Be a man, Harry. It's just a harmless girl. Nothing to be so anxious over.
No amount of repeating these words ease the anxiety I feel building in my chest as I raise my fist in the air and then freeze. Do I knock once? What if she doesn't hear? Twice, then? But, that could be annoying.
Be a man, Harry. It's just a harmless girl. Nothing to be so anxious over.
Yeah, a girl that is terrified of me.
Regardless, I knock twice on the wood and restrain myself from knocking once more for good measure. The silence that greets me is long, but expected. I try my best to smile because I know she is looking through her peephole.
And then the door opens and all the anxiety I felt leaves my body as quickly as the air escapes my lungs.
Lips that put red roses to shame. Hair so red it's as if fire is woven through it. Eyes as green as the sea and just as deep.
Fuck.
She seems slightly flushed; skin damp and fiery hair stuck to her skin like glue. It's only when I look down and see a silk robe tightened around her body that I realize she had just come from the shower.
It's in that same instance that I realize that she is naked underneath said robe; freckled skin peeking through the slits, every curve clearly seen through the translucent white cloth. My eyes struggle to remain on her flushed face because her apartment is quite chilly and her nipples show evidence of that.
Heat crawls up my face quickly when I feel my pants tighten slightly and my gulp resounds throughout her empty flat.
What in the world is wrong with you? You have a girlfriend, you perv.
When she asks me what I'm doing at her place, it takes all of my strength to keep my eyes on hers, "You're furniture came in. Thought I'd help you move it."
Of course, what I don't tell her is that I had to bribe Gemma into letting me personally deliver the furniture. It was all suggestive grins and endless teasing, but I get to see Layla again after almost three days all for the price of watching the shop for two weeks.
It's worth it.
"Okay," I'm shocked when she actually agrees and my eyes snap up to meet her face, but just end up lingering on her long legs and curves, "Let me just... change while you bring everything up."
The relief I feel when I glance into her eyes and see that all the fear she harbored has vanished completely is almost crushing. Her hands shake as they tighten around her robe and I can tell that she is more anxious than she has been around me in a while.
But, the fear –the fear is gone.
And I can finally breathe again.
She doesn't meet my eyes and practically runs to her room in an effort to cover herself, but only succeeds in making the short robe fly up slightly. I have to physically remove myself from her doorstep before I start to drool.
I make my way down to the lobby in order to move the couch and table with the help of a trolley and try to clear the inappropriate images from my brain.
The furniture was just a convenient ruse in my plan to see and –hopefully- speak to Layla since I haven't been to the café since Eliza's scolding and Layla's reaction towards me.
What wasn't a part of the plan, though, was Layla coming to the door wrapped up in a little robe with water dripping down her skin and giving me a semi.
Now, I am a gentleman and have always been, but fuck me if that sight didn't make my throat grow dry and my heart race. Again, I have to remind myself that I have a beautiful and loving girlfriend who would hate that I was having these thoughts about another woman.
Layla would hate it too, no doubt.
Carrying heavy furniture to the elevator and down a hallway sure does make for a nice distraction, though.
By the time I make it back up to Layla's flat I am covered in a thin layer of sweat and completely cooled down. She stands in front of her door in a Ramones tee and ratty jeans –thankfully- fidgeting and immediately making a move to help me.
"No, no. I've got it."
"Oh, don't be a chauvinist. I can handle it." She scolds, crossing her arms and pouting and I have to restrain myself from pinching her dimpled cheeks.
"I'm sure you can, Layla, but the polite thing for me to do is move it myself. I can handle it."
I can see that she is about to argue, but thankfully bites her tongue and moves over so I can wheel the heavy couch into the doorway. Unfortunately, the deep green sofa is a bit too wide to fit into the small doorway.
I hesitantly glance up towards Layla after three failed attempts at maneuvering it myself. She is standing idly by, a smug smile on her lips and casually picking at her nails.
"Layla?"
"Hmm," Her voice is full of mock curiosity and the condescending way she says the next words should make me annoyed, but only makes a stupid grin pull at my lips, "Oh, could you possibly, I don't know, need some help? I thought you could handle it?"
I shake my head at her, rolling my eyes, and causing her to let out a short bark of laughter before crouching down on the other side of the couch and beginning to lift. My eyes flit between pivoting the couch and making sure that Layla doesn't hurt herself.
However, she proves to be much stronger than expected and we manage to make it through, but not without one more sarcastic remark from Red.
"Wow, can you believe how easy that was with two people?"
I just ignore her as I drag in the much lighter mahogany coffee table. Even though all the furniture is inside, I leave her apartment door open just like the last time I was over here. And although she never asked, I can see her shoulders slump in relief.
We're silent as we maneuver the furniture into the appropriate places –the couch facing the entryway since she has no TV and the table placed right in front. Even with the new additions, her flat is depressingly barren.
