a/n: i added new stuff to this chapter i hope you really like it <3
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Later that evening, I got ready to go to the movies with Oliver. I was looking forward to spending time with him, and truthfully loved talking to him in every aspect. He was very kind, and sounded overly excited about picking me up when I had spoken to him briefly on the phone. By the time the door was being knocked on, it was close to eight, our movie starting at nine. All the boys had gone out, and I smiled when I opened the door, Oliver sending me a small smile also.
"There she is. Hi, I feel like it's been so long since we've seen each other," he told me, his arms wrapping around me easily. "Was your week okay?"
"It was, yeah," I told him softly. "Did you want to come in and see my room?"
He nodded, shutting the door behind him, and following me to my room. I was thankful the boys were not home, knowing they could be quite a handful sometimes. Oliver held my hand as I led him to the bedroom, my cheeks flushed as I pushed my bedroom door open. Luckily, I had cleaned it up earlier, but my bed wasn't made, and the dresser had my top drawer open.
"Sorry, it's not completely cleaned up."
"No worries. It's very cute, Finley. Just like you."
"You're too sappy," I smiled, pushing the drawer in before grabbing my bag. "Uh, okay, we can go."
Before I could walk past him, he grabbed my waist, his darker eyes meeting mine. I went to ask him a question, but he quickly leaned in, my breath catching when I turned my head. His lips met with the corner of my mouth, my heart racing in my chest. Instantly, I felt bad for what I had done, but I also didn't want him to kiss me just yet. This was only our second date, and it had been a while since I even did anything similar to that.
"Shit, I didn't—"
"It's fine," I assured him, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. "I just haven't kissed anyone in a while, and I'm still a bit nervous. We need to get going, though."
"Right, of course," Oliver agreed. "Finley, I'm really sorry about that."
"Honestly, don't sweat it," I told him, holding his hand as we left, and only letting go to lock the door behind us. "If I makes you feel any better, I don't usually even attempt to kiss anyone until the third date."
"But what if this date goes really well?" he teased, seeming less anxious now. "Can I kiss you then?"
"Maybe," I grinned, pressing the down button as I looked at him. "Tell me about work."
"Why don't you tell me about last night?"
My brow pulled in at the slight change in his tone. I stepped onto the elevator with him, my face flushed at the memory of what I had been doing last night. Nothing bad had happened, but I had already gotten a call from Mrs. Woods today about the pictures on Harry's Instagram stories. She had been pleased, but by the way Oliver was speaking, he didn't appear to be quite as pleased.
"What about yesterday?"
"I follow Harry, you know? Not to mention the article I read with you two in it."
"There's an article?"
He nodded. "It was posted maybe two hours ago or so. You two were very friendly on the red carpet."
I raised my eyebrows at him, not sure what I was supposed to say. Not only did it sound like he was accusing me of something, but I didn't like the fact that he was clearly upset over this little thing. It wasn't like Harry and I had made out on the red carpet, and while he appeared vulnerable both yesterday and this morning, it wasn't like there was anything going on between us. Even with staying at his house, I really only saw him as a business partner.
"So," he continued. "Do you want to explain?"
"He needed someone to go with to that fancy dinner, I was the only person available."
"I call bullshit."
I rolled my eyes at him. "Please, don't tell me you're one of those guys. If you are, we can end this date right now. I'm not about to go on another date with someone who doesn't trust me because a business partner of mine needed help with something."
Oliver didn't look pleased with my words, but I could tell he knew there wasn't much he could do. Explaining that Harry's ex was there, and that he didn't want to be caught alone, the man in front of me appeared more accepting of the situation. At this point, we were walking to his car, and when he asked me about the photo in what looked like his house, I told him I spent the night because I was drunk, but that nothing had happened. It was obvious Oliver didn't like that, but he also didn't start to bitch about it either. Cupping his cheek when he opened the door to the car, I smiled, a small one seeming to cross his features.
"I'm not a bitch, Oliver. I know we're not exclusive, but I wouldn't do something like that."
"Good," he nodded. "Get in this car, or else we are going to be late."
It made me laugh, Oliver waiting for me to fully be inside the vehicle before shutting the door. As I buckled, he made his way around the car, getting in, and buckling himself. We chatted about his job on the way there, Oliver explaining that he made a lot of tips this past week, and that he almost didn't even need to be paid by the hour. It was crazy to think he was getting that much in tips, but I brushed it off, holding his hand as we drove to the movies. We saw something that was based on a true story, and I cried, Oliver near it, but not fully succumbing to tears. We had to stay in the theatre after everyone left, the man beside me letting me cry against his shoulder. Of course, I wasn't full on sobbing, but the overall premise of the film was not something I liked to think happened to families. When I had calmed down, and Oliver had wiped my eyes, we got up, his hand grabbing a hold of mine easily.
