A fox that gains our trust, but then breaks it as he walks away from us.
*****
March 20th, 2015
He is undeniably restless. And it is the most adorable, yet nerve wrecking thing I have ever endured in my life.
He stirs in his seat every two seconds, and I keep stopping his hands from pulling down the scarf I wrapped around his eyes.
"Come on! We've been on this car for hours, now." He pouts when I smack his thigh for the twentieth time. "And I think I might be suffocating with this thing."
"It's been just an hour and a half Harry." I say, fixing the improvised blindfold, which is starting to slip because of all his touching and moving around. "And your eyes have been covered for twenty minutes. Hang in there."
I knew from the get go that he wasn't going to put up with being blinded the entire ride, so I decided to do it the moment we left the city.
He snorts and I giggle, taking his hand in mine. He seems to relax at the touch, so I tighten my grip to keep him in that mood. For my sake and his.
"Talk to me about something or I'll lose my mind over here." He begs.
"Uhm... Okay. What do you want me to talk about?" I ask him, shifting around in my place so I can see him better.
He turns his head towards me, following my voice like the temporarily blind person that he is. His lips purse into a thin line, and then his front teeth appear when a crooked smile forms in his face.
Even with his gorgeous emerald eyes out of the equation, both his charm and handsomeness are as powerful as they can be.
"Anything... Whatever you want." He tells me, and his voice sounds endearingly impatient. "I know! Why don't you tell me the greatest story about you?"
I frown, forgetting for just a second that he can't actually see me.
"We jumped from anything to the greatest story about me, uh?" I say as my mind begins to search for it. "Well... I suppose it has to be the day I realized I wanted to be a dancer." I add when I quickly find the right story to tell.
"If it ends with you peeing your pants, I guess I'll pass." He teases me, earning him another slap on his leg.
"It doesn't!" I bellow in embarrassment, thankful for the fact that he is completely oblivious to my furious blushing. "But it ends with a broken toe, though."
"Of course."
I tell him about the first dance lesson I've ever took; slowly walking him through that day and giving him every detail of it as if I am watching it in an old home video.
He smiles when I tell him how nervous I was as my mum would help me put my leotard and my dance shoes on; and how I would snivel like the pre-school child that I was about how my head hurt because of the tight bun tied up atop of it.
I describe to him the joy I felt when Miss Clutter congratulate my posture as soon as I managed to set my tiny feet into first position, all the way to the faithful moment where I tripped and twisted my toes so badly that one of them actually snapped.
"But I didn't feel the pain, you know?" I say, when his face contorts into a grimace of horror. "Not in that moment, at least. And even when I started to feel it, I was already too in love with dancing to actually care about that."
"It was love at first injury, then." He says, and chuckles at his witty remark.
"It was. And it's still going strong. Fifteen years, three broken toes and one crushed collarbone later." I count my injured bones whilst pointing at the respective places.
"Ouch!" He exclaims.
"Yep, the last one I felt right on the spot." I say, as my eyes screw shut at the sole memory of such blinding pain. "What about you?"
We are almost there, according to the signs at the side of the highway, and Harry is distracted enough with our conversation to forget about complaining or asking how much longer we have to go.
"Does several hits to my penis count? Because he got bruised..." He shrugs. "A lot."
"It does count." I say, gently patting the area as he freezes at my unexpected touch. "Poor little fella."
"Hey!" He recovers quickly, taking real offense on my choice of words. "Poor, maybe. Little, not even close."
"I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much." I push my luck even further, knowing that it will earn me a very interesting punishment later this evening. "But I was asking about you knowing for the first time that you wanted to sing for a living."
He sighs, letting go of his pretend aggravation, and he rubs his hands on his lap while biting his bottom lip.
"Well, I guess I've always loved to sing and make a fool out of myself when I was a kid... Which is pretty much all I do every time I'm on stage."
I let out a high-pitched laugh at his comment.
