shadow [h.s.]

f i f t h

"For the fifteenth time, Harry," I groaned. "Please just answer the question."

He said nothing.

Enter a very frustrated Skyler Jacobs gloating over a very disgruntled looking Harry Styles- both of whom sit in my office, on December 10th, 2014.

The day was cold- wintery and sudden, with fairy dust pictures that Jack Frost left on the windowframe for children to find. The air outside was crisp and chilly, and in here was no different.

Harry tried to conceal the shivers. I sat comfortably in my fur coat, hands wrapped around a Starbucks drink that had cost most than it should've, while he stared up at me, green orbs blazing into mine. His lips were taken in between his teeth, as to try and smother the whimpers of cold coming from his body. The furnace in this old NYPD building had long since given up, and Harry sat in only his bright orange jumper and a measly combination of half-an-inch-thick mittens and TOMS.

I had tried every back door I knew, asking Harry questions like, "If it wasn't you, who killed these people?" or moving on to plainer methods, such as, "Where were you on these dates?" If I'm honest, I wanted to prove Harry innocent- no, more than that- I wanted to show the world I was right about Harry- even if I knew he had killed my father.

I sighed and got up. "Come on," I said. Harry looked up at me, fear in his eyes. i sighed. "Harry, just come on, and for the love of Leo, please talk? Okay? I really don't feel like conversing with a brick wall today."

Harry watched me with his wide, green eyes, as I unlocked his chains. "Ms. Jacobs..."

"Harry."

"Sorry- Sky-" he said in a teasing tone and I smiled and nodded. I would take any sort of verbal communication from him at this point. "Shouldn't you leave those on?"

"What?" I said with mock resignation as I tossed Harry an oversized sweater of Leighton's. "And miss all the fun?"

I raised my eyebrows at him and winked. "I hardly think so."

-x-

"I just wanna see you be brave..." Sara Bareilles crooned as I drove through New York; Harry's files in one hand and steering wheel in the other.

"I'm hungry," I complained, tapping my foot to the beat. Harry looked at me incredulously. I could tell he was uncomfortable- in a black Mercedes that cost more than half the moon with a lunatic detective. I studied him through the corner of my eye as I pulled into the one and only Tim Hortons in New York. Harry furrowed his brow as he stared up at the sign.

"You've never been to Tim Hortons?" I asked incredulously, a little bit teasing.

He shook his head, wringing his hands. "I think I'll just stay in the car."

"No, if you've never been, you're defs coming in." I proclaimed, grabbing my four discarded cups of cardboard from my last Timmie's run (which had been that morning), and popped the door open.

"No, Sky.... I wanna stay here."

Something in his voice caused me to stop and turn to look at him. His eyes were turned away from me, focusing on a couple laughing and holding hands in the middle of the parking lot. They looked cute and beautiful- the sort of beautiful that one often misses in life, but should be a little more aware of. I watched Harry's face flicker in a variety of emotions, but then I understood.

Harry was insecure.

Which made sense, if you think about it. He was a criminal, wearing a jumpsuit and an old, ugly Christmas sweater that was three sizes too big. His face had been on multiple TV stations, newspapers. Even the Internet. Once again, I felt genuinely sorry for Harry E. Styles.