"Back to yours?" he asked.
"You can definitely come over," I nodded.
"Lovely. Are your friends going to be home?"
"I don't know, why?"
He shrugged. "Just curious."
Smiling at him, I laughed when he let go of my hand, quickly picking me up. He was holding me bridal style, my cheeks flushed as I clung to him easily. We were both kind of quiet, minus our giggles, but Oliver explained he just wanted to hold me. It was sweet, and I smiled up at him, only letting go when he had placed me in his car. The ride home felt short, and I was pretty sure it was because we sang along to music, the two of us seeming to get along rather well, even with the little bump in the road at the beginning. Once we arrived back at my place, I was glad to see that my friends were not yet back from their night out. Then again, it was only about eleven, and they normally stayed out late on the weekends. Locking the door behind us, I led Oliver to my room, setting my purse on my vanity, and watching as he plopped himself onto the bed. Grabbing the television remote, I got into it also, Oliver chuckling softly when I cuddled into him.
"You're too cute, Finley."
"I can be a tough bitch, so don't try me."
"Hmm," he started. "If I do so recall, we stayed in the theatre ten minutes after the movie ended because you were crying."
"It was a sad movie," I complained.
He shrugged, a giggle leaving my lips when he took the remote out of my hands, and quickly put something on. I was confused at first, but I found myself laughing more when he grabbed my hands, shifting so he was straddling my waist. My eyes focused on him, and I tried to move my hands, but he held onto them tightly, his eyes soft as he looked over me.
"Damn, you're so fucking fine."
"Um, alright," I stated. "I think I'm about a seven. Especially for New York."
He shook his head. "You're at least an eleven, but I'm thinking a twenty out of ten."
It was very flattering, but I knew he wasn't right at all. At best, I was definitely a seven, maybe an eight on a good day, but there was no way I was a twenty. He was completely wrong, and I just shook my head at him, smiling when he pressed a quick kiss to my forehead.
"When was the last time you had a boyfriend, Finley?"
"Uh, I was eighteen. Like I said, I've been on dates since then, but I haven't had an actual boyfriend since then."
He seemed confused. "That doesn't make sense to me. When was the last time you had sex with someone?"
"I was eighteen. Listen, the farthest I've gone in the four years since I was with someone was oral, once, and that was when I was twenty."
Oliver raised his eyebrows. "So you've only had sex with one guy?"
"No, two."
"Really?" he questioned, letting go of me, and shifting so he was sitting beside me. "Not to sound fuckboyish, but I've definitely slept with at least twenty women, maybe more."
"It's fine," I shrugged. "I know I'm an oddball out. My first was fine, and Blake was also, it's just ... there's a lot that happened in that relationship, and it wasn't like he was mean to me, but I just felt very unwanted by the end of the relationship, and a little used, so sex isn't something I really have wanted to have since then."
Oliver seemed very interested in what I had to say. Honestly, I was expecting him to cut me off, and ask me questions, but he simply listened to what I had to say, and that was really nice. Not that guys didn't listen to me, but I never really just sat and talked with someone. Or, at least someone who didn't know my entire life story already.
"Why did you feel unwanted?"
"We dated for about two years, and when he broke up with me, he said he hadn't loved me for about five months, but had still enjoyed the sex," I stated honestly. "So, he obviously used me."
"Damn, that sucks," Oliver frowned. "I would never do that to you."
Thanking him softly, I smiled when he ended up wrapping his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap. He pressed kisses to my jaw, and I could tell he was trying his best to distract me from the memory of my ex-boyfriend. It was not something that anyone had done for me before. Then again, I never really went on second dates, and even then, I didn't usually open up this much to someone.
"So, what about you? When was the last time you had a girlfriend?"
"Uh, I think I was your age," he told me. "No, wait, I dated someone for a couple months when I was twenty-four, so last year."
"Were all of them nice?"
"Yeah. They were. I broke up with a few, but the more recent ones broke up with me because they didn't like that I worked at a strip club. Which, it is totally stupid."
"I agree. It's not like you're there for the women, you're there to make money."
"Precisely, thank you," he scoffed, rolling his eyes then. "I just hate some people."
Agreeing quietly, I smiled when Oliver laid down, my body shifting to lie beside him. We both got pretty comfortable, and while we were both in jeans, it wasn't that bad. I was just glad that Oliver was kind, and while I hadn't expected him to be this sweet, I was pleased to find out that he was. It was important to me to have someone kind as the person I might spend my future with, so, finding out that Oliver was definitely a kind-hearted person made up for it.
