enjoy my darlings ;)
Seraphina Amor
It was bright in the room, the sunlight from outside boring into the open space. I could feel it burning my eyelids as they fluttered at the invasion, slowly drawing me out of my sleep.
The position my body was twisted in was far from comfortable, and I could feel the beginnings of a knot forming in the lower portion of my neck. My shoulder had a strange amount of pressure on it as I shifted around, trying to get rid of it.
My hand raised to rub at my still closed eyelids, getting rid of any sleep that remained in them. I guess somehow last night I had managed to get some sort of rest, however little that may have been.
Slowly blinking my eyes open, they remain squinted as I look around with blurry vision. Through a foggy gaze, my sight locks on the TV that's in front of me and the bookshelves that border it. My brows furrowed in confusion as I sat upwards, recognizing the black table in the center of the room.
I had fallen asleep on the couch, I guess I never made it back to my room last night. .
Breathing deeply, I looked around the room, noticing the empty couch that paralleled the one I was sitting on. Harry had been sitting there last night. We didn't say much after our short conversation, anything either of us had to say died in our throats before we even got the urge to speak our thoughts. It was comforting, in a strange way, it was like having someone else there blocked my mind from wandering, giving me the distraction to focus on anything other than my thoughts. Harry didn't seem to mind it because as far as I could remember, he didn't make any move to leave and retreat back to his room.
He was on edge though, that much I could tell. His body was tense, shoulders stiff, and he would jump in his spot the tiniest bit, trying to play it off as him shifting in his spot. It was a terrible attempt, in my opinion, quite easy to tell he was jittery. Maybe he wasn't telling the truth and was more worried about someone breaking in than he led me to believe. It was weird that he didn't even seem concerned, playing it off and saying it was an occurrence.
Maybe I should tell him to get a new penthouse if his kept getting broken into. Seemed like a pretty logical idea to me.
I've had one or two break ins at my own apartment in New York, but those were by stupid robbers that were trying to get some jewelry or anything that costed a lot of money. None of them just walked into my home and stood there before quickly exiting, that was not normal.
A chill coursed through my body at the eerie wave I had received from the intruder, it was as if they knew me or something. Maybe it was just the sleep deprivation, but I felt this sort of pull towards them that I couldn't even make sense of in my brain.
Shaking the thoughts away, the loud sound of the refrigerator being closed came from the kitchen, and I turned around, looking over my shoulder to see Harry walking around, pulling out various things.
I grinned at the sight, watching as he wandered around, taking out pots and pans and placing them on the counters where he needed them. I still found it weird seeing Harry do normal, mundane things. That was just something I never pictured him doing at all.
He lived alone before, that much was clear, so obviously he had to cook for himself. Something inside me was tugged as I imagined him by himself every night, wordlessly eating his meals alone. I've noticed that even now as I lived in the same penthouse as him, he didn't usually like eating with me. On the rare occasion he would, but usually he would just cook a meal big enough for me and said he would take whatever I didn't.
In some odd way, I understood why he did it. I lived completely alone in the city. Arthur only came during the day and went back home for dinner with his wife. More than once he had tried inviting me over, but I declined each time, making up some lie that I had something to do. There was a sense of comfort in eating alone. There was no way to explain, I didn't understand it but there was no denying that from any outside view it seemed incredibly lonely.
At least now, he's not alone whenever he eats. I'm always here when he is, so I know he isn't completely alone in this vast penthouse whether he likes it or not.
Though, I'm sure there are times where he wants to be totally alone, not bothered by my presence. Those are the instances where he walks into his room without a word, and then I don't see him until hours later or when something happens and we need to leave.
Recently, he hasn't had opportunities to do that. We've been remotely busy and I could tell, just based on his utter silence after his short teasing last night, that he was itching to break away.
I sat there for a few more moments, observing him in silence as he placed a bag of flour on the center counter, next to some eggs, butter, and sugar. I stare at the ingredients, running through my small knowledge on cooking, more specifically breakfast meals. A grin threatened to pull onto my lips as it finally clicked at what he was making, or at least preparing to make.
"Are you cooking pancakes?"
My question rings loud in the room, voice still a little groggy from just waking up. Harry doesn't even look at me as he pulls out baking soda, sliding it in front of him.
"What else does it look like I'm making?" he asks, placing the clear bowl in front of him.
I push off the couch, tugging my shirt down from where it was bunched up on my stomach, exposing a small patch of skin.
