Haven- 06
"...you were sittin' in the corner with the coats all piled high, and i thought you might be mine..."
Ella.
"Oh my God," I breathed.
The entire ride to where we were stood currently had been filled to the rim with, "So... where are we going?" and Harry replying, ever so stereotypically, "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?" to which I laughed at because that was all my nervous system had allowed.
I had to admit, I was starting to get anxious. He had been driving for a good half an hour away from campus, and I didn't know my way around Boston all that well to know what direction we were headed. The incessant traffic was that of completely frustrating, and when we would stop every two minutes, then start again, I took that time to study his profile. I knew he noticed me doing so, but he was enough of a gentleman to not pay any mind. His gaze was set on the road ahead, and he had seemed so determined. And I thought I spotted a little bit of nervousness peaking out which acted as my own sliver of reassurance. Reassuring me that no, despite earlier speculation, Harry Styles was not perfect. He was just like the rest of us, except maybe exceptionally endowed in the looks department. Not all of us were that lucky. He hadn't acted like this was a regular occurrence for him-- to take a girl out on a date. (And I was still trying to figure out why I liked the sounds of that).
But now, as we stood gazing at the stadium, otherwise known as Fenway Park, home of the fucking Red Sox, my excitement wasn't even in the running for containment. Okay, so maybe he was perfect.
And then he spoke, "I saw your Yankees bag the other day, and I know you came from New York. They're playing against the Sox tonight, so..." he stopped himself from saying more, looking uncertain.
"You... oh my God." How fucking embarressing is it that I can't seem to concoct a good enough sentence in front of a Greek God?
Pull yourself together, Ella. Where's your first-date etiquette hiding?
He sent a smile over my way, the intensity and beauty of it liquefying my insides on the spot. He had done this. He remembered seeing my bag. He noticed something so small, something I doubted not many people even cared to pay attention to. And he managed to get tickets? How does one even do that?
"Holy hell," I finally sputtered. "You're, like, amazing you know?" No longer able to stop myself, I turned to wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing tight. His body language openly admitted his shock, but just as quickly as I hugged him, he pieced himself together and brought his hands around my middle. I tried, without avail, to ignore how fucking soft and firm his body felt at the same time. I kind of wondered how he could be both.
"I hope you don't mind hot dogs and peanuts for dinner," he joked, his chin resting on the top of my head. He still hadn't showed signs of wanting to let go which was (seriously) okay with me.
I laughed, a real laugh that started from the bottom of my gut and traveled far just to make an appearance, "Not at all."
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"I honestly can't decide what team I want to win more."
I turned my head to Harry, chuckling. "Totally agree. But," I held a finger up, smirking, "I feel like it's only right if we root for the Sox, being in Boston and all. I mean, what kind of injustice would it be if they lost in their own hometown?"
"Seems reasonable," he nodded, his lips twitching at the corners. "You make a valid point."
I was more than stunned with the ludicrous seats Harry had scored us. Not only were we sat to the left of the first base player, but we were so close I could reach out and touch the fence keeping us from walking on the field. The only decently put together thought jogging through my mind was, how did he do this? Which, in the grand scheme of things, didn't really help the repetetive skip in my heart beat while I sat next to him. From last night at the party to today on this date, I haven't had this much fun in what feels like forever. Most likely because it is forever when you're used to counting your days, instead of living them.
It feels unreal to just sit eating ridiculously overpriced hot dogs (which they didn't even bother putting chili on) and popcorn to share, while I laugh at Harry's dumb jokes. And they were dumb.
"Is it true that you women are crazy about baseball players bums?" The piece of popcorn I had just thrown into my mouth had graciously been spit back out. I turned to him. Harry looked genuinely curious, waiting for my answer patiently, as if his question had been something out of twenty-questions. I just let myself watch how his face contorted into pure curiosity, his eyes narrowing as he looked out to the field. When I couldn't hold in my laugher anymore, he finally broke into a shit-eating grin, turning to look at me when I didn't have an answer for him, his eyebrows rising.
"They are well rounded, I'll hand 'em that," he continued, at last. "Maybe it's the training they go through. You think maybe they do squats?" I was still laughing, and my stomach was starting to deliciously burn, but Harry was just eating it up.
