"I just want it to be perfect
To believe it's all been worth the fight."
A/N: Get comfy, it's a long one.
*This is a double update, read chapter 53 first if you haven't yet.*
Ever had someone be annoying simply for that fact that you can’t be annoyed with them?
That’s how I feel about the green eyed smirky curly headed dickhead.
I frown, narrowing my eyes at my reflection in the mirror as if it were Harry's face as I continue to wash my own.
Why is he so preoccupied with helping me? He's been going on about it since the night we played pool; which is also the night he blackmailed me into dancing with him via trying to give me a strip tease in front of the whole bar.
Ironic to think I'd actually probably enjoy that these days.
In the privacy of a house though…
Would he ever consider doing something like that again in private?
Right, okay, I need to stop thinking about Harry getting naked. Bad brain.
God I'm getting as bad as Harry with all of this.
He's turning me into a fuckboy.
I had my face washed, thoroughly, and just finished brushing my teeth when I heard Harry come back into the room with Gizmo.
I try not to dwell on it too much, how much the small act of taking my dog out to the bathroom was.
It felt like he'd offered me an organ donation. I feel like an idiot for how sentimental I get over small things like that, or how much they mean to me or how much I appreciate them.
I wish the idea of accepting help hadn't been made into one of the most terrifying things I can do with another person.
It feels pathetic if I'm honest, that something so small and casual like taking Gizmo into the back yard sets off that unease in my gut; yet at the same time means so much.
I catch Harry's reflection in the mirror as he comes up behind me when he walks into the bathroom and that's all the warning I have before he takes hold of my hips; turning me and hoisting me up to sit on the counter.
I give him a partially stunned, and partially confused look over why he did that but he just runs his palms up my thighs to let his fingertips rest under the fabric of my pyjama shorts.
He's still shirtless, but thankfully had slipped his pants on to take Gizmo out and I only just notice his long hair is thrown up in a mess of a bun.
He tilts his head, with a lopsided smile, "Hey buttface. Feeling better now?"
I frown at him, struggling not to laugh at the nickname.
"You mean better than when I was having my head squashed and having dog anus rubbed on my forehead while you watched?"
Harry scoffs out a laugh through his nose, rolling his lips inside his mouth to keep the rest of his amusement in.
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Perspective. |H.S| Harry StylesMystery / Thriller
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