prince in jeans

n i n e

"Here, take this."

Harry unwrapped his scarf from around his neck and draped it around mine with a tiny smile.

"Thanks." I was grateful for the added warmth. "I thought you were going to the party."

Harry shrugged. "It kind of got boring after a while. So I came back."

We strolled down the sidewalk, shoulder to shoulder and his warmth seeped into me.

"So," I said as we passed a lamppost that flickered in the dying light. "Do you always go out for parties?"

Harry kicked at a stone and reached inside his coat pocket to draw something out. I didn't realise it was a flask until we passed under another light and he took a sip from it.

I crinkled my nose in disgust. "Drinking is bad for you," I said to him, brushing my hair away from my face.

Harry let out a laugh. "You die anyway."

"No reason for you to speed up the process," I shot back.

He looked at me, his eyes glinting. "Aren't you something else."

"I'm a medical intern," I replied. "I know what I'm doing."

"So you've never drunk in your life?"

"Correct."

"Must be a pretty boring life then."

"Better than being dead."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

This time, I looked at him. "Are you saying you'd rather be dead than lead a boring life?"

Harry lifted his shoulder, taking another drink. "I'm saying leading a boring life is as good as being dead."

"That isn't true."

"Well, you're wrong because it is."

"And you know this how?"

"Intuition."

I laughed, loudly. "Don't trust intuition, Harry."

"I don't trust anything."

I turned to stand in front of him, stopping him from walking. "Harry."

"Celeste."

He smelled like ink and new books and cologne and his cheeks were slightly pink from the cold and it was all so captivating and enticing.

His eyes looked at me and then I was stepping forward and kissing him and he tasted like alcohol and cinnamon.

The hand that wasn't holding the flask rested, lightly, on my hip and my hands curled around his neck, relishing the way his inked skin felt under my fingertips.

I felt like I'd been plugged into an electric socket and I thought that if he was alcohol, then I'd gladly intoxicate myself.

But then he was pulling away and the feeling subsided.

We stared at each other for a minute and then he shook his head. "No."

That simple word flew out of his mouth and I lowered my gaze. "Harry, I..."

His hands pocketed the flask and I stepped forward, desperate to close the space between us.

My lips met his again—only briefly because then his hands were on my shoulders and he was pushing me back.

"Celeste, stop."

Then the humiliation sank in and I stumbled backward, my back hitting the lamppost.

"I'm sorry—-" I stammered, my face heating up with embarrassment.

"I'm not good for you."

It took a minute for his words to sink in. I pushed myself off the lamppost.

"That's my decision," I told him as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"No," he answered, softly. "It's mine. You're the rich girl with family problems and I'm the drunken boy with no family. Celeste, we don't fit."

"Rich?" I scoffed as a cold biting wind blew by. My hair flew into my face and I pushed it away, impatiently. "My dad hardly earns, Harry."

"Your mother—"

"My mother," I interrupted, my voice shaking. "Doesn't give us money."

This seemed to surprise Harry. "Why not? You're her daughter."

"Yeah, well." I looked away, my eyes stinging. "She couldn't care less."

"Trust me, I would kill to have a family, Celeste."

I didn't reply. Instead, I looked down at my feet as the first tears slipped out of my eyes.

"Hey..." Harry moved closer, lifting my chin. "Don't...Don't cry."

"She abandoned us, Harry. She left nothing but a measly note and I can still remember my father sobbing. He just kept...He kept throwing things...I knew I was safe, he'd never hurt me but it scared me." I bit my trembling lower lip. "He had to give up his dream career because suddenly, money was top priority and he wasn't earning enough."

Harry watched me, quietly and intently.

"She broke our family, Harry," I continued, wiping at my eyes, furiously. "I was eighteen and I had a part-time job at the grocer's but even then, it wasn't much."

"I understand that," he said, softly. "I understand how it feels to have someone tear your family apart but is holding a grudge really going to fix that?"

Tears slid down my cheeks and I wiped them away. "I hope it will."

A sigh pushed past Harry's lips. "Come on, let's get you home."

Home turned out to be Harry's house. He led me in and switched on the hall light. He weaved his way through the mass of books and papers and I followed up the staircase, down the hall, and into the bedroom.

"Here," he said at last. "Sorry, it's such a mess."

Much like the rooms downstairs, papers and books littered the floor and bookshelf. A mattress with a crumpled blanket lay next to a glass sliding door that led into the balcony and an open book lay across the pillow.

But it was the walls that surprised me the most.

Dozens and dozens of words were scrawled across them in thick blank ink. Some were large, others miniscule and they slanted and crossed all over the place.

Light

Macabre

Secrets

Truth

Grave

Tremble

Laugh

"Wow," I finally said, my eyes flicking over the mass of words. "You did this?"

Harry nodded, looking up at the ceiling where more words were written. "You said your dad was throwing things when your mum left? Yeah, well, when I get angry, I do," he gestured around. "This."

"Harry Styles," I breathed, still looking at the walls. "You astound me."

 {hiiiiiiii double update yay. oh and they kissed yasssss}