To be honest, since the moment I realized that my obsession with him had to stop all those years ago, I went out of my way, like any recovering addict should do, to avoid listening to his music or watching any footage of him and the band.
But I still remember all those times I did see him. I remember that strangely confident awkwardness he always exuded in front of a camera or up on the stage. That way he had of going about and make it look like he wasn't aware that his every move and word managed to make legions of girls swoon worldwide.
Whenever he would sing, or move, or talk; he was mesmerizing. Every time he would smile or frown. Whenever he would touch his lips or pinch them as he would think the answer to whatever the interviewer had asked him.
I remember all of it. And I remember thinking that I had the privilege to witness even from afar, long before the rest of the world did, how incredibly magnetic he was. And still is.
Because even though I haven't seen him in action like that for so long, everything he does right now only makes me believe he somehow managed to improve his already perfect craft.
Both with the singing and the swooning part, of course.
"But it wasn't until I performed with my friends at school that I knew I wanted to do this forever."
He says, and I have to shake my head slightly to snatch myself out of my reminiscing.
"Oh, right! It was White Eskimo, wasn't it?"
And the second those words come out of my foolish mouth, my hands fly to shut it up.
Shit.
"Excuse me?" He asks in amused and utter surprise.
And before I can react to the fact that he just pulled the scarf down, his green eyes are looking straight at me.
As he stares attentively, I can see how his pupils go back from being fully dilated to a smaller size once the light of day streams inside of them; and the heat on my cheeks spreads all the way down to my neck and chest.
"What?" I ask him, pretending to be confused by his reaction. "I... I guess I must have read it somewhere."
That's a lie, actually. I knew he had a band way back when. In fact, I once sneaked into his school after I overheard him talking about a small performance he was going to give.
Yes. My infatuation knew no limits. And I was very committed to it.
"Yeah, right!" He huffs, calling me on my lie. "I am seriously considering a restraining order right now." He dramaticaly clears his throat before speaking again: "Stalker much?"
"Shut up!" I wail in sheer abashment.
"Make me." He challenges me.
His body leans on me; playful eyes scanning my face as his hands twist behind my back to pull me closer.
I know he has a much more interesting suggestion in mind of how he would want me to shut him up. But before I even realize what I'm doing, my hand swings in the air and meets his crotch with a whipping sound.
"There!"
"You... are..." He tries to speak, but his voice comes out more like a cry out, as he takes in sharp breaths to sooth himself down. "In so... much... trouble."
His body is now bent over; so much so, his forehead is almost touching the knees. His hands are no longer on me since they are more preoccupied pressing against his rudely treated friend.
I'm starting to feel guilty for what I just did. Scared, even. Not of what he might do to me, of course. I am terrified of what he may not be able to.
"I'm so sorry..." I whisper to his ear as I gently slide my hand to where his are, removing them and taking their place. "Is he alright?"
His eyes, which were tightly shut until I touched him, become wide open as he snaps back to sit up straight. Or at least as straight as his discomfort allows him to be.
"No, he is not alright. But he will be..." He speaks with a much more recovered and steady voice. "All he needs to do is claim his revenge."
*****
There have always been two things I've wondered about wealthy American people, and two things alone.
What is up with them and their need to have such enormous houses when they don't even know enough people to fill them with? And why does every single piece of furniture has to be so bloody white, or beige?
Seriously. This place is obscenely huge - especially considering that they barely come here twice a year and that Jasper is an only child -, and the only colors in here are the ones provided by the few paintings that hang from the fewer walls that are not made out of glass.
That is another thing. All windows, no curtains. Ever.
Granted, the view to the perfectly kept gardens and the beach far away are quite rewarding, but still. Even as feeble as the sunlight is since it's barely seeping through the thick clouds, the glare against the shiny and smooth surfaces is hurting my eyes.
But the place is gorgeous, though. And quiet. In the most beautiful, isolated way. Which is exactly what we need.
"The Hamptons, uh?" He says, letting himself fall and sink in the spotless cream colored couch. "Fancy!"
