I didn't know what to make of Harry's proposal. For one thing, he seemed like the last person who would want to sit in my presence willingly, and yet here he was, dragging me up the stairs and onto the roof of his apartment complex. I also didn't know why I followed him up so easily.
Although, I think the view from the roof top terrace was something I think would be painted in my brain for years to come, and maybe it was for that reason, I followed Harry so willingly, without so much of a single protest.
The city lights sparkled, the chaos from the streets below muffled together, raising up to us until it was nothing but a gentle hum. The world looked like nothing more than soft yellows and reds against the dark sky from all the way up here. The twinkling building lights and havoc that was far too out of grasp for me to worry about and it made my heart steady. It seemed it was a lifetime away. I felt a surreal sense of calmness standing at such a great height, away from everything.
I blinked a couple of times, the sudden tightness of my throat and the pinch of my eyes dawning on me. Surely I wasn't crying over a view right now.
Harry stood a few meters to my left, grasping the neck of the whiskey bottle in his hand as he watched me. For a moment, I thought I had gotten away with letting a few tears slip, though a quirk of his eyebrow told me differently.
"You alright?" His voice was unusually soft, far from the sarcastic and rough tone I was so use to getting from him.
I sighed, rubbing my hand over my face in embarrassment from getting caught. "I don't know why I'm crying over a view."
I took another glance at it though, before taking seat on the concrete. There wasn't any chairs up here, so the floor was my only option. The coldness stung my legs, and I winced at the feeling, though didn't say anything. I was afraid if I spoke, it might unleash another set of tears.
Harry silently sat next to me, offering me the bottle without a word. I gratefully took it, taking a long sip and letting the alcohol burn my throat.
"I don't think it's the view you're crying over," Harry spoke. He took the bottle back into his hands, taking a generous chug of it himself.
He didn't hold any judgment in his voice, though it didn't mean I didn't watch his face to see any cracks in his façade. I didn't see any. "I don't cry over anything though."
Harry's eyes met mine, and it tugged at something in my heart when the green in his eyes sparkled, looking at me with something I couldn't quite put my finger on. He had a strange softness to him in that moment, one I wished I could erase from my brain, because made him look more human, more mundane. Far from the uptight and devilishly handsome guard I had first met. Far from someone I wanted to poke at like a stick to a bear without feeling bad about it.
In that moment, with the wind playing with his hair, and the rosiness of his cheeks because of the cold nights breeze, he looked more human than I had ever truly felt in my life. He looked alive.
It was a strange thing to think, because were both alive, we both had a steady heartbeat and blood rushing through our veins, but he just looked like something more. He looked like something poet would write about, all rosy cheeks and a starlit gaze. In a single look from him, my heartbeat stuttered and felt like it went into overdrive.
I hadn't had a moment like this before, where I felt the need to stare at someone so closely, wanting to study their face in order to keep the image of it locked in my brain. He was too pretty, I thought numbly to myself.
He had the type of face someone could get addicted too, I decided. He had lips that would make any girl dream about, and a darkness permanently locked within his aura that made me want to know everything about his past that had carved the darkness into his personality.
I cleared my throat, my own cheeks burning at my sudden thoughts. "Maybe not," I admitted, tearing my eyes away from him to stare at the city lights again. I was afraid if I stared any longer, I might start reciting poetry about his face.
I waited for him to take another swing of the bottle before he passed it back to me. We took turns of drinking in silence, allowing ourselves to indulge in the city lights and burning alcohol. With the way he downed the alcohol, it made me feel as if he too was trying not to think about something. His eyes held a seriousness to them, and it made me want to ask a million and one questions to know why.
With the whiskey seeping into my veins like a bad drug, I let my thoughts scatter themselves. I let the echo of the gun that killed my parents rattle my brain, the distant memories of my childhood filter, and flashes of my parents adoring faces when I was little run ramped. All in all, I let myself be vulnerable in the presence of Harry. It made my heart feel like it was crumbling on the very spot.
The tears fell without me even realizing, and I let them. I didn't bother to wipe away my vulnerability as it fell down my cheeks, I didn't try and hide the sob that made its way up my throat and out my mouth. Harry didn't try to comfort me either, and for that, I was somewhat grateful. I don't know what I would of done if he offered me works of comfort. I might of tried to punch him in the face.
"They're dead," I said into the silence that wrapped us in a tight embrace. My voice caught, and I winced at how nasally I sounded. "It hurts, but I don't think it's the same type of hurt that everyone else feels. It just feels...weird. Strange. It feels strange knowing I won't see them again. I worry what that means for my brothers and the business."
I flickered my gaze to Harry, who was watching me intensely. He had his knees brought up to his chest, his arms lazily laying over them as he stared. "Does that make me a bad person?"
"No," Harry replied back firmly, with a shake of his head. "You've lived a different life to most people your age, Anna. You can't expect to feel the same type of hurt other people do. Everyone grieves in their own way."
"My brothers aren't grieving," I pointed out, frowning. I took the bottle from his hands, my fingertips brushing against his. I took a sip, enough so it coated my drying lips and slide down my throat. "Does that make them bad people?"
"Your brothers have a lot going on. They'll grieve in their own time. You all...you all have been conditioned not to show your emotions, it's hard to break that cycle."
Harry spoke like he knew my family well, and for once, it didn't unsettle me. It made me feel relieved. It made me feel like he was being honest, and there was hope that maybe everything was going to be okay. I didn't know where life was going to go now, because my father ran the family like it was a business, and I wasn't too sure how we were all going to cope now that the business may be like a sinking ship. My family may be like a sinking ship.