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Once the weekend had passed, I found myself preparing for Niall's birthday. Similar to Liam's, it was during the week, which was kind of annoying, but I was fine with it. I had gone to get his birthday gift over the weekend with Oliver, which was fun considering we went shopping for a suit for him, and a dress for me. Friday was the dinner party I had been invited to, and thankfully, it hadn't been too late to change my single RSVP to having a plus one. I was positive we were going to look great together, and Oliver seemed very pleased by my outfit for the evening. After work and school, I got home before Niall, the boys having gone out for the day. I had no idea why, but it seemed as if they were always missing work. Of course, that probably wasn't true, but it certainly felt that way. Brushing the thought off, I started making the lasagna he really wanted me to, knowing that the gift I had given him this morning was enough, but wishing to surprise my friend yet again.
Around seven, there was a knock on the door, and I was very confused, ceasing what I was doing, and quickly washing my hands. The meatballs I had been in the middle of making were coming out well so far, but I was a little annoyed at the thought of the three of them forgetting their keys. Heading to the door, I unlocked it, pulling it open quickly, but almost instantly shutting it again. I'd avoided him at work for the sheer fact of knowing he would be rude to me if we got the chance to have a chat, but now it seemed inevitable.
"Neonata," he said from the other side of the door that was separating us. "Open this door."
"No. You weren't invited, I—"
"Your friends invited me over, open the fucking door. Se non lo fai, non avrò problemi a costringerti a inginocchiarti e a fottere quella bella bocca." (If you don't, I won't have any problems forcing you to kneel and fucking that beautiful mouth.)
"Tell me what you just said in Italian, and I'll let you in."
"What?"
"Tell me," I scoffed. "What did you just say?"
"Per l'amor di scopare." (For fuck's sake)
"Harry."
"Non usare quel tono con me." (Don't use that tone with me.)
"What are you saying?" I asked. "This is so silly. Why can't you just tell me what you said?"
"Neonata, I will not stand to have you speak to me this way, open this fucking door, or you're going to be on your knees for me."
It was a threat. I knew that much, and while he shouldn't have been that scary, I wasn't about to get in that position. Quickly opening the door, I could see a smirk on his face, green eyes focusing on me. My face was flushed, Harry stepping inside with a gift that was very nicely wrapped. He watched as I shut the door, locking it, and then followed me to the kitchen. I placed the gift on the table, gulping when I glanced back at him.
"D-Did you want something to drink?" I asked, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I-I think we have some wine. Oh, and some v-vodka."
"Amato, easy," he chuckled. "I wouldn't force you to take my dick in your mouth. Not even if you deserved it."
Swallowing hard, I tucked my hair behind my ear again, glancing at him briefly. "Uh, did you want anything to drink?"
"Water, I'd say."
His tone didn't seem so harsh, but he was definitely hosting asshole tendencies. I still had no idea why my friends would have invited him, but I got him his glass of water, going back to making the meatballs while dancing to the music I was playing. It was Dean Martin, and I could tell Harry was amused, shifting to stand next to me.
"My little Italian, what are you making?"
"I'm not yours," I murmured, wanting so badly to tuck my hair behind my ear, but my hands were dirty. "However, I'm making lasagna and meatballs. Or, some meatballs, and the rest is going to be cooked and placed in my sauce. Which, I started that first."
"Oh, I'll give it a stir."
Nodding, I glanced over my shoulder as he took the lid off the sauce that had only been cooking maybe thirty minutes, but even that seemed too long of an estimate. Harry stirred it, and I focused on mixing the ingredients of my meatballs, finishing, and then rolling them into the proper size. Harry just watched on as I cooked, murmuring in Italian every now and again.
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Sure," he agreed.
"Okay, so there's a large pot in here," I gestured toward beneath me. "I need it filled with water, and placed on the stove on high."
"Yes ma'am."
Shifting out of his way, I watched as he grabbed the pot, kicking him lightly when he seemed to glance me over devilishly. I wouldn't normally care how long someone took getting a pot, but I could tell that he was trying to be a pervert, my skirt on the shorter end, and I wasn't having it. Harry quickly walked over to the sink, filling the pot a decent way before putting it on the stove to boil. Once I was finished making about twenty meatballs, I put them in the heated oven, washing my hands and then checking my sauce before cooking the rest of the meat that was left.
"Damn, how Italian was your family?"
"Uh, both sides of my family are from Italy, but my grandpa's grandparents grew up in Italy, and then moved here."