"God, you're something else," I said on a forced exhale while I rubbed my sides. I turned back to watch the play, but Harry's attention remained on me. Without hesitation, I looked at him again and watched as his large smile slowly faded, getting smaller and smaller until it wasn't there at all. I swallowed the imaginary lodge in my throat, and frowned at him.
As if he was in his own element, he disected every point of me on those bleacher seats, watching me as if I wasn't just Ella Mason, girl who stumbled into his life (or he stumbled into mine) a week ago. As if I was more.
With what I could only imagine to be a uneasy expression taking over my face, I brought my attention back on the game. In my peripheral, I was acutely aware of the furrow in his brows, and the slow movement to also come back to the game.
The Red Sox were winning by four points to the Yankees, and my inner die-hard fan was screaming in agony at the fact. I watched carefully as a foul ball was hit, rolling on the ground towards Harry's and my seats, coming so close I could've leaned out just a smidge over the railing and picked it up, until it passed us.
"Well fuck. I could've been a gentleman and tried to get that for you, but I think I would've gotten in trouble."
I ducked my head down, trying to hide the smile. God, who is this man?
"We should make a deal," Harry said suddenly when I didn't have the decency to warrant him a reply.
I finally casted him a glance, watching him curiously. "Not sure if I trust you."
He grasped his shirt covered chest with his hand, feigning offense. "I'm hurt, Ms. Mason."
"Get on with it," I laughed. "What's the deal?"
"If the Sox win, you stay over at my place tonight. If the Yanks win, I stay at yours." And then his eyes widened. "Of course, I mean, if that's okay with y-you. Because, like, it's fine with me, but I'm not trying to come on strong or anything I just--"
"Harry." His sharp inhale was his reply. I looked at him dubiously, running my eyes over his features. "And... so either way, I'm staying with you. I'm not sure where you're getting at."
His lips twitched, and he finally relaxed. "I think it's a win-win situation don't you?" And he's back. He wouldn't let his eyes wander from my face (not that I would've bet highly that he would), as I thought it over. There was a chance the Yanks might make a comeback; they've done it before. But then, I'd still be spending the night in his presence. I tried shoving down the part of me that really didn't mind, at all, at the mention of sharing a bed with him again-- if of course, that's what I'd be doing. God, I'm really starting to sound like a four-alarm slut.
So, in conclusion, the deal didn't seem all that fair, or even like much of a deal but I found myself in the business of not caring.
"Deal," I reached out to shake his hand. His smile was wide and victorious and all-consuming when he returned the gesture. And, per usual protocol, I begged myself to ignore the way his hand felt in mine.
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The Red Sox won.
Not that I really had much of a doubt that was how it would play out (literally), but it still didn't give me a free pass on why my gut and heart were teaming up with each other, going against all my morals.
We were currently on our way back to the dorms, trying to dodge some of the crazy traffic from the game. I questioned whether this city ever didn't have traffic.
I leaned back in the leather seat of Harry's beautiful car. Everything he owns and is is beautiful. Including Harry's face when the game ended; the far too large smile and the twinkle in his eyes was enough to make my week. Of course, I stayed at Harry's just last night but admittedly that was when he was plastered, and unable to walk properly. So, I couldn't help but think things would be different.
Finally making it to the dorms, we walked up the stairs, his large hand increasing pressure on my lower back every step until it was fully wrapped around my waist, and through the hallway until we made it to Harry's door. Why wasn't I telling him to back off, or I don't know, slow things down? I looked back to my door. If I was going to make a run for it, now would be the time. With a seemingly unclear train of thought, I followed him inside his larger and more extensive dorm. I still didn't understand how he managed to get a mini kitchen and a small living room in his. Fucking rigged.
"In here," Harry spoke up, from the other side of the room. I followed his voice and was lead to the mini kitchen. "Want a drink?" he offered.
"What do you have?"
"Looks like we've got," he rummaged around the cabinet, "water, Bud Light, and more Bud Light."
I could literally hear the smirk in his voice. "Such a tough decision," I teased. "Beer, though, if you've got it."
He let out a loud laugh, and I watched as he shook his head. His hand came up to his forehead, his other handing me the beer. "Don't get too drunk," he chuckled.
