favorite crime [h.s]

forty five

Friday came around faster than expected after I've been trying to avoid the reminder all week. Don't get me wrong, I love clubs and the idea of going out with Harry, but after the last time, I've been feeling a little weird. This is the time that I'd have to trust him when he tells me he'd be there with me.

"What?" I ask with an urgency, the look on his face not giving me an answer to what he's thinking. He's killing me.

He stares at me silently, intensely observing my outfit which I've been meaning to show him, but this is a bit different than I expected. He's completely staring at me, like piercing his eyes through my soul. It's not helping that I've been doubtful about this dress in the first place.

His gaze lands on my eyes. Smiling, he says, "Nothing."

I have no excuse why he's here, he just is.

"You know what? June was a much better critic, I might invite her next time instead," I tease as I leave the room.

"Hey," he chuckles in protest. "I'm trying my best, I'm not good at giving compliments."

"Oh don't worry, I know," I tell him, considering I've never received a compliment from him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He follows me into the bathroom, stopping mid-doorway as he leans his shoulder against the frame with his arms crossed.

Typical Harry pose.

A soft black shirt hugs his torso, the first few buttons unbuttoned like he always had, tucked into his jeans and complimented by a nice belt. He looks amazing, and he hadn't even put a lot of thought into his outfit.

I open my make up drawer and grab the only shade of red lipstick that I own. It's slightly darker than the one June lent me when we went to the club on that friday night, but it's just as pretty.

I glance at Harry through the mirror who's still watching me get ready, and tap the tip of the lipstick onto my lips. I slap my lips together until the color is smeared evenly.

"You look nice," he murmurs, grinning softly at me through the mirror.

I flip around and lean my ass against the bathroom counter behind me, playing with the lipstick cap between my fingers. He complimented me, and I don't care whether he did it because he feels like he has to or because he genuinely means it.

"You think so?" I smile.

"That's what I said, no?" He tilts his head in a teasing manner.

I sigh and place the lipstick next to the sink. I cross my arms and Harry watches me attentively as if he was waiting for me to speak my mind.

"My ex hated it when I wore lipstick," I admit. "So, I stopped wearing it."

"Do I look like your ex?" he asks with a frown. I can't tell if this is a serious question, but I shake my head.

"No, that's n⎯"

"I don't want you to think of your ex when you look at me," he interrupts me, his voice dropping into a harsh tone. "I don't want you to stop doing things you love just because you think I'm just like him. I'm not, okay?"

"Okay," I whisper.

His eyes steal a glance of my body before he stands up straight and runs a hand through his hair, effortlessly fixing his messed up strands.

"We're ready to go, then?" he questions while leaving the bathroom with me trailing behind him.

"Yes." Looking outside through the kitchen window, the streets are still glistening from the rain pouring down. "It has been raining all week," I murmur, pouting a bit.