Shine (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Three

(Alexandra Tucker)

He looks exactly the same as he did when I last saw him, except now his black t-shirt is replaced with a white one. I can see the bold outlines of even more tattoos through the thin, almost transparent material. Something about his tattoos strikes me as odd, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

"What are you doing here?" Harry repeats more forcefully this time, taking a step forward. The glow of the almost-full moon glints off his lip ring, drawing my attention to it. I never thought I was one to find tattoos and piercings attractive, but Harry is undeniably handsome: metal, ink, and all. Strangely, they seem to make him even more appealing... to the eye, that is.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt out suddenly, firing his own words back at him. He raises an eyebrow at me while taking another step toward the wall so he is now leaning against it like I am.

"I live here," he answers simply, shrugging. What?

"I said, I live here," Harry says again, an annoyed edge to his voice. I didn't realize I said that out loud.

He lives here. Harry must be the 'new guy' my brother was referring to earlier on the phone. I don't know why this bothers me so much, but it does. Immensely. I lift my cup and gulp down some beer to try and ease the tension in my throat.

"You're a little slow tonight. Or are you always like this?" Harry muses, lifting himself up to sit on the wall. His voice is rather slow like he's choosing his words carefully, although I think that's just his natural way of speaking.

He speaks again before I have a chance to defend myself from his former rude comment.

"Now, why are you here?"

"My brother," I say. When I don't continue, Harry rolls his eyes and uses his hand to gesture for me to keep speaking. I can't help but notice how abnormally large his hands are, and also the gashes that run along the knuckles of his left fist. There are other, older scars among them, but these seem to be the freshest.

I tear my eyes away from his hands and clear my throat.

"My brother. He lives here too. Michael," I clarify. Harry's frown deepens, causing a crease to appear between his eyebrows. Then, as realization dawns on him, his frown disappears and is replaced by that goddamn smirk.

"The pink-haired one?" he snickers, his mouth twitching at the corners, causing anger to boil up inside me. Lots of people judge Michael by his appearance before they even get the chance to know him. The fact that he has pink hair and tattoos doesn't have anything to do with his personality. Well, maybe some of it does, but Harry of all people should understand because I'm sure he's tired of being judged for his own choices. But apparently not. He isn't even trying to be polite; he is full on grinning while I glare at him.

"Yes," I snap, and Harry's smile widens as if he takes pleasure in other people's frustration. Now that I think about it, he probably does.

We sit in silence except for the rush of the creek behind the stone wall and the faint boom of the speakers. I find myself wondering what Harry did to get himself as a client of my mother's. Did he kill someone? The thought almost has me running across the lawn and back into the house, but I stay firmly planted in my spot. I am jumping to conclusions, something I really need to stop doing. Although, life has not given me many reasons not to assume the worst...

"No bow tonight, eh?" Harry teases, referring to a few days ago when I was wearing a bow in my hair. My face flushes with a mixture of embarrassment and anger at his mocking commentary.

"No. And for your information, I happen to like that bow. My father got it for me," I spit, my patience for his disrespect rapidly thinning. It seems like all he does is judge people and then criticize them based on his verdict and I'm sick of it.