The Way I Feel Inside | h.s.

8

POV: Bee

My eyes blinked open to see the soft white of my bedroom ceiling, watching the fan for a moment as it spun around slowly above my bed. 

I had woken up in the darkness a couple hours ago with sweat covering the front half of my body as I was plastered up against Harry's warm back. It was then that I understood why he preferred to sleep mostly naked - the man is an absolute furnace. I had carefully pulled my arm out from around his waist and gotten up to change out of my silver pants into sleep shorts. My mouth was incredibly dry and tasted like whiskey so I went downstairs to drink some water, use the bathroom and brush my teeth, then turned off the LED lights. Returning upstairs, I then turned the fan on before crawling back in the bed and slipping the comforter up just to my hips. I laid on my back and let the white noise of the fan lull me back to sleep.

Now, the morning sun was slowly starting to make its way into view through my large window. 

I loved October in Seattle. It was usually a crisp, mostly sunny month, not living up to the stereotypical 'Seattle Gloom' which usually began around the holidays. I didn't mind the sunshine coming in first thing in the morning. It made up for the impending doom of the next few months of constant grey.

I turned my head to the left to see Harry sleeping on his side facing me. He must've flipped over at some point. My lips curved up as I noticed he had turned the pillow he was using so that it could be used as something to wrap his arms around as he slept. He looked childlike, his long brown lashes feathered under his eyes, his pink lips just barely parted as he breathed quietly.

I was relishing this opportunity to just stare at him without worrying about making him uncomfortable. My gaze moved to his hair. It was a bit long, curling around his ears and kissing around the back of his neck. The hair on top of his head was unruly from sleep, a few strands dangling over one eyelid and touching the top of his cheekbone. I marveled at the soft curls and wondered what shampoo he uses.

Suddenly my thoughts picked up, and all the questions I've ever wondered about him flooded into my mind. What songs get stuck in his head? How often does he cry? Is he a fast reader, or does he read like he talks? How do his breakup conversations usually go? How did he feel the first time he had sex?

I had to stop my thoughts before I spiraled to a place that I couldn't come back from, knowing that once my mind latched onto a thought, I'd obsess over it until I word vomited. And I really didn't want to pester him. I was good last night, aside from the Taylor comment. There were also the few times he made a face at me staring at him, but I didn't think that bothered him all that much. 

But then there was the kiss.

My cheeks reddened and I winced, shutting my eyes and shaking my head at myself. I've always been a very confident person. I've never had issues being forward with people, especially someone I was interested in. I had gotten confident last night as I lay half asleep staring into Harry's moonlit eyes, but once he finally gave me the green light to kiss him, I froze. I can't say it's surprising, but it was still disappointing because I knew that it was my brain getting caught up in the 'Harry Styles' of it all. He wanted me to treat him normally and then my fucking hand started shaking on his cheek as my brain betrayed me in panic. 

I was surprised that the shaking didn't deter him from helping me along, those feather light kisses to my cheek making my stomach jump just thinking about them. He was so soft.

I smiled to myself again and returned my gaze to him, focusing on his lips and remembering how soft they felt across my face. I eyed his perfect nose, thinking of it brushing up against mine. I looked down to his hands clutched around the pillow, taking them in for a moment as I noted each silver and gold ring, and the cross tattoo. A shiver went up my spine as I imagined his one hand cupping my cheek last night, fingertips softly kneading into the skin on the back of my neck. I touched my chin with my own thumb, wanting it to be his.