The sight makes my stomach drop slightly.
For some reason, the lack of personal affects and furniture makes me quite anxious. The lack of belongings would make it quite easy for Layla to leave anytime she deemed fit. The thought seems way too plausible for my liking and I suddenly want to fill the apartment with the entire store's furniture.
"I haven't seen you at the café recently."
Layla's tentative voice pulls my from my panicking mind and I watch as she sits on the far end of the suede couch. I hesitantly take a seat on the other side and even though there is a foot of space between us, she still manages to tense slightly.
And even though it shouldn't, the action makes my heart hurt.
"Yeah, Eliza and I had a little spat the other day."
"What did you do?" She asks jokingly, and I let out a small laugh before averting my eyes to a loose thread on the couch. There is no way I'm about to tell her it was over her.
I meet her inquisitive gaze with a humorous one, "I placed M&Ms and Skittles into the same bowl and gave them to her."
"There is a special place in hell for people like you."
Laughter rumbles through my chest and Layla joins in after a moment. It's obvious that I am skirting the subject, but Layla doesn't pry.
I'm thankful for it even though I know she doesn't enquire further because she expects the same courtesy of me.
The silence that falls between us after that is a comfortable one, but I know I have to break it. I have to say what has been eating away at me for almost two weeks. I have to know if she is still afraid of me – what she meant by, "I know that wasn't you, and that's what scares me."
"Listen, Layla. I know you don't want to talk about it, but-"
"Harry, don't."
"No, listen to me," I turn my body to face hers and she looks away quickly, chewing on her lip, "What I did was out of line and uncharacteristic. I know that you know that that wasn't me, but I also need you to know that it will never be me. I can swear that to you. I have never and will never be that violent and aggressive man. It's not how I was raised and not-"
"Harry, please stop."
"No, I don't want you to think poorly of me and-"
"I don't."
"And think that I'm someone who would ever hurt you or act rashly, because," The words die in my throat when I finally register what she had said, "Wait, you don't?"
A small smile is tugging up her rosy lips, but her eyes are sad. For a change, my hands are shaking slightly as I wait to hear what she has to say. She stays silent, playing with the rings adorning her fingers as she gathers her thoughts.
Every night since the bar I had been unable to sleep just remembering the terrified look in her eyes, the way she flinched away from my touch. I had been haunted by thoughts of her hating me and thinking ill of me.
The idea that she doesn't has my evil thoughts clearing away.
"I know... I know that you were trying to protect me. I would be lying if I said it didn't scare me, but I'm trying... I'm trying to not let that taint the image I have of you. I know you're a good guy, Harry, I really do. I just... I just need a little time."
Time for what, I'm not sure, but her words instantly bring a smile to my lips and I feel like I can finally breathe again. A heavy weight has just been pushed off my shoulders.
I don't know much about Layla; I don't know why my violent act scared her so, or why she flinches at loud noises or touch, or why she has such terrible social anxiety, but I know that she does. And I hope that when she is ready to tell me, she will. But, until then-
"You can have all the time that you need. I'll be here. I'll always be here."
She offers me a grateful smile before reverting her eyes to the hardwood, but I can't keep my gaze off of her.
My fingers itch to grab ahold of a pencil and sketch the way her hair falls into her eyes no matter how many times she tucks it behind her ear. I want to paint the way that her smile falls from her face as her eyes become glazed over –lost in memories I have yet to discover.
So, we sit there for what feels like hours –her lost in her thoughts and me sketching out every detail in my brain and ignoring the buzzing in my pocket.
There is no forgive and forget, but there is silence –and sometimes, it's the same.
"I make a mean macaroni casserole." Subtle, Styles. Real subtle.
My abrupt sentence pulls Layla from her reverie and she shakes her head as if to clear it before meeting my stare. Her face is blank as it processes my words and rosy cheeks before a knowing grin lights up her face.
"Oh, really?"
"Mmhm. Do you have any ingredients here?"
This causes her to flush and scratch her neck embarrassedly, "I actually... Uh, I don't really have any food here at the moment. Forgot to go to the store."
That makes the smile slip from my face for two reasons: I don't like the idea of her not eating and I know she's lying. It's clear that she didn't just 'forget' to pick up food required for survival, but rather that she hasn't wanted to go to such a busy market.
Guilt rears its ugly head in again. No doubt her sudden fear is because of my stunt.
I've noticed how much progress she has made since being here and I noticed when all that progress seemed to be lost after the bar.
And even though I have a girlfriend, even though Layla just forgave me, even though I probably shouldn't push it, the next words leave my mouth without permission. But, I don't take them back anyway.
"Well, then. You are just going to have to come to my flat in order to taste this delicacy."
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You guys are not ready for what I have planned...
(The boys on the late late show last night killed me. I am actually a ghost rn writing this. I blame Harry's thighs and bum in those short shorts. Write that on my tombstone.)
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