"Shouldn't I be the one using that line?" I retaliated.
"Well, shit," he frowned.
"Only joking," I smiled, "sort of."
Something sparked in his eyes (the ever so persistant ones that liked to watch my every move), and he motioned to the couch in the corner of the room with his arm. "Wanna sit?"
I nodded while noticing he had grabbed a few more beers, carrying them in his arms while he sat next to me on the cushion.
"What kind of movies are you into?" he asked, popping off the lid on his beer. I mirrored his actions.
His question kind of came out of nowhere. "Um, well, I'm not really picky to be honest," I said, "action, maybe some comedy, rom-com here and there." I played with the neck of my bottle.
"So if I put Man of Steel in right now, would you mind?"
"Are you kidding? Shit, no I wouldn't mind," I beamed. He looked almost shocked for a brief moment before striding over to his DVD player. He got everything set before coming back to the couch and sitting down again. The closer proximity didn't go unnoticed.
His smell suddenly blanketed the air, making it hard not to roll my eyes back in satisfaction. Christ, does this man do anything that doesn't make me want to jump him?
In the midst of my thoughts, he happened to get a blanket from the side of the couch and splayed it across the both of our bodies. My legs were tucked sideways into my body and I was leaning toward him in a way that I only noticed until now. Why are things suddenly different? We're literally only watching a movie on his couch, in his dorm, no talking involved, but it was such a change of how things have been before. It's as if a new light has been shone on us since last night and I didn't know what to make of it.
We're just friends, we're just friends, we're just friends, was my insistent mantra despite the fact that we'd gone on a date, held hands and done very... non friend type things.
I've seen Man of Steel more than a few times already but, hey, I loved Superman, and I never get tired of seeing the main actor shirtless. It was a sight to see.
By the middle of the movie I was noticing Harry glance at me frequently. He would look to me, then quickly divert back to the TV and start chewing on his nails. I didn't know what his change of heart was suddenly, considering he sure as hell never stopped himself from staring before.
As if making up his mind, he finally relaxed and rested his arm across the back of the couch, dropping his hand down to my shoulder after a moments time. Feeling content with the small designs he was drawing on my arm with his fingers, I leaned more into him until my head was on his shoulder. That mantra didn't seem so important anymore. He sighed, his maneurisms showing his relief that I had encouraged, rather than dismissed, his actions.
"You know, I'm absolute shit at all of this," he admitted, turning the volume on the TV down a few. "I have no fucking clue what I'm doing."
"You're doing great," I assured him. It was hard not to be flattered at his determination to do this right, to actually put something into whatever we were. It meant more than he knew.
"You're not just... saying that?"
I bent my head to meet his worried eyes. "I'm not, I promise."
"You have a lot of faith in me."
"I think faith is earned, yeah?" I smiled slightly. His eyes watched the movement before moving back up to search my eyes. "You've earned it. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven't ever really been in a relationship before, either."
"What?"
I shrugged at his disbelief. "It's true. Never really wanted to be in one," I said. I had a feeling he and I could agree on that particular feeling.
He shook his head, his free hand running through his hair. "It doesn't excuse the fact that I'm gonna fuck up, El. There's no way I won't," he muttered quietly.
"We all fuck up sometimes."
"True," he relented, "but I tend to do it a lot more than others."
"I doubt that," I rebutted, lifting a hand to his cheek, bringing his attention away from the wall he'd been staring at.
His head tilted into my palm, nuzzling at the soft skin. His hand continued its trail down my arm, swirling his fingers down to where it finally laid rest on my waist. I was only slightly paying mind to how large his hand seemed when it was on me. The other half of my attention was on the powerfully soft look in his eyes. I loved how easily I could read them when we were like this. When we were close enough to see every bit of each other. It should've scared me at the way my feelings were dissected by him every moment we spent together, frightened me at least. But it didn't.
I exhaled contently. It struck me just how content. "I had a lot of fun today, Harry. I truly did. Thank you," I turned again to whisper into his chest.
He hummed in recognition. "My pleasure," he leaned to murmur into my hair. "I'm glad." It was now that I realized we were actually cuddling. What ever that term meant, I was sure this was it.