"Crazy. Mm, let me just ..." he tucked my hair behind my ear, smirking at me. "Voglio scoparti così tanto." (I want to fuck you so much.)
"Stop it," I complained, pushing him away from me, only for his arms to wrap around my waist. "Harry, I am seeing someone, get off of me right now."
"I'm just your friend," he muttered, his lips near my ear.
"No, you're a dick is what you are," I said without thinking, my eyes wide. "No, wait, I take that—"
Before I could say anything else, he had let go of me, spun me around, and quickly tugged his shirt off. I had no idea what he was doing, but I watched as he folded the top, dropping it onto the floor, and gesturing for me to kneel in front of him. My body was shaking, eyes wide as I stared at him, only to have him not sound very happy when he spoke.
"Get on your fucking knees, or I'll make you. I know that isn't what you want, neonata."
Swallowing hard, I tucked my hair behind my ear, kneeling on his shirt in front of him. His tattoos were still shocking to me, and I watched as he grabbed my hands, placing them on his waist. A part of me didn't understand why I was accepting of this, and while Oliver and I were seeing one another, I had just brought him up in an effort to get Harry to not try anything. Yet, here we were. I was on my knees in front of him, and he was clearly dominant, his eyes dark as he stared down at me. His fingers curled into my hair, my breath catching at how tightly he held the handful, tugging my head back so I would look at him.
"Take my pants off."
"You can't be—"
"Take my fucking pants off, Amato. You messed up, you're going to fix it."
His voice was harsh, the edge it held not something I wanted to deal with right now, but I also had heard him threaten me several times, and now I had clearly disobeyed him too much. However, the moment I had undone his belt, and managed to get his jeans down his legs, the song "Mambo Italiano" started playing, and I just stared up at him, finding the situation funnier than something worrying.
"Per l'amor di scopare." (For fuck's sake.)
"It's okay," I assured softly, my fingers tracing over his thigh carefully. "We'll just have to do this on a day that ends in r."
"What?" he asked, watching as I grabbed his jeans, and pulled them up his legs. "What do you mean a day that ends in r? None of them do, Amato."
"I think you forgot," I told him, standing up and placing my hand on his chest. "The only day that ends in r is never."
"You ... fuck," he scoffed, buckling his belt before grabbing his shirt off the ground, and pulling it on. "Mi fotterò mi con il pensiero della tua bocca intorno a me, neonata." (I'll fuck myself with the thought of your mouth around me, baby girl.)
"You better not be saying nasty things about me. If you are, get out of my kitchen."
He just rolled his eyes, drinking all of his water then. I continued dancing and cooking, boiling the pasta I needed for lasagna. Soon enough, the boys were walking in, Niall grinning when he saw me making food. Liam and Louis also looked excited, but then their attention shifted to Harry, the curly-haired model wishing Niall a happy birthday, and pointing out the gift on the table. He quickly went over to it, Niall opening the gift happily, and then looking very surprised.
"No way! I love this. Look, Finley, it's tickets to see Drake!"
"Really?" I asked, grabbing a glass pan from under the cabinet. "That's so nice of Harry."
"It's so cool that you're friends with someone famous now," Niall continued. "He's so nice."
Harry sent me a small smirk, and I just rolled my eyes at him, disliking that my friends thought such things. If they knew what he had been doing with me about five minutes before they showed up, they would have definitely kicked him out. Brushing the thought off, I was actually thankful when Harry helped me layer the lasagna. We listened to music still, the boys playing FIFA on the Xbox while Harry and I finished up the layering.
"Are you excited for Friday?" he asked.
"Kind of, yeah."
"What color are you wearing?"
"Black."
"Nice. I'm wearing a gold and black suit."
"Ah. We love that."
He shook his head at me, putting the dish in the oven. The meatballs were finished, so I took them out, setting a timer for the lasagna. Harry and I cleaned up, managing to get everything down to just the dish in the oven, and the pot that contained sauce still. We headed over to the sofa, but not before I had gotten myself a glass of wine. Harry and I sat down, the man beside me pulling my legs onto his lap.
"What are you doing?"
"He's being friendly, sweetheart," Louis told me easily. "Fuck you, Niall, that was a goal!"
"No it wasn't. It's my birthday!"
"Fuck your birthday, I'm the King of soccer!"
Liam laughed, Harry clearly amused. Sipping my wine, I just kept my legs on him, wishing to not make a scene. It was about twenty minutes of yelling that filled up the cooking time, Harry getting up to check. He also took my wine glass, coming back with it filled, and claiming it needed more time.
"You trust him?" Liam asked.
