, you're staying with us, right?" Gemma asked as she leaned over me to look at him with one eyebrow raised. His head fell back against the leather seat.

"Do I have to?"

Her face drew into a smirk that was strangely similar to Harry's. "Yes, yes you do." "Fine. Only for tonight, though."

His mum let out a happy squeal from the front and clapped her hands together. Gemma smiled widely and turned her attention back to the windrow. Harry, on the other hand, pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a shaky breath, mumbling something along the lines of 'What the fuck have I done?'.

The rest of the drive was silent. Harry stared out the window the entire time, eye closed and jaw clenched. I chatted with Gemma and Anne, who were some of the loveliest people I had ever met. Both were warm and inviting and it was hard to imagine that Harry was even related to them.

We pulled up outside a charming brick house on the outskirts of the city a few minutes later. After carrying out bags upstairs to the room that we were in, which there was a small disagreement over because 'Fuck no, mum. Norah is staying with me' and 'Language Harry!' and a feeble 'Anything and works for me' from my mouth, I finally ended up in the room that Harry Styles had grown up in.

The walls were a simple shade of blue and plastered with various posters, including (but not limited to): girls, cars, and football. It was very un-Harry. There was a queen sized bed in the middle, covered in a well worn comforter that seemed to be stitched entirely by hand.

I set my bag in the corner, only to be pushed up against the wall by Harry as soon as I turned around. His hands were everywhere, his lips kissing sloppily over every single inch of skin they could reach. There was no time to adjust; his tongue was immediately massaging mine, filled with a desperate need.

I gathered all the resistance I could muster and slowly pulled away from Harry, causing him to elicit a soft groan and drop his forehead against my shoulder. "What's the matter?" He whined.

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