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His lips were so soft, each slow movement of his possessing such skill - it was if a day hadn't passed where he hadn't kissed somebody, as every action was just so perfectly executed. His hand fell to the side of my face, his fingertip dragging a line along my jaw to aid the upwards tilt of my head.

I couldn't describe it. It was as if such a simple action had revealed a whole other side to him, in less than a week of knowing him, the another piece of the puzzle that was Harry Styles seemed to slot into place.

For the first couple of seconds, I'd been too stunned to kiss him back, or to even evaluate whether I wanted to, but now I was far too stunned to even push him away, or break the kiss, using every single inch of my willpower to turn my head away from his.

Silence fell between us, a couple of breathes leaving Harry's parted lips, as he faced my side profile. His hand fell from my face, and he straightened up, his expression unreadable as I turned my face back to his.

"Sorry," was all he said, the distance between our faces increasing as he took a small step back. Impulse. It was if though his actions had been preplanned, his inability to stop himself from carrying them out had shocked him as much as they had me. He was an impulsive person, I decided then and there - he acted, despite his calculations, and then dealt with the aftermath when bombarded with it.

"My parents," I returned quietly, nodding my head towards my bedroom door, "they could walk in any minute." It was true, they could. My dad had hurried home from work as soon as news of the murder had hit broadcasts, and my mum was, of course, home anyways - when I'd returned back from Zayn's, they'd simply been glad to know I was safe - but confused by the company I'd brought into the house. They hadn't minded - not at all; instead, they introduced themselves to Harry and thanked him for ensuring I'd got home safely, and invited him to stay for the rest of the day - my mother saying something along the lines of it being 'better to group together at times like these', unless Harry had somewhere better to be. He said he didn't.

A wave of something that I dared label as relief washed over Harry's face, as if he was thankful to know I'd pushed him off for that reason, and that reason only. But a part of me was just excusing myself - why had I pushed him away? Was it entirely  because of my parents, or was it partially because of me? It was true, I didn't want my parents walking in and embarrassing me, but I also didn't want to rush things right now. It was partially guilt - I was guilty to be messing around at a time like this, but then a part of me wanted to just take the leap. Never, ever had I had somebody properly interested in me - if Harry even was, and a part of me figured I deserved it, even if that meant I was going into it with all the wrong reasons behind me.

Harry was new; Harry was a fun, careless, incredibly attractive fresh start, with no strings attached. He was a nice, real person from what I could tell - and he wanted to know me. I'd have been lying to say I hadn't felt a thing for him - I was sure the goosebumps arising on my skin and the way I'd been rendered speechless was enough to confirm that. I liked him, I did. There was no reason for me to suppress it.

"So.." Harry trailed off, a glint of humour in his eye as he looked up to meet my gaze, "you're telling me, that I just kissed you, and all you could think about was your parents..?" He looked at me for a moment, and my lips parted, unsure of how to answer him. But I suddenly didn't need to, as he burst into laughter right in front of me.

I was taken aback for a moment, having never seen such intense joyous emotion on his face. He shook his head as he laughed, his eyes closing for a moment before he met my eyes once more, as I now begin to giggle as well, burying my face in my hands.

We were both laughing - I, still seated on the edge of my bed, and him, leant back against my desk.

"I'm sorry," I said through my laughter, as Harry continued to shake his head.

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