"Yeah, you never trust any of us to check," Niall stated.
"Well, you guys aren't Italian," I quickly reminded them. "I can trust an Italian with my food."
"Oh, is that how it works?" Louis asked, pausing their game. "I'll have you know I'm one percent Italian, and—"
"Non sei italiano se sei solo l'uno per cento, sei un idiota." (You are not Italian if you are only one percent, you are an idiot.)
"Did you just call me an idiot in Italian?" Louis scoffed.
"I did."
"You fucking cock sucker, I'll fucking—"
"Louis, chill," Niall laughed. "He's just being funny. Right Harry?"
"Sure."
It was clear he was genuinely not happy with Louis' words, but I was glad they didn't start legitimately fighting. Liam then stepped in, adding that we didn't need to fight over something so silly. After that, I drank my second glass of wine, Harry getting up when the timer went off, and taking my wine glass again. This time, I followed him, watching as he plated everything while I set the plates at the table. We quickly made some garlic bread also, then served dinner entirely, Harry pouring wine for himself, but also getting beers for the boys. Once we sat down at dinner, he made sure to sit beside me, Liam starting the conversation.
"So, do you like your line of work?"
"It's good," Harry nodded. "Modeling is fun, but it can be exhausting."
"How the fuck is it exhausting?" Louis asked.
"Listen, man, you don't have to be a piece of shit toward me," Harry started. "I've heard that short people are full of it, and you seem to be the perfect stereotype."
"Uh oh," Niall murmured.
Before I could even stop Louis, he was literally out of his chair, and jumping across the table. I had no idea what in the world he was thinking, but glasses broke and wine spilled. I watched as there was food tossed onto the floor. Prior to even getting a word out, Harry's chair had fallen back with Harry in it, Louis managing to punch Harry in the face. Louis pulled back to punch him again, Harry screaming loudly.
"Get off, get off, please, I'm sorry, get off!" he was yelling, panic clear in his voice. "I need you to get off of me, please, please, please, I'm so sorry, please!"
Louis had managed a third punch to Harry's poor face, but Liam and Niall quickly helped me get Louis off, my roommate shouting at Harry, but I could tell something was very wrong. Harry wasn't even trying to hit back. He had shifted so he wasnt lying in an awkward position with the chair, the very tall man looking incredibly small as he curled up into a hall on the floor. Louis was screaming at Liam and Niall to let him at Harry again, but the yelling went elsewhere and I knew they had taken him to his room or something. As I knelt on the floor beside Harry, I could tell he was shaking, his breathing labored, and it was clear he was about to start crying.
"Harry? Hey, hey, hey," I was quick to say to him softly. "Honey, come on."
"N-No."
I placed one of my hands on him, but it set him off, Harry beginning to panic even more. He started crying, begging me not to touch him in between breaths. I felt awful now, incredibly worried about the man that was laying on the ground in God knows what after everything had been broken, spilled, and thrown about.
"Harry, I just need you to get up for me a minute. We can go to the bathroom. Come on."
He was still crying loudly, and I was incredibly anxious. What had happened? What had caused him to completely cave in on himself? Sure, my friend shouldn't have placed his hands on Harry to begin with, but considering how rude he could be to me at times, I figured that anger would come bustling out the second Louis laid his hands on him. Though, it was clear that I had fully miscalculated the situation, Harry nothing but a clump of sadness on the floor.
"I won't touch you, but I just want you to get up because I have no idea what you're lying on," I was telling him. "Come on, Harry."
He sat up after a few more moments then, my eyes widening at the blood that had pooled on the floor from a cut on his cheek. Just as I was about to say something to him, he got up, storming off to what I assumed was the bathroom since I didn't hear the front door open. At that point, Louis, Liam, and Niall were making their way back out to the war zone, my eyes narrowing in on Louis.
"Seriously?" I scoffed, feeling probably the most anger I ever had for Louis since I had moved here with them. "You just had to do that, Louis?"
"He said I was small, and—"
"That really wasn't cool," Liam stated.
"I usually like a fight, but that wasn't cool, man, sorry," Niall told him.
Shaking my head, I told them I would clean up this mess when I got back. Liam and Niall assured me that I had nothing to worry about and that they had it. It was kind of them, especially since I knew I usually was the one to clean up these kind of messes in the house. As I headed down the hall to the bathroom, I found myself somewhat worried. I had zero idea as to what kind of Harry would be on the other side of the door. Trying the handle, it was locked, but I could hear the sink running on the other side of the wood. My knuckles met the door as I knocked, leaving me to wait patiently for any sort of response. I was worried about Harry, even if I shouldn't have been, my breathing shaky when he told me to go away.
