The Primrose Thrills (Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Part 7 (2)

“I don’t care.”

“You can email me. Twenty first century style.”

He laughed. “Perhaps I’ll tweet you.”

“Don’t you even think about it.”

I smirked and his lips closed in, though not quite touching. I could feel the soft flutter of his lashes on my skin as his nose moved back and forth gently over mine.

”I’ll miss your birthday.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Out of all the things for him to remember and worry about, it was the one day of the year that I never really cared for. 

“I don’t even really like birthdays anyway.”

I felt his brow furrow and his face moved from mine.

“What do you mean you don’t like birthdays?”

He sounded both surprised and offended. Of course, I’d loved birthdays as a child. They were fun and exciting and you’d spend weeks sending out invitations and planning party bags. But as I’d gotten older, the novelty had worn off. Now they were just a good excuse for getting drunk, which I did quite often anyway.

I shrugged. “I just think they’re like any other day really.”

Harry pouted his lips.

“Don’t pout,” I smirked; remembering the time when he’d told me not to pout when I was sulking on the other end of the phone, desperate to know what he’d sent me in the post. I studied his face as his right eyebrow kinked upwards and his lips crept into an enigmatic smirk, as if a light bulb had just switched on in his head.

“I bet I could change your mind about birthdays.”

“Well unfortunately for you, you’re not even going to be in the country,” I quipped.

“When I’m back.”

“Please don’t get me anything. You really don’t need to.”

“But I want to.”

“Harry…”

The idea of people unnecessarily spending money on me had always made me feel awkward; big or small.

“Okay, fine,” he grinned. “I won’t get you anything.”

The look on his face and the tone of his voice wasn’t convincing in the slightest.

“But I do have something in mind for when I’m back.”

I chewed my lower lip between my teeth as I thought and wondered. I could feel my curiosity running relentlessly through my veins; desperate for appeasement, which was something that I knew Harry wouldn’t give me.

“Is this where you make me wait it out?”

He grinned again. “Yes.”

I scrunched my face up in frustration and he laughed, before pressing his lips on to my own.

“Patience is a virtue,” he smirked against my lips.

“I don’t like virtues,” I muttered with playful petulance. 

“I think you’ll like the outcome of this one.”

-

“Emilia. Emilia.”

I stirred from my sleep to the feeling of Harry’s nose brushing over my cheek as his lips ran over my jaw and the side of my mouth. I was tucked neatly into his body; back to chest. I peered through heavy lids and could see the first strokes of the sun breaking through an opaque darkness between the gap in the curtains. I could barely remember falling asleep and it felt like I hadn’t slept at all.