"Could be loads of things," I say, walking into the kitchen, hands held behind my back.
At this, Harry glances up at me, hands stalling from where he was beginning to ready his ingredients. "Really? Like what?"
I freeze in my spot, a few steps away from the counter he's working at, pursing my lips in thought. "Um... waffles?"
It comes out more as a question and Harry shakes his head, looking down and avoiding eye contact with me, focusing back on the task at hand.
"You're never allowed to use my kitchen."
The faint indent of his dimple begins to pop out thanks to the small smirk that's starting to form on his lips.
"I'll have you know, Mr. 'I'm great at everything', I can make a mean microwavable mac and cheese."
I'm not sure why I was pulling jokes with Harry, but I enjoyed this light banter in the morning much more than the insults that were usually thrown at each other. I wasn't awake enough for that yet.
"Is that so?" Harry hums, quirking a brow as he begins pouring all of the ingredients together.
I nod, sliding into one of the open stools, placing my bare feet on the bar that stretched across the bottom.
"Yup," I responded curtly.
"Have you ever messed it up?"
"....No."
He didn't know that I've somehow managed to screw up such a simple and easy meal. But, Harry looks up, expression showing he didn't completely believe my lie. I groan, slumping forward to rest my elbows on the counter.
"Okay, it was once and I was piss drunk, so that doesn't count," I defended, pointing a finger at him and giving a serious look.
Harry chuckles under his breath while he mixes the ingredients for the pancakes together. "Thought you didn't drink, Amor."
Automatically, my entire form tenses at his question, heart nearly stopping in my chest.
"I... I don't, or at least I try not to," I mumble, pulling my hands off the table to rest them in my lap. I shake my head, suddenly feeling burning hot and I push off the stool to stand up, taking a small step back. "Um, I'm going to freshen up. Yell when it's ready."
Harry looks confused, hand slowing its stir as he stares at me quizzically but he nods, not pushing it too far at the moment. "Okay, shouldn't be too long."
Quickly, I walk out of the room, steps hurried towards my open door that I nearly slam behind me once I get inside. My back rests against the wooden surface, head tilting back as I took a deep, calming breath. I flexed my hands, feeling my palms begin to get a little sweaty and I rubbed them against my thighs as I pushed off the door, walking towards my bathroom.
I'm not sure why I reacted like that to Harry's statement, maybe it was the accusing notion behind it, even if he wasn't aware. I don't think he was trying to be rude, which was a shocker considering that's all he seemed to be ninety percent of the time. It just took me off guard, something I wasn't really prepared for him to say, not in the slightest.
Flipping on the switch to the bathroom, I rubbed harshly at my eyes with the heels of my palms. My heart was beginning to beat rapidly and I tried to steady my breathing as best as I could, attempting to calm myself down. This was not the fucking time.
I reached forward, turning on the faucet to the coldest it was able to go and I leaned down, splashing the cool water against my face. My fingers were beginning to tingle and my stomach felt uneasy but I tried pushing it down, focusing on the sound of the running water.
"Shit," I whisper, gripping the edges of the counter with one hand while the other turns off the faucet.
I kept my eyes down, looking at the counter with a hard gaze. It was going to happen soon, I could feel it in my bones and deep within my gut. I dreaded it, it had been so long since the last time and I was doing okay, better than I had before.
It's your fault.
I winced at the nagging voice in the bag of my head, pinching my eyes shut as I dug my palms into the sharp edge of the counter. My ears were ringing and I tapped my finger against the cool surface while I waited for this feeling to pass.
It's your fault.
You did it.
It's all your fault.
"No," I mumbled, shaking my head in a sad attempt at a denial.
Without much thought, my eyes flickered up to my reflection, staring at the person looking back at me. I looked exhausted, not even just because of the eye bags that stood out but I just looked like I haven't slept in years. My gaze was hazy, eyes looking like they had a screen over them causing them to look dull.
I frowned, biting at the inside of my cheek. "Grow up," I whisper, disappointed in myself for making such a big deal of this.
Now, Harry was going to be more suspicious, and he had all the reason to be. I didn't need his looming question or curiosity hanging over me all of the time, that was just another thing I couldn't deal with right now.
Eventually after a few minutes of standing in the bathroom, I managed to relax, shoulders untensing and falling into a slump instead of their rigid position of before.
"Food's ready!"
