Harry Styles imagines

Butterfly Boy

WARNINGS: strong language

"I have so much love in my heart for you, butterfly boy. Smell you later."

Her words dripped with honey, sweet like a harmony to my ears, I could write thousands of pages of songs around each sentence she spoke. She was a poem waiting to be written, each sentence poetic and delicately worded. If I was her butterfly boy, she was my flower girl.

My heart raced up to my cheeks, enflamed in redness and blush pinks at the nickname. My body froze, and my muscles tensed, burning with a heat so great my skin felt that each pore had caught fire. I would have burst into flames in a moment, if not for the jumble of confessions pulling against my lips. I bit back my tongue, trying to suppress a painful smile from cramping my jaw until it unhinged.

But with her toothy smile, my grin spreading, her warm eyes oozing into mine, I felt myself reflecting a goofy grin to her face, a silly, toothy grin etched on both of our faces. It felt so good to wear it proudly, my feet cemented to the floor, arms hesitating to pull her for another hug goodbye, the third of tonight. But it was getting late, and the moon was overcasted by the fog of the clouds passing by.

So she took the lead, feeling my tenseness pass from the air, like a telepathic signal, her scent consumed me whole, eating at my insides up, until my heart was pounding out of my chest, and my legs were jelly. My chin rested heavily on her head, propped up stiffly. Her scent bit my nose raw, the warm vanilla and sweet pastries wafting off of her keeping me floating on my toes.

Her skin laid soft against mine, a gentle squeeze to my back as her hands wrapped around her wrists. I felt her head nestle into my shoulder blade, her mesmerizing hair scrunching up against the roughness of my plain white tee. The lights shinned down on her hair too, making her gleam like an Angel on earth, someone so perfect I couldn't see anyone else coming after her. I could remember anything else before her. My mine was only her, every second of everyday it was her. Her smell, her eyes, her laugh, her touch. It was all so special and so sweet, I felt sick each time I let her walk through that door and back to her flat across town. I felt sick for not asking her to stay a little longer each time, regardless if we had seen each other all hours of every day.

I was pulled from my thoughts, her arms slipping away from my torso, her touch leaving a cold space in my core. I tried not to grab at her, fist her shirt and pull her into my chest as tightly as I could, so maybe then she would slip away so quickly, into the night, and out of my touch. But she pulled away, knowing she had a bed to get back to in her little apartment. It was probably cold because of me neglecting to realize how late it had gotten. Her sheets were probably still crisp and untouched from this morning while mine stayed warm and wrinkled, our bodies spread out on top of the sheets.

"Don't be gone for long, flower girl." I whispered back, loud enough for her to hear, our little secret.

She cracked another smile, cheeks warming at the matching nickname.

"I'll be back soon, just going to rest for a little, promise." She swore, fingers reaching around my wrist, I watched the pinkness from the cool air blowing in on the door step lift from her palm to her pinky in the air, holding it up straight and high, she wrapped it around my finger, and stared into my eyes.

"Promise." She swore, lips reaching down to kiss my knuckles delicately, a twin flame burning between us every time we touched so intimately. My soulmate just inches from my skin, pressing her lips to my hands, not minding how cold they were, or how many rings they bared.

I watched hopelessly as she turned on the balls of her feet, walking smoothly across the driveway to her car, a soft beeping sounding from the barrier of silence across the night.