21 Murders | Harry Styles AU (discontinued)

IV. Didactic

My feet slide over the floor as I approach the bathroom, faint moans making my motions freeze momentarily. The noise continues on, multiplying in volume as I squint my eyebrows and disregard my trip to the bathroom to walk farther down the hall and closer to the noise.

I lean forward and press my ear to the cold door, rustling sheets and light thumps causing me to wonder beyond the stars. What is he doing? A large part of me wants to tell myself to stay put and walk away, but the other--and more nosy part--yells at me from the inside to reach forward and figure out what is happening.

Pushing all thoughts of violating his privacy away, my fingers grasp the knob and quickly turn. The sight in front of me the moment I open the door stalls an unknown emotion, his body thrashing harshly under the constricting sheets and his eyebrows tightly clamped together in the darkness.

The closer I approach, the more I notice the anxiety in his facial expressions. His lips open and close, low moans falling between the rims of his heart-shaped lips, and tight scowls are brought up and dropped.

"Officer,'' I reach forward and my hand grabs the bulk parts of his shoulders, squeezing in untimely motions to try and restore reality into his system. "Hey, wake up!" I finally speak louder, his arms hitting my sides in his fight against his demons.

A cough erupts from my throat as his fist slams into my gut, the soar bruising on my ribs likely to triple in size at the new blow. The force I push against his strong arms doesn't seem to faze him; even in his sleep he can overcompensate my strength to the maximum.

How the hell am I supposed to wake him up?

I continue to shake him and call out many different names--all not his actual name which I am still in the dark about--and deciding that this tact isn't working, I quickly run out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.

My eyes dart around the room and it takes multiple tries before I find the glass cabinet.

Quickly filling the cup to the brim, I scoot back down the hall and enter the room to see his body more worked up than before. Now the sheet that was wrapped around his hips is tossed to the side along with many pillows that were by his head previously.

I set the glass on the nightstand, the darkness in his room giving me little to work with as I trap his wrists in my hands and pin them down using all my strength. My knees press to the mattress on either side of him, ankles wrapping around his shins and forcing them to the softness of his bed.

The gasps turn into light screaming as I reach over and barely grab the full glass. I splash it onto his face and the sputtering of his lips turns into coughs, my body jumping slightly at the sight of him pushing himself to sit up.

My breath hitches in my throat as we come inches apart, his lips only mere centimeters from mine. I quickly start sitting up, his confused and panting body still trying to process what just happened. The water that was thrown onto his face soaks his shirt, the material clinging to his body and just barely getting my own wet.

His breathing is the only thing besides the ceiling fan that radiates through the room, my eyes tuned to hear the sharp intakes and exhales of air pouring through his body. I finally step to my one foot, surprise slashing me in the face as a hand grabs my forearm and tugs me back down onto the bed.

Strong arms are pressed around my kneeling body, the wetness of his shirt soaking my own as his hot breath hits my neck. It takes a few moments to process, but my arms hesitantly wrap around his lanky torso, squeezing at a remotely equal tightness.

Minutes pass by that we remain like this, the officer's breathing becoming normal and regulated as the light puffs of air fan onto my shoulder. He's the first to move, unwrapping his limbs from my own and sitting back against the head board.