Harry's voice booms through the penthouse, traveling through my closed door and into the bathroom. I take in a shaky breath, wiping the water that still lingered in droplets on my face with the fluffy white towel before tossing it onto the counter.
With one more quick glance at the mirror to make sure I looked presentable, I stepped out of the bathroom, shutting the lights off as I did so. Grabbing the light zip up jacket from my chair, I threw it on as I opened up my door, walking out into the hallway.
From the second I leave my room, the smell of fresh pancakes invades my nostrils and a warm feeling spreads throughout my body. It was sweet and nostalgic in some strange way that I couldn't place my finger on. There were no memories I correlated with the scent, but I suppose it was just one of things that anyone can find joy in.
Harry was wiping down the counter with a towel, placing the bowls and utensils he had used into the sink, leaving them until one of us could clean them.
As much as I disliked Harry, I wasn't a slob that didn't help clean up after herself. Pushing everything aside, the fact Harry offered usage of his penthouse was extremely generous and he had all the right to kick me out the first day if he wanted to. Thankfully, he hadn't, and had stuck out dealing with me despite all of the bickering.
I knew that if I was in his spot, I would've thrown him to the curb after the first week.
Harry looked up from where he was placing the dish that had a stack of pancakes on them, eyes locking with my own. I could see the way his brows furrowed slightly in confusion but he didn't say anything, instead he gave me a smirk, motioning down the syrup and butter that was on the surface.
"Help yourself, darling."
I walked over cautiously, slipping back into the stool I was previously seated in, dragging one of the white ceramic plates in front of me. "How do I know you didn't poison these while I was gone?"
Harry's grin deepened before it pulled into a mock front, shrugging his shoulders as he sat down across from me. "Guess you'll have to trust that I didn't."
I squinted at him, slowly taking my fork and picking up the rather large pancake from the top. "Haven't quite earned that yet."
"And I don't blame you," he responds, copying my movements to take from the stack as well. "Trust is a tricky. A delicate thing, no?"
I shrug, grabbing my knife to begin cutting the pancake. "Suppose."
Harry's lips press into a line and he nods, looking down as he takes the knife to the butter, spreading it across the top of it.
The two of us eat in silence, my eyes cast down at my plate and refusing to look up at him. It was awkward and at the moment I missed the banter that would usually ensue when it came to the rare occasion that we would eat together. So, in the kitchen, it's just the sound of utensils tapping against out plates and the muffled car honks from outside.
As I'm beginning to pour more syrup into a small pool on the side of my plate, I can hear Harry let out a small scoff. At that, my head snaps up, taking in the way he's grinning down at my plate, dimple beginning to pop out.
"What is it?" I snap, rather harshly, dropping my fork onto my plate and sending him an expectant look.
"You dip your pancakes, you don't drizzle the syrup," he points out, hand subtly jerking towards the pool of syrup that was right next to my food.
I look at it with a soft frown, glancing between mine and his plates. His syrup was drizzled over the pancakes and it made me cringe a little bit.
"Well, I just don't like it that way. You miss too much when you do it like that. If you dip then you can have as much as you want," I say, stabbing a piece of pancake onto my fork and placing it in the syrup. "Why does it matter? Aren't you the same person who puts the milk in before the cereal?"
"It doesn't matter, just haven't met anyone who does it that way," he shrugs, going back down to his plate.
"And I haven't met anyone who eats cereal that way either," I respond, giving him a serious look.
Harry chuckles, shaking his head gently as he plays with the tiny squares of pancakes he had cut for himself. "No need to get so defensive, Amor, was only making conversation."
I hum, rolling my lips into my mouth to hold back the small grin that was threatening to form.
I enjoyed this kind of conversation with him much more than the weird silence. Harry seemed to have brushed off the incident that had happened before, continuing on like nothing happened. I was glad he did that. I didn't have to explain myself, especially not to him, but regardless, it was appreciated.
Breakfast continued on mostly silent, a crude remark here or there, but the quietness wasn't unbearably heavy. The food was good, much better than I thought it would be considering Harry made it. It still surprised me that he could cook, but I guess that was just because in reality I knew little to nothing about him.
Hell, I don't even think I know his age.
As I ate silently, I made a mental list of the things I knew about him.
He was an agent that used to work with Jensen, or trained with him as Harry would say it.
He was British, which was obvious.
He was a pescatarian who enjoyed peas seemingly a little too much.
He poured the milk in first for his cereal and he drizzled his syrup instead of dipping it.