I wince at the sight of his feet resting on the coffee table. The sleek, probably overpriced coffee table.
"I know. If this is not 'south of the highway' I don't know what is."
I walk over to where he lays and before I take a seat next to him, I slowly remove his feet from the delicate furniture.
"South of the what?" He asks me, still looking around the immense living room. "What does that mean?"
"I'm not sure. Something I read about where the best houses are in this place."
"Oh, you seem to find the oddest things when you read..." He mocks me, snuggling closer to me and burying his face on the crook of my neck. "Don't you?"
I feel the warm moisture of his tongue as he slowly brushes my skin. I shiver under it, both from anticipation and awkwardness. I try to fight him off, although I don't put too much effort on it, but he pays no mind and continues with his teasing.
"Stop that." I say with an unconvinced voice. "Or I will..."
"No!" He shouts in my ear before pulling away like a traumatized puppy. "Leave him alone!"
I let out a loud chuckle as he looks at me from the other side of the couch. My skin still feeling his touch even though it is not there anymore. And I miss it.
"I'm so sorry. I promise I won't do... that anymore." I tell him, slowly sliding closer to him. "I love him, Harry... I need him, in fact. And I would never hurt something that I need."
My hand carefully reaches out for him, as if I was trying to win back the trust of a scarred little kitten. His green eyes are staring at me with caution, then he looks at my stretched out hand.
"That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard." He says when he swiftly grabs me by the wrist and pulls me to place me on his lap. "But don't you even think for a second that I won't punish you for that shit you pulled on me."
"Oh, my! Look at you all 'Fifty shades of Styles'!" I say under my ragged breath.
His hands are already under my shirt, and his face is hidden between my breasts. I gasp at his cold fingers gracing my already heated flesh and in a moment of weakness, I run my fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots.
And a growl of pure enjoyment leaves his mouth and rumbles on my chest.
"I'm no Christian Grey, love." He says when our eyes lock with each other. "But I can do a little spanking."
His mouth is all over mine. Our kiss growing more and more intense with every passing second as we both fight to take the lead.
From the outside, I am positive that we look like two bloody idiots who have no idea what they're doing.
Two absolute dorks who refer to a penis as a he and make really lame jokes about erotic literature, or whatever you want to call it. A pair of legally adult people who act like five year olds who should never be trusted with repopulating the Earth if it ever comes down to it.
But we know exactly what we're doing. And the fact that we are able to be playful and stupid amid the hottest situations has to be, by far, my favorite thing about us.
I never felt this kind of connection with someone. Sure, I have had boyfriends and best friends before. But this is the first time I get to have all wrapped up in one.
"Excuse me..."
I don't end up with my ass on the floor because I somehow manage to take a hold of Harry's arm. He jumps up from the couch, grabbing me by the waist and making sure that I'm standing on my own two feet before he puts himself in front of me.
I instinctively look down at my body, sighing in relief when I confirm that I still have my shirt on and I'm not half naked in front of the strange man that is now standing in the middle of the room.
"Who are you?" Harry's voice is deep and intimidating, hilariously contrasting with is previous state of mind.
"I didn't mean to walk in on you like that." The middle aged man with a very concerned tone approaches us hesitantly. And when he does, Harry stretches his arms backwards, searching for me. "My name is Scott... I'm the caretaker of the house."
When I hear his name I relax immediately. I gently meet Harry's hands which are protectively placed at each side of my waistline and I slide them away.
"It's okay..." I stand on the tip of my toes to whisper in his ear before I step out of my hiding place. "I'm so sorry for that. I just forgot you were meant to greet us."
I dodge the coffee table with a little trouble since Harry hasn't abandoned his vigilant attitude just yet, and I walk towards him.
"It's alright." He assures me with a warm smile as he offers me his hand, which I accept politely. "All I really need to do is walk you through a few safety points and I'll be out of your hair"
Even if he manages to pull off a straight and relaxed face, I'm having a difficult time forgetting what he just saw us doing, so I tremble a little at his words. Self-consciousness eating me from within.
