Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Winter.
To wake up beside someone was never something I would get used to.
To wake up with my head on Harry's bicep, his arm loosely around my shoulders with his cheek only a centimetre or two from resting on top of my head was the most terrifying thing in the world.
My arm was draped over his toned chest, his skin soft and warm as always with my palm flat on his rib, moving at the same steady rhythm that his chest rose and fell with each time he took a soft breath.
The sheets were pulled right up to my shoulders, something I didn't really remember doing, since I'd not meant to end up in this position, or fall asleep in it either. My cheeks were cold, as was the top of my nose. My room was cold, I must have felt it and pulled the sheets up instinctively in my sleep. It was warm beneath that thick layer of cotton, like our own little world where we kept each other warm during such a cold night.
My body was on top of the pillow meant to separate us.
I had no idea what time it was, it was still pitch-black outside, but I heard more cars and the sounds of people living life, which led me to believe it was morning, but the sun had yet to rise.
Similarly to the position I woke up on New Years day, I was awake before him, and didn't want him ever knowing how we'd slept. I invited him to stay over, unprovoked, there was no circumstance like there usually was, where there had been one bed in the hotel, accidentally falling asleep after sex, him laying beside me when I was drunk and upset. I'd invited him to stay for the sole reason of wanting him there. And that freaked me out more than anything else going on in my life.
I wasn't ready to get up yet, I felt like I could sleep for another seven hours at least. So instead of climbing out of bed and acting like this current position hadn't happened, I moved. Shuffling back over to my side of the bed, I was extra cautious. There had been nothing more embarrassing than when I'd tried to climb out of his bed and he stopped me, whether he was awake the whole time or I'd woken him up, I still had no idea. He could be a light sleeper, even though he looked completely out cold beside me.
My cheek was back on my pillow, with another one separating us so I could no longer see his messy hair and pouty lips, the soft expression on his face as he slept. But selfishly. I didn't want to let go completely. His arm stayed outstretched, a perfect shape for me to slide right back into if I wanted to feel him hold me again. But instead, I reached forward and slipped my fingers through his.
I swore I felt him hold my hand back. His grip tightened in time with him taking a deep breath, stifling in his sleep, moving to find a more comfortable position. I could only assume his arm was dead after having me lay on it for however many hours we'd been awake for.
It could have been minutes later, or hours, I couldn't be sure how long I just lay like that, revelling in the feeling of his hand in mine. I had no idea whether I'd fallen back asleep or not, or if I'd just drifted in and out of a half consciousness. But eventually, Harry stirred in his sleep, inhaling a deep breath. His hand flexed around mine but he didn't let go, his free hand stretched above his head to wake himself up, at the same time as he let out a tired groan.