"Harry, let me in. I'll help you."
"N-No."
"It's just me. We might not always be very nice to each other, but I promise you can trust me."
It took a little more coaxing and convincing, but the door was soon opened, Harry shutting it, and locking it quickly after. Any other time, I probably would have been terrified to be in a locked space with him. For example, at that fancy dinner when we had been locked in the bathroom together, I had been worried about what he would do. Right now though, I wasn't nearly as anxious. He was wasting a lot of water, but his face was messy, and his hands were shaking as he attempted to wipe his cheek of blood. I could tell something was bothering him, his breathing shallow.
"Hey, hey, hey," I murmured softly. "Is it okay if I touch you? You didn't like it before."
He still looked hesitant. Harry was doing everything to avoid my eyes, the blood from his cheek falling down and dripping from his chin onto his shirt. The material of his shirt was an olive green color, and I could tell where a lot of blood had dropped prior to him allowing me into the bathroom. Sighing softly, I took a small step closer to him, shifting my hands slowly toward his.
"I really want to clean you up, but here, we can hold hands first to make you comfortable again," I said softly to him. "Is that okay?"
He didn't look at me, and instead nodded. I found myself taking his hands in my own, the two of us continuing to stand there as he looked anywhere but at me. It was clear he was thinking a lot, whatever thoughts were in his mind taking over entirely. His chin continued to drip blood, and I knew that he was probably still bleeding because there had been no pressure put on the cut. Squeezing his hands in mine, it caused him to look at me, my eyes narrowing when I saw a few drops of blood on the floor. There weren't that many, but I found myself pulling Harry to a spot where I could see his arm in the mirror, my eyes widening when I noticed there was a cut across his tricep, just above his elbow.
"Oh, this is probably from glass. I'm so sorry, this was such a mess, I feel so bad," I was telling him. "Please let me fix it."
He looked hesitant when I glanced at him in the mirror, Harry finally giving in to me. Since his arm was not bleeding anywhere near the rate that his cheekbone was, I found myself telling him to sit on the toilet seat. He listened, Harry watching as I grabbed a washcloth from the closet, quickly wetting it under the water that had been still running. It was followed by me walking over to him, Harry allowing me to press the washcloth to his face but then immediately pulling away.
"Shh, shh," I attempted, his breathing labored once again as he stared at me as if I was the one who had hurt him. "I know. It's okay."
He shook his head no.
"Harry," I tried again quietly. "Come on, honey, we can totally do this."
He was still breathing sharply, the blood that I had attempted to get having smeared across his entire cheek now instead of falling down his face in one uniform line. I could tell this was difficult for him, and while I didn't comprehend the reason behind it, I knew that the fact he was even allowing me to be this close to him had to be a big step forward. After all, I had the slightest feeling that if anyone else would have attempted to help him, he probably would have shouted and cursed at them.
"I just want to make it better," I told him softly, my fingers gently shifting some of his hair out of his eyes. "Let me fix it, okay?"
He sighed.
"You trust me. I know you do. You wouldn't let me in here with you if you didn't, right?" I asked him.
He looked up at me, giving a small nod. I never thought that he would be this quiet when it came to communicating, but I also wondered if he was close to tears still and didn't want to speak because of it. After all, there had been plenty of times where speaking had been too much for me and pushed me to tears in situations, so it was very plausible that was the same thing for Harry.
"I'll count to three and then I'm just going to press this to your cheek for a little bit, okay?" I tried.
His eyes widened a little bit, the man in front of me giving me the same look that I was certain a scared little boy would. He was thinking a lot, and I would have given anything to know what was happening in his mind. Though, after a few moments, he finally gave me one small nod, agreeing to what I had said.
"Alright. One," I started.
He was scared. It was more so than he had been before when I first put the washcloth on his face. It was like he was trying to anticipate something far worse than this—than me trying to simply help him.
"Two."
I could tell he was starting to pull away from me some. It wasn't a lot, and he might not have even known that he was doing it, but it was very clear that he was trying his best not to stay close to me. I wondered what was truly going on in his mind, wishing to know his thoughts.
"Three."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut as I gently pressed the washcloth to his cheek. I held it there, his breathing becoming incredibly labored under my hold. It was painstakingly obvious that he was uncomfortable, and I wanted to pry. I wanted to be nosy and ask why he was so scared. The thought of someone reacting the way he was seemed so strange, yet I knew that there had to be a reason behind it. This wasn't a normal behavior, but I also knew that I didn't want to pry much considering he seemed to be incredibly vulnerable emotionally and I didn't want to say anything that would set him off.