"Right, let's get to it." I say, and I clap my hands in the hopes that the sound would give me back Harry's attention so he can share the burden of shame with me.
It works, though barely. And it takes him a few more minutes to completely snap out of his distrustful stance as we both follow Scott around the house and I listen and nod every two seconds so he can rest assure that I understand what he tells us about thermostats and whatnot.
"Everything is checked and running, so you should be fine." He finally says to wrap up the tour. "If you have a problem, anything at all, you can find me at this number."
I nod quietly as I grab the paper he hands over to me, along with another set of keys to the house.
At this point, and after I elbowed him in the ribs more than five times, Harry is back to his normal self and he offers to walk Scott out as he apologizes for his earlier behavior.
"I'm jumpy when it comes to... certain things." He excuses himself, giving me a quick look before focusing back on the man.
I smile, and I leave them alone to attend to the bags that never left the floor where we dropped them the second we walked inside the house.
"No problem, kid." I hear Scott say from afar. "I'm sorry to ask but... Are you the guy from that band...? One Direction?"
I can't see them, but I can hear them perfectly. And judging by the lack of response on Harry's part, I know he has been taken, once again, by surprise. And to the fact that a man of Scott's age is on the loop with the current musical scene, I cannot help being surprised as well. Even amused.
With my curiosity shooting all the way to the beautifully designed roof, I quietly sneak my way back to the foyer and I watch them interact.
As I suspected, Harry looks positively baffled by the question. But what makes me frown in confusion is the worried expression that has settled on his face.
"Uhm... Yeah, I am." He eventually confirms Scott's assumption, and I can easily notice his reluctance.
"I knew it. Your faces are all over my daughter's room." The man says, rolling his eyes and Harry smiles and nods. "She would freak out if she knew you're here."
Harry's demeanor changes from just being worried to being deadly serious in a split second. And in that moment, I realize the true reason for that sudden change.
This is simple math. Putting two and two together in order to achieve the worst possible outcome.
Scott could talk. He could very easily - and quite understandably, I may add - run all the way to his house and tell his daughter how one quarter of the entire object of her affection is staying just a few yards away from their house; and that girl would react in the same fashion any other teenager in her position would.
If she knows Harry is here, she will come. Most likely accompanied by every single friend she shares her devotion with.
"I apologize on behalf of the band and myself for that." He manages to joke as lively as his evident concern lets him, gently patting Scott's shoulder. "And I truly appreciate your daughter's support..." He continues ever so politely, as he leads him out of the house. "...But I would owe you big time if you could keep this to yourself, if you know what I mean."
Wait a minute? Are those...? Yeah.
"Of course, Mr. Styles." He responds with perfect decorum, but never thinking twice about claiming the money Harry just handed over. "There will be no problems on my end. The Morgan family has welcomed you into their house and I respect both your privacy and theirs."
Wow. That is just...
The door closes with a soft thud but at this point I am already behind him, waiting for him to turn around. My face must be really easy to read because the second he looks at me, he flashes those will bending dimples of his.
"And that is how we do it."
Great. Not only dies he make me question my principles about people settling their scores with their fists. Now he also makes bribery look bloody stimulating, as well.
A/N:
Okay, I know that the last few chapters can seem rather filler-like, but they truly have a reason to be. I want you to feel their relationship; the connection and complicity that they share even after such a short amount of time being together. I want you to have a really good taste of them as a couple... Because, well...
I love you.
Lucy-
Oh! And I want to take this moment to congratulate the beautiful and amazing Humble_beginnings on the release of her first novel, and to wish her all the best with it! Thank you so much for all the great help you have been giving me despite being crazy busy with your work. <3
Here, Harry getting hit on his 'little fella' (minute 3:06 if you don't feel like watching the whole thing although you should because it's funny)