I let out an embarrassing giggle when his hand hit a particularly ticklish part of my side, and it was useless trying to hold it in.
Post-giggle, I had noticed the way his breathing became heavier, his grip suddenly tighter; such minuscule details to notice, but in the small vacinity we were sharing together, it became a large deal. My heart lept into my throat when his eyes narrowed in on my lips. Under the scrutiny, I licked them timidly, noticing how dry they suddenly felt. It was then that I noticed just how dry everything else seemingly felt, as well. It was as if I had gone back to the time my parents had taken me on a trip to Arizona when I was younger; like the air was this dry heat that hit you like a blow-dryer.
Gone was the bright green in his eyes that I'd looked into today, rather a dark forest color replaced them, with pupils expanding every second. In the farthest corner in my mind I was trying to calculate how I was causing him these responses.
His internal battle was was a prominent and easily readable through his eyes, as if he was an open book. Laying everything out in front of me, and it was my job to disect the clues.
It was when his eyes took an abnormally long time focusing on the movement of my lips taking in air, breathing it out as calmly as I managed, he murmered, "Please, El," and brought his lips down on mine instead of waiting for his go ahead, shocking my core and erasing any and all thoughts about that stupid fucking chant I had weakly created.
His free hand held my face to his, his fingers getting lost in my hair with desperation, as if acting with the rest of his body, to be sure I wouldn't pull away abruptly. I was too frozen to reciprocate until the soft feel of his lips became more feverish, more incessant, prodding his tongue into my mouth. It was then, when the gruff whimper of determination fell out of his mouth and into mine, that I found my wits and melted into the feel of his kiss. Bringing my own hand up to his neck, I tugged at the strands of hair that I had secretly been wishing to get the chance to feel since the moment I met him.
He wasn't holding back, and for as much as I thought I should, I couldn't either. He tasted sweet like the coke we shared at the baseball game, and warm like the feel of the sun kissing you. So familiar, so familiar that I had a hard time believing this was our first kiss. My body had become alert, alive, and meticulously aware of the feel of my body against his, as I found it harder to breath each moment that passed.
Oh, and that mantra? I could almost hear it chipping away, sizzling with its exit route.
Suddenly, with apparent reluctance, he pulled back, leaving only a few inches between our mouths. We were breathing in each other, out, and back in, trying to bring the air we craved into our lungs all while his hand stayed in my hair and mine stayed on his neck. "I'm not going to lie and say I'm sorry for what I just did," he whispered breathlessly, his voice sounding hoarse. "Because I'm not in the business of apologizing for things I'll just do again." His lips whispered across mine, only skimming, teasing before he pulled back again.
"Okay," I said equally as breathless, because what else could I say? Should I have told him how I had just experienced the best kiss of my life with someone I had sworn diplomacy with?
My lips felt swollen and dominated and lonely, while my mind stayed within its fuzzy bubble.
My hand left his neck, and with a mind of its own, wound around his waist. His fingers let go of their grip until they slowly whispered across my cheek before they dropped. Involuntarily, I snuggled in closer to his body, and noted how relaxed he suddenly became, despite his still harsh and uncontrolled breaths, as if he was content. There was that word again. I'd never had the opportunity to call my life content, these past few years. The feeling in it of itself was this melting sense of bliss, and security and anguish all at once-- anguish only because you just didn't know if it'd stay that way.
With a heavy heart, I remembered the last time I had felt content was when my parents were actually above the soil.
I closed my eyes with this realization, begging myself to just let things happen as they went with this boy-- this man. This tall, curly, compassionate body of a man.
Deciding I'd just rest until the movie was finished, I let my eyes droop, suddenly tired. I questioned whether this weight had just been lifted off of me, or suddenly on me. But before I could read into any of these thoughts, I was drifting off with the far away sound of Superman saving his next victim, and the feel of Harry holding me tight.
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"...well you cured my january blues. yeah, you made it all alright. i got a feelin' that i lit the very fuse that you tryin' not to light..." -arctic monkeys
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heeeeeyoo my friends. vote if you're feelin coolio. hope ya liked this chapter :D FIRST KISS BLUES yeAH. oh btw my twitter is lakehouseharry if ya wanna follow me :))