In conclusion, there wasn't much I knew about him which caused the slightest bit of concern but, the same went for me. Harry knew nothing really. He knew I was from New York and worked for Dolion, that was about it.
Basically, we were two complete strangers living in the same house who knew little to nothing about each other. It was a little strange, I suppose, but as it seemed, neither of us appeared to be people who liked sharing things about ourselves.
Regardless, I had been around Harry enough over the past little over a month to know all that I needed to know about him.
He was arrogant and extremely self righteous, and whenever he one-upped me he would put on this cocky smirk that pissed me off beyond belief. One side of his stupidly over pink lips would turn upwards, and his eyes would hold this look in them that he knew he had gotten me and that the argument was over.
It was the most frustrating thing and it made me want to smack it right off his face, but as of recently, there was this small, tiny part of me that enjoyed it. Even though I hated being wrong more than anything in the world, the way Harry would hold the fact he was right over my head for the rest of the day made my stomach twist in a way I didn't exactly dislike.
I rarely acknowledged it though, it was canceled out by the other things I highly dislike about him.
Like how he would pull at his bottom lip when he was thinking or trying to put a stop to the smirk that was threatening to spread across his face, making the pink color just a shade darker.
Or how he would leave his shirt unbuttoned to the point where why would he even bother wearing it if he wasn't going to wear it properly. Plus, there was no need to wear it that undone, it was distracting and annoying.
Or how when he drove, his fingers would drum against the steering wheel to whatever song he was playing and when I would ask him to stop, he would have his other hand join in as well.
He did little things that ticked me off beyond belief, but as I've come to realize lately, they've been leaving a weird and lingering feeling within me.
I don't know quite when it happened, but our arguments had been less personal in a way, not digging into where it hurts. It had calmed a little and I quite enjoyed not screaming at each other every second we could; my vocal cords needed a rest anyway.
Though, I didn't like acknowledging this odd change in dynamics, opting to just brush it off and count down the days until everything blew up in our faces. I'm sure that wouldn't be too far down our timeline together.
A soft clear of a throat snapped me out of my thoughts, drawing my attention to where Harry was standing up from his seat, walking over to the sink. "We have something we need to do today," he says as he drops his plate gently into the sink.
I halted moving my fork from where it was playing with my pancakes, suddenly not feeling very hungry anymore, the thought of even eating making me a little nauseous.
"And what's that?" I ask, eyes trained on Harry as he turns around to look at me.
"Well, since we practiced and critiqued your physical fighting, I want to work and see your skill with a weapon," he replies, shrugging his shoulders as he pushes off the counter to begin collecting everything.
"Why? Don't trust I know how to properly shoot a gun? Was me hitting a car while you were driving sixty miles per hour not enough for you?" I raised an eyebrow as I slid out of my seat, bringing my plate over to the trash can and dumping the few pieces that remained.
The corners of Harry's lips curl upwards as I walk over to him, placing my plate next to his own. "I never said that, Amor, but a little practice doesn't hurt."
I hum, leaning against the counter and narrowing my eyes the tiniest bit. This was undoubtedly one of the instances where he was looking for a competition, and who was I to decline him of that.
"Suppose it doesn't. Just be prepared to look like a fool next to me," I shrug, keeping my tone calm but still holding the faintest bit of arrogance.
"Whatever you want to believe, darling."
"Let me make an assumption, though, passed on past experience," I say as I step away from the counter to grab the last two bowls from where we were just sitting. "It's going to be in some strange building that you only have access to because of you and your strange connections?"
I glance over my shoulder to see Harry staring at me with amusement. "Guess, we'll see."
As it turned out, I was right.
I look out the window at the building Harry is pulling up next to, shaking my head at the fact that I had guessed correctly. There was no sign on the building, the outside painted a dark gray color, and the building itself was tucked off of on some road that stretched on for what seemed like forever.
"How did I know?" I ask Harry, turning my head to look at him as he parked the car right next to the building.
"I guess you're catching onto me, Amor," he responds, pulling the keys out of the ignition and dropping them into his pants pockets.
After I had helped him clean up in the kitchen, since I was feeling a little more generous this morning for some reason, both of us had quickly gotten ready, changing into something that was a little more comfortable for target practice.
I had on some random black yoga pants that I don't think I've worn in years, a black sports bra with a jacket thrown over it. Harry had a similar look, decked out in all black from his shirt down to his pants, and even his shoes.
