You could laugh most things off, but this was your favourite pair of chinos, and TOMS, and you were pretty sure that they were ruined. It wasn’t the worse one that was for sure. I mean, they’d picked you up fully clothed one day and threw you in the swimming pool, another one was they wiped your laptop, or at least made you believe they had. It was fair to say they tormented you. And you hated it, and them. Your brother was a bully; as were his friends, and you hated them. And wished them dead. Especially Harry Styles, with his curly hair, and his intense look that had all the girls swooning over him. Well not you, you would rather see his stare dead; preferably under a bus. A knock at the door stills your tears, and you stare at it
Harry: Can I come in?
You: No
Harry: Come on, I want to call a truce
You think of a thousand witty comebacks, a lot involving you swearing, but settle on
You: No!
The handle moves despite your firm disagreement and a curly mop appears round.
Harry: We were just having a laugh.
You: Right…
Harry: There’s no need to get so uppity.
You give him your best evil stare, and fold your arms across your chest.
Harry: Have you been crying?
Casting your eyes down you stare at the smattering of flour against your sleeve, and sigh. You were one of those unlucky ones that even if you shed just a few tears your eyes puffed and went blood shot. And tear tracks in flour, probably was a big give away too.
Harry: We never meant to make you cry.
He steps fully into his room, and has the decency to look abashed as he closes the door behind him.
You: Whose idea was it?
Harry: Mine.
You can’t think of anything to say. You’re shocked into silence at his honesty.
Harry: It’s usually my idea.
He shrugs this time, and you feel yourself bubble with anger.
Harry: Thing is though; I thought you enjoyed the attention.
The bubbles began to boil.
Harry: Like it was some big joke to you.
You: I. Don’t. Find. It. Funny.
Harry: Yea can see that now.
Another shrug and he looks at the floor; how you manage to fight the temptation of hitting him hard across the back of the head you don’t know, but you manage. Instead curling your hands into fists at your side.
Harry: Thing is though (YN) I enjoyed doing it.
Your nails cut into your palms as you tighten your fists.
Harry: I like thinking about you, and spending time with you. Even if it is a few minutes.
You: What?
Harry: I…
He takes long strides across the room, standing in front of you and quickly pressing his lips to yours. For a moment you stare at him, aware that your jaw is loose.
Harry: I fancy you.
You: What?!
Harry: It’s the age old you’re mean to those you like.
You: What?!
Harry: I honestly thought you knew.
You: What?!
His lips press against yours again, a bit firmer this time, his hands resting on your hips.
Harry: I’m sorry.
You can’t find the words to say. He had been so mean. For so long. And he liked you. For a moment you stare into his mossy green eyes, and wonder if you’ve fallen and hit your head.
Harry: Can we go for a walk? Talk?
You: I need to get changed.
Harry: Of course.
He leaves the room, and you hurriedly change into less floury clothes. Once changed, you hurry down stairs to where Harry is waiting with your brother, and his friends. They all stare at you and you have the horrid feeling that this is a joke. And you’ve been set up, yet again. But Harry stands from where he was slouching on the sofa, and takes your hands. His friends say nothing, as his fingers interlink with you. The only person to comment is your brother
Brother: About bloody time.
And with that Harry leads you out of the house.
