Sweet As Honey-Boxer Harry

Chapter 8

Harry can feel the drum thumping in his bones as the bar vibrates with the music from the DJ. He pushes a sweaty strand of hair out of his face, tilting his chin down as he does so. Y/n, plastered to his chest, presses a sloppy kiss to his lips that has him chuckling into her mouth and cupping her warm face in his equally warm hands.

Behind him, the lads from the gym and their friends all holler, someone smacking Harry on the shoulder in congratulations. It makes him chuckle again, this time a bit bashfully, and his ears prickle with heat. His lips detach from y/n's and she blinks her eyes open, looking at him with buzzed eyes and pink cheeks, and he doesn't care about the group of people watching them. He wraps his right arm around her, pulling her even closer to his chest and swaying them back and forth softly. The rhythm is far too slow to match the song but it doesn't matter.

A voice he can't place hollers over the music, "Is that the same girl from last week, Styles?"

Even with his back to the group and his nose in y/n's hair, he can feel the beat of silence as they all await his answer. Y/n fists the silk material of his dress shirt in her hands, looking up at him with curious eyes. Her chin digs into his chest but he enjoys the little pinch of discomfort.

"Course it is." Harry says, loud enough to be heard over the music. A tiny smile twitches at her lips, so cute it has Harry biting back a grin. She goes shy under his gaze, hiding her face in his chest again. He chuckles softly, petting at the back of her head and she pinches his side softly.

"How long is that gonna last?" A voice he recognizes to be Marx calls out. He says it teasingly but Harry knows he's genuinely curious. Him and a couple other boxers always pick up Harry's old one night stands. But he's not getting y/n. The thought of them anywhere near y/n has his stomach twisting.

"As long as I want it to last." Harry replies, affectionately squeezing her shoulder. Y/n presses into his chest even closer.

He knows the next voice immediately. "So I can have her tomorrow, aye?" It's Issleberg, another one of the fuckers that gets his sloppy seconds. Harry doesn't bother answering. He knows y/n isn't sloppy seconds or someone he'll just toss out when he's tired of her. It's been a month and Harry doesn't think he'll ever get tired of her. Issleberg's comment is so unbelievably untrue it doesn't deserve a comment from Harry.

After a moment the guys all resume chatting and trying to hit on the girls around them. Harry ducks down, lowering his lips next to y/n's ear. "Let's go get a drink darling."

She doesn't respond but she lets Harry spin her around, his right arm staying locked around her torso. He keeps his front flush to her back as they push through the crowd. They make it to the bar, Harry keeping his arm slung around y/n as he waits for the bartender. He looks down at her, expecting to find her happily watching him or snuggling into his side. Instead she's typing something into her phone, the device lighting up her glossy eyes.

"Hey," Harry questions gently. She locks her phone, looking up at him with sad eyes. "what's going on?"

"I think I want to go home." Her words shock Harry because just five minutes ago they were having a blast. Before he can even respond, she's shaking off his arm and marching towards the exit. The sight of her practically running away from him chases all traces of his previous drinks away.

Harry's quick to follow her, grabbing her wrist to keep her from walking away from him. "What'sa matter darling?"

She turns to face him and he doesn't like the look he receives. "Nothing," y/n says with a forced smile and a shrug. "just want to go home I guess." Her tone stays casual but Harry notices the growing glossiness in her eyes and he knows it's not the drinks doing anymore. It's his own.