I think the more time I spent with him, the less and less amount of color I used in my wardrobe. I found myself wearing black more often than not recently, and it's not that I didn't like the color, it was just strange. Maybe a little depressing too, but they were the only clothes I had that were alright enough to practice in, so I didn't have much of a choice.
It was relatively sunny out as I exited the car, feeling the heat from the sun get trapped in my full black attire. I squinted my eyes at the building in curiosity as I waited for Harry to join me in the front of the car. He stops next to me and I can see him staring at me through my peripheral vision.
"I really shouldn't keep letting you take me to these sketchy places. Eventually one day I'll walk right in and I won't be walking back out," I half-tease and I earn a suppressed chuckle from Harry.
"Come on, don't have all day," he responds, beginning to walk to the black tinted front doors.
I stay there for a moment, watching his back as he walks to the front, biting the inside of my cheek. I didn't like how good he looked in black, it really was a shame he was such an asshole or I would find him a lot more attractive.
My body jerks at the thought, eyes widening significantly. No, absolutely not. Harry was a prick, no matter how physically attractive he was and I told myself a long time ago I was done with asshole guys.
I take a deep breath, shaking the thoughts out of my head and quickly follow after Harry with quick steps. My sneakers scuff against the ground as I slow down to stop next to him, seeing the way he pulls out a small black card from his pocket. He brings it forward, sliding it through the scanner on the right and the the small button next to it turns green. The door clicks and Harry grasps onto the handle, tugging it open.
"After you, darling," he says, holding the door open for me with his foot. I give him a sickeningly sweet smile as I walk past him.
"Wow, it has manners."
Harry scoffs behind me, the door closing as he rejoins by my side, glaring at me with slitted eyes. "I try doing one nice thing for you, Amor, and I don't even get a thank you. Says a lot about your character."
"Really? And what does that tell you about me?" I ask, playing along with whatever game he was presenting.
His grin grows as he steps in front of me, walking further into the building, talking to me over his shoulder.
"That's for me to know, darling."
I roll my eyes at him, still trailing behind him as I look around at the interior of this place. It was a relatively small building on the outside, but the inside appeared so much bigger than it truly was. It was one long room, but stretched across the width of it were different shooting stations, each separated by black panels.
On the other side of the room were the targets, the outlines of a person and where fatal hit locations would be were drawn in thick black lines across a white background. They were hung from the ceiling, about a hundred yards out from where you would shoot, spaced out between the allotted space.
It was hot in here and I quickly unzipper my jacket, feeling the air touch my skin. Harry was already at one of the little sections, placing a gun on the table, getting everything set up. With slow steps, I walk over to him, still looking around at the inside with a passive expression.
"How do you just know all of these random places?" I question as I stop right next to his section, leaning against the side of the panel with folded arms.
"Just do," he answers simply without looking up from where he is readying the gun to use.
"That's not the answer I was looking for," I hum, craning my head to look out at the targets.
None of them had bullet holes in them, meaning either they were changed recently or no one really came here. Based on my own judgment, I was going to assume it was the latter.
"What did you want me to say, then?" Harry asks, stealing a quick glance as he hands continue to swiftly load the gun.
I shrug, turning to that my back is now resting where my shoulder just was. "Don't know. Maybe you are some filthy rich man who secretly owns all of the buildings in London because you killed everyone who previously owned them."
My words are dry and humorless, certainly not giving any hint that I am clearly joking. Harry hums, looking slightly entertained at my statement.
"That certainly is a theory," he says, nodding his head as he places the now readied gun on the small surface in front of him.
"Wouldn't be surprised if it was true," I quip, pushing off my back to stand completely straight next to him.
"Well, I hate to burst your little fictitious bubble of your theories, but unfortunately it's not."
"So you're telling me you aren't filthy rich?" I deadpan.
Harry's head tilts to the side. "Hm, maybe that part is true, but the owning London part is certainly not. I just have connections."
I didn't push to know Harry's connections, there was no way he would tell me any of those because I most definitely would never tell him mine. That was another thing I was always told: you never, under any circumstance, inform someone of the connections you have. It gives a lot away, and in a world where information was valued more than someone's life, it was extremely important to know that.
I looked down at the gun, then back up at Harry before I leaned back against the panel. "You go first." I jerk my head towards the gun and Harry looks down, furrowing his brows.
"What?"
"Never really seen you shoot. You've seen me before, so I think you should go first."
