The Box [h.s]

14

Once we arrived at the apartment, Styles locked himself in my room, despite the fact that we had agreed to discuss the possibility of sharing it. Of course, I wouldn't have allowed that to happen, but at least a little consideration would have been nice. Since then, I had been focusing on my own matters, organizing information on my laptop.

I focused on answering some pending emails, as well as gathering certain data necessary to complete the files. Everything that fell outside the main information. Especially those questions that still lingered in my mind but for now had to remain silently stored.

I had lost track of time until I heard my bedroom door open. I looked at the watch on my wrist: it was 2:30 p.m., and I guessed the guy was hungry enough to flee from his den.

I didn't lift my gaze when I saw him pass through my field of vision, heading to the kitchen and then to the fridge behind me. I almost cursed at that moment. I hadn't done the grocery shopping. I wasn't expecting guests, and the truth is, I'm not used to shopping just in case. I'm more the type to be out in the field, venturing on missions, handling paperwork in the office, and consequently, I usually have lunch with my colleagues. But thanks to someone, I have to remain locked up like a rat.

Marvelous.

I realized it was imperative to discuss Styles' protection terms. I need to secure a replacement in case my presence is really required, and given Jacob's reaction to Styles' joke, that replacement could no longer be Mick.

My thoughts dissipated when I felt his steps behind me and his breath near my head. Suddenly, his hands rested on either side of my laptop, gripping the table, and his tattooed arms surrounded me. The scene left me perplexed for a moment. My fingers paused on the keyboard, and although I wasn't viewing any confidential information, my heart raced uncontrollably.

The scent of vanilla enveloped me, blending with the fragrance of soap from his shower. I knew immediately he had just bathed, which was confirmed when I glanced at him. His hair was still damp, and droplets fell on his clothes, which he had changed. Instead of the black t-shirt, he now wore a white one with the "Don't Trip" logo and some joggers with blended tones of orange, yellow, and blue. I didn't need to look up much, as his head was just inches from mine, nearly blocking my view.

He raised his eyebrows in my direction, and after clearing my throat, I muttered: "What?"

"There's no food in there." He pointed out the obvious. I grimaced.

"Well, I wasn't expecting guests," I replied, trying to shrug, though once again I found myself trapped, unable to move from my seat without bumping into his body. "Especially not vegetarians."

I turned my gaze back to the laptop, closing it just as his voice echoed above me, though I only caught the last part of what he said. I shot him a look and motioned for him to move aside. He complied, though his lips tightened slightly, biting the lower one for a moment. I watched him, intrigued, before asking: "What did you say?"