"You know I never wanted this," I said aloud, sighing to myself. I wiped a tear away from my eyes, hugging my legs to my chest as the wind picked up, feeling as if it was an arctic touch. "I just wanted a normal family."
Harry didn't say anything. He didn't reach for the bottle again, this time he reached for a cigarette. He lit it up, inhaling and exhaling the smoke. "No family is normal."
"Yours wasn't?"
I didn't expect him to answer. I knew for whatever reason he brought me out here, was to talk about me, not his own life. I felt like Harry didn't speak about himself very often. I could see it in the way he ran his tongue on over his bottom lip in thought, and the way he inhaled another drag of his cigarette to prolong answering. I wondered how many times he had allowed someone into his head, to talk about his own thoughts and deeply buried emotions. A part of me was suddenly envious of whoever got a sneak peek into his mind.
"They weren't," he finally mumbled. "But I'd take your brothers over my family any day."
"They're too protective," I muttered, shaking my head. "They don't let me in on anything."
"Your brothers care about you, more than you'd ever understand, Anna. You need to trust them."
That was something I had heard too many times, and not something I wanted to dive into again. It was an argument waiting to happen, because I harbored such strong feeling towards it. If they trusted me, they would let me in on anything. They would treat me as an equal, and not just their baby sister that was always needing a babysitter.
"Tell me about England."
I didn't miss the way his whole body stiffened at my request. He brought the cigarette back up to his lips, pulling a long drag out from it. His eyes scanned the city, avoiding my eyes completely. I let myself run my eyes over him again, admiring the way his arms stretched his shirt, the way the gold cross dangled from his neck, and the way his jaw clenched.
It may have been the alcohol that was now settling my body, making my bones feel like jelly and my eyelids feel heavy, but I had the strange desire to reach out and touch the man that seemed to be too far away from my grasp.
Without really thinking, I did just that.
Harry blinked in surprise when my hand came into contact with his bicep. His body feeling too warm for how cold it was up here. I let out a soft hum when my cold fingers pushed up his sleeve, to hide my fingers under his shirt, wanting to pull some of his warmth away and transfer it to my body.
"You're freezing, let's go inside," he said, throwing out cigarette over the edge.
I let out a sound of protest as he tried to stand. My hand tightened around his arm, my nails digging slightly into his flesh. He frowned at me, but stopped moving. "It's pretty out here, and I want to hear about England. Please."
I didn't miss the slight slur of my words, and clearly neither did Harry. He let my hand rest on his bicep for a moment longer, looking conflicted on what he should do. His own eyes looked slightly glassy, though it didn't pull away from how pretty he looked underneath the glow of the moon and the lights of our city. He looked like a painting you weren't suppose to touch. It was a good thing I was all about breaking the rules.
I felt worlds away from my own life up here with Harry, and I wanted to hear about something even even further away. I had been to England only a few times, though knew nothing about it. I had only ever gone when my father wanted us there for his business trips, claiming it looked good if we all went and played happy family. My brothers used to sneak away though, only taking me sometimes when I use to stomp my foot and cry because I felt left out.
"C'mere," he muttered finally, stretching out his legs.
I shuffled closer to him, though it clearly wasn't fast enough. Harry's large hands reached out towards me, wrapping them around my waist and tugging me over his body.
He pulled me until I was straddling his waist. I gulped as his hands rounded my waist again, pulling his knees up until his thighs rested against my back, shielding me from the wind that was swirling around us. I instantly felt the warmth spread across my body like a fire in a winters storm.
We sat there for a few moments, the only sound that I could hear was the sound of our intertwined breaths as we took in the new position. I could feel Harry everywhere. His smell was everywhere. He was everywhere. I wouldn't consider myself small, though with how big Harry was, and how badly he dominated a situation, I felt like I was swimming in everything that was Harry Styles.
This was so wrong. So very very wrong, and yet I was living for it. My brothers would kill us, more so Harry for this position, but he didn't seem to care, and I liked that. I liked anyone who didn't fear my brothers. He stared up at me, lips slightly parted, eyes looking like glitter. He looked heavenly.
Not sure what to do with my hands, I did what my brain told me to do, and push them through Harry's hair, scratching his scalp as I did.
He groaned at the feeling, his hands that rested on my waist tightening slightly. "What are you doing?" He murmured, his voice sounding hoarse.
He peered up at me again, his own eyelids seeming heavy as he watched me. He didn't make any show of moving away from me, or pulling me back, something I expected him to do, something I was prepared for. His tongue slide across his bottom lip, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of physical contact.
"My hands are cold," I said simply, letting out a breathless laugh as his eyes shut momentarily as my nails scratched the top of his head. His hair was so soft, and smelled so good, I think I could sit here forever and play with his hair.
I felt as if we were both being vulnerable in that moment. Allowing each other to touch, to feel. We didn't bicker, we didn't argue, we didn't snap at each other or mock how we reacted to each other being so close. We were content with life, content with the company we had, and content with being vulnerable.
That night, Harry let me play with his hair, his hands splashed against my waist, as he told me all about England. His voice was soft against the wind, his eyes never leaving mine as he told me about the gloomy skies and rainy days. He didn't dive too much into his own life, but that was okay.
The sound of Harry's raspy voice was enough to bring peace to my mind, even when the sun came up, and we were nothing more than two heavy-lidded, drunk on the conversations we shared with one another, who had spent the night talking about things so far away from us, in order to get away from the chaos of our worlds, even if it was just for a little bit.
A/N: Lowkey my favourite chapter so far, oml.