Harry draws his bottom lips between his teeth in thought, eyes not meeting mine as I stare at him expectantly. It's quiet for a few beats, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the overhead lights.
"Fine," he eventually answers, grabbing the gun off the surface and into his hands. I grin triumphantly to myself, taking a step back from him.
Harry rolls his shoulders, getting into his shooting from, hands holding tightly onto the grip of the gun. His entire form noticeably tenses then untenses, a sign that he was taking that deep breath everyone usually did before firing in practice. Calms your nerves.
His pointer finger moves the trigger, resting there for a short moment before pulling it. The loud sound of the shot ringing through the building echoes through off the walls, staying in the air of the room.
I move over, peering to see where the bullet impacted. From where I was standing, I could see the small hole on the left side of the outline, shot landing in the outermost circle. Glancing at Harry, I could practically see the frustration radiating off of him, almost coming off in waves.
"It's cause your form is utter shit," I speak up, walking towards him in confident strides.
Whether he knew it or not, right now we were in my comfort zone, the thing I was best at. If I could maybe knock his cockiness down a peg or two, I wouldn't hesitate to do so, but the most important thing was also teaching him. He certainly was an expert at physical fighting, and he taught me a few things, so I guess this was my turn.
"You're way too tense, it looks almost uncomfortable," I continue on, moving to stand next to him.
Harry glares at me, a crease between his brows just confirming my lingering suspicion of his frustration. "Let me see you do better," he challenges.
I don't even stop an arrogant smirk of my own from forming on my lips as I walk over to Harry, taking the gun right out of his hands.
"You asked for it, Styles."
I reload the gun quickly, the action being second nature from how long I've done these very motions. I didn't even need to think about it anymore from how easy it was for me now.
"Back up," I tell Harry, making sure that he isn't directly behind me when I fire the gun. He steps away, his shoes shuffling against the floor as he moves back.
Cracking my neck, I bring the gun into the stance and positioning I had nearly perfected over the years of constant training. Inhaling through my nose, I let the breath escape my lips as my sight zoned in on the target that stood in front of me.
Then, my finger moves to the trigger and pulls. The sound of a gun being fired didn't even faze me at his point, my body barely even jumping.
I stand tall as I look at where my shot impacted, the bullet cutting through the red circle in the middle; bullseye.
Dropping the gun onto the counter, I turn to face Harry who is staring at the target with parted lips. His eyes flicker between me and the target with shock before a grin tugs at the edges of his mouth.
"Aren't you just full of surprises, darling?" he says, bringing his hands towards himself to crack them while he walks towards me.
"Suppose I am," I respond, ignoring the self-satisfied feeling in the pits of my stomach at the fact I had impressed Harry. "So, I think you should take what I say to heart and believe me when I say your form is kind of bad."
The words sounded harsh and Harry seemed to be a little taken back with my bluntness but I was never one to sugarcoat things. Honesty was more important than anything, whether it was good or bad.
"Could be a little kinder with those words," he mumbles, reaching to grab the weapon into his hands.
Another obvious thing about him, he has really nice hands, like really nice and I liked his cross tattoo and rings a lot.
I take a deep breath, tearing my eyes away from where he was holding the gun to look at his face. He was gazing at me with anticipation, maybe a little bit of irritation as well.
He also had no sense of patience sometimes which also got on my nerves.
"Go into your positioning," I tell him, resting against the panel again as I wait for him to get himself ready.
He does as I say, quickly setting himself up as if he were to shoot.
"Now what?" he asks.
Harry starts to turn his head, and without thinking, my hand juts out to grasp onto both sides of his jaw, moving his face forward again . Harry visibly tenses under me, eyes widening the tiniest bit.
My heart drops and I quickly pull back my hand from his face as if his skin were scorching hot. I breathed in shakily, rubbing the hand that was just gripping both sides of his jaw against the side of my thigh.
"Just.... shut up and don't move," I grumble, taking a step back, trying to make some room between us in this suddenly too small space.
Harry nods regardless, his body untensing and remaining forward as my eyes scan over his form.
The air between us was so tense I could barely breathe properly, my throat nearly closing in on me as I moved closer to him to fix his stance.
Maybe I was over exaggerating when I said his form was completely shit, it wasn't terrible but it wasn't great either. His shoulders were extremely tensed up and I hesitantly placed my hands on the top of them. Harry's muscles tighten underneath my hold, his breathing catching itself.
