Silly Boy.

Part Thirteen: Harry Styles.

Right after you had duely noted Harry's appearance, the second thing you had noticed that his accent wasn't from around here (here being Sydney). Not even close. The two of you were sat on a bench, both preparing to go on the ice. "If you don't mind me asking, Harry," you started while you were tying your skates. "Where are you from? I can tell from you accent that you're not an Aussie."

Harry let out a low chuckle, finishing the last knot in his skate strings. "Nope. Not an Aussie. You caught me red-handed there, Y/N. But, if you must know, I'm from England. Holmes Chapel to be exact." You nodded, letting out a small hum. "I knew you sounded British," you whisper, earning another laugh from Harry as he stood. "Any further questions," he asked, sounding somewhat sarcastic. Okay, very sarcastic. But you took up his offer anyways, leisurely leaning your back against the wall. "How did you come about meeting Ashton, then? He's from around here, Holmes Chapel is like a different universe to us."

"Funny you should ask," Harry muttered, offering you his hands to help you up. You took them without second thought, not expecting Harry to literally pull you to your feet. "I met him here, actually."

"Here? Like, in Sydney or....?"

"Not just Sydney. I met him here. This ice skating rink on a Friday night such as this."

"I'm intrigued," you replied, hating the fact that you sounded sarcastic even though you were genuinely intrigued. "Tell me about it."

Harry grabbed your mittened hand, walking towards the ice with you in tow. "There's not much to tell. It was about a year ago, and I was here visiting my Aunt in the hospital. She asked me to take my younger cousin, Tasha, ice skating; so of course, I did. Ashton was here with Mike and some other guy he called Cal and we almost instantly hit it off. While that Cal guy was playing around, showing off his so-called skills to Tasha, Ashton and I spent most of the night getting to know each other. We exchanged numbers, and a few weeks later, when my Aunt came out of the hospital, I told her I was moving to Sydney to be closer to a friend. Ashton and I became official not even a month after."

You hummed, taking that all in. You could think of nothing to say. "Didn't know Cal was good with kids," you finally mutter, not realizing you were standing on ice before attempting to move foreword and falling flat on your bum. You hear Harry laughing and you look up at him with an embarrassed grimace, your cheeks a bright pink, and not just from the cold. "I'm a bit rusty," you explain, earning another laugh from Harry. "I'd say so," he responds, offering you his hands for the second time that night. You gladly accept, still slightly surprised when Harry
literally pulled you to your feet without a second thought, and what seemed like no effort.

Harry kept hold of one of your hands, holding tightly as you took a shaky step foreword instead of gracefully sliding like the other skaters. "So, Harry," you say, trying to make conversation to make the whole hand-holding thing less awkward. "Yes?" "What made you want to haul your cookies all the way to Australia for some dude you just got acquainted with," you ask, using the slangy-ist of slang. Harry laughs once, sounding more annoyed than amused. "Excuse me?" "Oh, right, that probably didn't make sense since you're all British and proper and posh and shit," you say, knowing you had made a run-on sentence but not really caring.

"Anyways," you said after a three second silence between the two of you. "I said, basically, 'What made you want to move all the way to Australia for a boy you just met?" It was an honest question, in your opinion. Harry had only known Ashton for a small amount of weeks before deciding that he wanted to move to be closer to him. Hell, you've known Ashton for two months now and you sure as hell wouldn't move an entire continent for him, no matter how sweet, charming, or whatever Harry saw in him he was!!

"Honestly," Harry started, making the word sound more like a question than a statement. "It was the sex." And he sounded dead serious. "HARRY!!" You looked at him with horrified eyes, only to see him smiling widely, biting back a laugh. "I'm joking, Y/N," Harry said with a laugh, laughing even more when you practically tripped before catching you.

"I guess.....I guess what made me want to move was the fact that Ashton was so.....I dunno.....he was so..so real, I suppose. I took him out on one date during the few weeks I was here before moving, and he was just so real. He had a personality that totally contrasted with his seemingly 'punk rock' persona, and was about as intimidating as a kitten with a head cold. But he told it like it was. He talked about the world as if he knew exactly what was going on, and he as if he knew how to fix it. He spoke so intellectually, and declined alcohol, saying it killed braincells. And when I was drunk off my ass and tried to kiss him, Lord knows this is the only thing I can remember after my drunkeness, he said that he wanted to but I was drunk; 'And that would be wrong.' He was such a sweet little innocent kitten, but at the same time, so real. That's what made me move, Y/N."

Harry ended his rant with a dreamy sigh, letting go of your hand and placing both of his own over his heart. "I love him so fucking much," he whispered, sounding dreamy and far away. You smiled softly, looking at Harry with fond eyes. Your assumption about the politeness from earlier was wrong. Ashton did not love Harry because he was a perfect gentleman. Oh, no. Ashton loved, and is in love with Harry because of this. His ability to get so passionate, and the way his eyes light up when he talks about something he loved. Ashton loved Harry because Harry was a romantic teddy bear, and an undiscovered poet. Ashton loved Harry for all the right reasons, just as you loved Michael. But their love was requinted, and yours was not.

"And he loves you, Harry," you finally respond, seeing the Brit's eyes light up. "No, Y/N, you don't understand," he mutters, grabbing your hand yet again to support you. He pushed off, gliding gracefully with you in tow. "I think I want to marry him." And with that, you gasped, but not because of what Harry said but, because over Harry's head, you could see a certain bleach-blonde Australian. And it wasn't Iggy Azelea.

Michael Gordon Clifford just walked in, and his eyes filled with rage when he saw you with Harry Styles. This should be good.

}A/N: HIYA Cupcakes!!!!! This was kinda long, idk. Tell me what you guys think so far? Oh, and also, I'm thinking of doing a character ask soon (maybe after the next chapter) so questions are greatly appreciated. Imma do a double update tonight, so stay tuned. Love you. ~Anna :3{