He was still uncomfortable, the few moments that I had been pressing the washcloth to his face causing him to tense up. I was surprised when he opened his eyes, Harry glancing elsewhere. As I continued to keep the damp material against his cheek, my body jumped when he wrapped his arms around me. His eyes squeezed shut again, his breathing labored but it began to even out when he held me a little tighter. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I hoped that they were happy thoughts instead of the dark ones that had surely been filling his mind before.
"Oh, look at you. You did so well, I'm so proud of you," I told him when I had finished cleaning up his face. "What a good job you did. So good."
He didn't open his eyes. He just continued to stay with his arms wrapped around me. I took the opportunity to gently clean his arm since it was in clear view with him hugging me, Harry not caring much about his arm. That, or he had finally relaxed with me around him. Though, even after I had finished with him, he continued to hold me, his eyes staying shut as I did my best not to move to make him upset. He was quiet, his breathing surprisingly steady after all of the different patterns it had gone through. A few more minutes passed and I finally found myself realizing maybe it was time to pull away.
"Your pretty face is all cleaned up now, why are you still hugging me, huh?" I questioned him sweetly.
His cheeks flushed with my words. It was the first time I felt like I had seen him become nervous in front of me. The curly-haired model's eyes were still shut, my fingers playing with his curls. He was incredibly handsome, to say the least, and the fact that this super famous guy was sitting here in my bathroom with me just felt like it couldn't have been real. There was simply no way.
"I'm sorry Louis got like that. He just tends to get rather angry when people he doesn't know make fun of his size. I am not making an excuse as to why he did all of that because there is no excusing that type of behavior, I just hope my explanation allows you to understand why he might have acted the way he did. I'm so sorry again though, honey."
He was quiet. It took a while, but he finally glanced up at me, green eyes meeting mine. My fingers continued to play with his hair, one of my hands resting on his back. I was hoping that I could keep him calm, wishing to continue to keep him quiet. After all, the last thing I needed was for him to get upset once again. And as he continued to stare up at me, his cheeks began to redden once again.
"What?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"Tell me."
He shook his head again.
"Harry, I swear to God, if you're thinking of all the rude things you could say to me, I'll be so—"
"Sei così bella." (You're so beautiful.)
It was the first thing he said to me in what felt like forever. I was pissed that it was in Italian, but I should have known better than to expect anything else. If anything, I was certain that if he could choose to only speak in Italian, he would have chowder to do so almost immediately.
"What did you say? Stop speaking to me in a different language. No bueno." (No good.)
He chuckled. "Eres divertida." (You're funny.)
"I forget what that means. Am I funny?"
"Sí, neonata."
I smiled at him, tucking my hair behind my ear as I glanced elsewhere. He was still holding onto me, the curly-haired boy not letting up. After a few more moments, I found myself pulling away from him. He very reluctantly let go of me, Harry watching as I walked over to the sink. When I glanced at him, I noticed that his shirt had more blood than I had recalled on it. I felt worse now, wishing that I could offer him a shirt but I had no idea whose clothes would fit him best. Rinsing the washcloth out in the sink, I could hear him stand up, his footsteps soft across the floor. It wasn't long until he was standing beside me, the two of us quiet. Once I had rinsed as much of the blood out of the washcloth as I could, I shut the sink off, placing the washcloth on the counter top. Harry was silent as he stood next to me, but it wasnt much of a surprise considering he had been rather silent this whole time. Turning to look at him, he gazed down at me.
"I should go."
"No, no, no," I was quick to say.
My hand reached up to his chest but he was quick to shift away from the touch. As I went to let my hand fall to my side, his eyes widened slightly, Harry taking my hand in one of his. He held it lightly, the two of us quiet again. I felt bad that he was so on edge around me, knowing that it was the last thing I wanted him to feel.
"We have ice cream and cake. You have to stay."
"Thank you for dinner. Or, the little bit I had of it, neonata. It was very good. I appreciate you having me."
"Harry, you don't have to go."
"I don't want to be here anymore tonight, if that's okay?" he said to me softly. "You can come to my place if you'd like, but I don't really want to be here right now."
His tone was sweet. It was like he was trying his best to be polite even though I felt that was probably very difficult for him. I looked at him for a long moment, wondering if he would have preferred me to go with him or if he was just saying that to say it.
"Do you, um ..." I glanced away for a moment, feeling slightly nervous. "Do you need me to go with you? If you need me, I'll go with you."
He shrugged.
"No, really, if you need me, I'll go with you. It's not fair that my friend hit you, and I'm so sorry, Harry. You have no idea how badly I feel."