"Relax or we aren't going to get anywhere," I whisper.
Harry complies and I look back at his shoulder, adjusting them the slightest bit so they were in better positioning.
As I readjusted his shoulders, my eyes roamed down to where his arms were outstretched in front of him, sight following the many tattoos that decorated his skin. Most of them were located on his left arm, none of them seeming to correlate with each other. It looked like a sketch pad, like he treated his skin as a piece of paper to draw random designs on.
It worked for him in a way I didn't understand. The messy and chaoticness of it working better than if it were one continued design. Personally, I didn't like those kinds of tattoos, the sleeves that were one large drawing. It just didn't do it for me. But this setup, I quite enjoyed, more than I cared to admit. Plus, I guess it helped that Harry had a lot of muscle.
Once it clicked that I probably stayed there with my hands resting on Harry's shoulders a bit longer than I should have, I pulled away, moving down to his arms. The intense shade of green his eyes held were trained on my intently, watching my every move as I readjusted his arms as well.
His skin was warm and I felt myself get hot as I stared at them, thinking of the way they looked the other day when we were sparing. The skin coated in a sheer layer of sweet, glistening in the dim lighting of his work out, or whatever he called it, room. Or how I had pinned him to the ground only to have him do the same to me a few seconds later with that damn smirk.
The twisting feeling returned and I swallowed thickly as I backed away from him. Harry's eyes hadn't left me, something I realized as I looked up at him. His pupils were larger than they were before, stealing away some of the green of his iris and replacing it with the deep black.
My heart was pounding and I suddenly felt extremely hot under his stare, something that was new and foreign to me. This never happened with anyone, ever. But now, it felt as though I was going to have a heart attack from the way he was looking at me.
I bite the inside of my cheek, allowing my eyes to dart down to stare at his lips. They looked all too inviting right now, and I was starting to think Harry definitely poisoned my breakfast because there was no way I would be thinking about these things if he hadn't, especially not about him of all people.
But, my eyes didn't move away from his lips, wondering what they would feel like. They looked soft, extremely soft, and they were such a nice color too. It was nearly unfair how much of a nice mouth he had, it was nearly perfect and it momentarily made me forget about the rude things that spilled out of it from time to time.
They curved so nicely, especially at the ends, always turned upwards to make them all the more appealing. They were the fucking perfect size too, holding the right amount of plumpness to them.
Wait, what the actual hell.
There was no way I was actually fantasizing about Harry right now.
Quickly, my eyes darted upwards to his own, only to find his locked on my mouth. My heart froze as his gaze met mine, eyes flickering between my own and then back to my lips.
It was getting really hot in here, and really tense, and I was starting to get uncomfortable and a little bit nauseous with all the thoughts swimming around in my head.
God, I felt like I was going to pass out.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Harry's arms lowering slowly, and I could hear the clatter of the gun on the counter. My breathing was starting to pick up and just as I was sure he was going to take a step closer, the shrill sound of his phone going off shattered through the air.
Both of us jumped at the sudden sound, my back colliding loudly with the panel. Both of our eyes were wide as we stared at each other, unsure of what to say. The ringing continued on and I glanced down at where his phone was going off in the small box.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" I ask sharply, already moving to step out of the section and into the main space.
"Shit, yeah," Harry mumbles, leaning down to get his phone. "It's Leon," he then grumbles, sliding his finger across the screen.
I watch him open his mouth to say something but it quickly snaps shut as Leon begins talking into his ear. Even from where I was standing after putting a good distance between Harry and I, I could still hear Leon's voice. It was rushed and he was speaking quickly, urgently.
My heart was still pounding from before as I stood there, watching Harry's sight flicker all over the panel in front of him while Leon continued speaking.
"Fuck, yeah, we're on our way." Harry ends the call, rapidly shoving his phone into his pocket and moving to collect his things. "We need to go now."
I stand there confused as he moves frantically. "Why? What happened?"
Harry brushes past me towards the door and I hurry after him, following as he pushes through the front doors and to the car. He doesn't respond as he pulls out his keys, unlocking his car and yanking open his side.
"Hello? What the hell is happening?" I ask again, getting into my side of the car, pulling on my seat belt as Harry hastily starts the car.
Finally, Harry looks over at me and I can see the slight panic in his eyes as he does so, making my stomach and heart drop.
"There's a problem with Weston and Marley at the warehouse."
A/N: hehehehe.... - j