He shook his head. "It's fine. You didn't hit me, don't apologize."
Harry let go of my hand, the man in front of me walking toward the bathroom door. I followed behind him, the two of us walking out of the hall to see that the place had been cleaned up. I was genuinely surprised, but I was also thankful. To my surprise, the boys were sitting on the sofa, the three of completely silent. Harry didn't glance in their direction, the curly-haired model walking toward the door.
"Wait," I said. "Do you want a plate to go home? Please take some food home."
He glanced at me. "I'm fine."
"No, seriously," I told him. "You barely ate. I can't have you leave without a plate."
It made him snicker, and I wondered what he was thinking about. Harry stayed in the foyer while I grabbed a plate from the kitchen. The boys all looked at me weirdly, and I just ignored them, quickly making a plate of food for Harry to take with him. It wasn't long until I was walking back toward the front door, Harry taking the plate from my hands.
"Have a good evening," he said to me. "I will see you Friday, okay, Amato? If I'm rude, well, don't take it personally."
Nodding, I opened the door, surprised when he pulled me into a hug. I could tell he wasn't happy by how close he held me, or how tight his arms were around me. It lasted about a minute, Harry placing kisses to each of my cheeks. I frowned at the cuts on his face from Louis, green eyes soft as he gazed over me.
"Bella, come un angelo." (Beautiful, like an angel.)
"What?"
"Nothing, neonata. Will you walk me out to my car?"
"Yeah, of course. Let me put on some shoes!"
He waited for me, letting me slip on some sandals before I told the boys I would be right back. They all called a goodbye, Louis shouting out an apology while Niall thanked him for the gift again. Harry sent them a wave, not giving them much attention as we stepped out into the hallway. I pressed the elevator button, noticing that Harry appeared upset again. Even if he didn't want to come off as sad, it was very clear that was what he was.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you tonight?"
"I'm fine. Really. It's ... I'll just call my Mum, and it will be okay."
Nodding, we stepped onto the elevator, Harry squeezing his eyes shut. I found myself walking closer to him, wanting to wrap my arms around him but noting that he probably wouldn't want that if he wasn't the one to initiate it. After all, he had been a little weird about the touching situation, and I certainly didnt want to push it with him. However, a part of me felt like it was strange that I wanted to give him so much affection, especially with how rude he had been in the past, but I couldn't help it. My natural instinct was to help anyone who appeared to be in pain, and Harry was one of those people right now.
The elevator dinged, signaling that we had reached the floor. I could see Trey standing outside the building, Harry and I stepping off of the elevator. He looked somewhat hesitant, and I wondered what he was thinking.
"I'm so sorry again."
"It's whatever," he stated.
"Not whatever," I told him. "My friend shouldn't have done that."
"I don't really care."
"Harry."
He rolled his eyes and I could tell that he was irritated now more so than upset. I had no idea what I had done, but it was clear that he was angry over the situation. That, or he was upset about something else that was bothering him now but I truly doubted that was the issue.
"We can talk about it if you'd like."
His eyes locked on me, the curly-haired model fully glaring at me now. I had never felt like I wanted to crawl under a rock around him until now, the look in his eyes making me feel incredibly on edge. The fact that I had only mentioned talking about whatever was bothering him and he was truly giving me a death glare was insane to me.
"What?" I asked. "I thought you'd want—?"
"You thought fucking wrong," he scoffed.
"What did I do wrong? You're upset, and I just wanted to help."
"I don't need your help. I'm fucking fine."
His tone was harsh, and I was disappointed now with everything. I should have seen this behavior coming, but it was kind of a slap in the face after what I had done for him. After all, Harry was so nice this evening and had even given into me, but now he was being a total dick to me once again. Not that I would say it to his face after the position I had been put in earlier, but I definitely felt that way about him. Not to mention that he had just asked me to stay with him and now his attitude had fully changed.
"You know what, fuck you," I told him. "I went out of my way to be kind to you this evening, and this is how you want to speak to me?"
"Whatever," he shrugged. "Fuck you, I don't give a shit. I don't know why I even came over in the first place."
He didn't say goodbye as he walked toward the doors, and I certainly didn't make an attempt to follow him. I just watched him disappear from sight, my body shaking now at the harsh words exchanged between us. Not that I wanted anything to come of this, but I thought we were getting somewhere and would actually become friends. After all, he had been so kind to me with the cooking, and the wine, and helping me plate everything, only for him to storm off rudely because I asked if he wanted to talk about what was bothering him. Then again, I should have expected him to be an absolute ass. I just kind of thought that maybe he wouldn't be so rude for once.