Reckless {HS}

thirty-two

Harry's Pov

The morning light streamed in through the blinds, casting slanted lines across the room. I lay in bed longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake off the lingering effects of last night.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

I'd never let anyone see me like that—soft, open, vulnerable. And of all people, it had to be her. Delilah. It was messing with my head, making me forget the rules I've always lived by. The ones that have kept me and everyone around me safe.

I couldn't let her get close. It wasn't just dangerous—it was reckless.

By the time I dragged myself out of bed, I'd already decided: I had to put some distance between us. I couldn't afford to let whatever was happening between us get any more tangled than it already was.

When I walked into the kitchen, the smell of coffee and the quiet chatter of the boys filled the air. She was there too, sitting at the table, laughing at something Louis had said. The sound of her laugh cut through the fog in my mind, and for a moment, I almost slipped again. But I shoved it down, hardened my expression, and pulled the walls back up.

She noticed me the second I walked in, her eyes catching mine, a small smile tugging at her lips. I didn't return it. Instead, I went straight to the counter, grabbed a mug, and poured myself some coffee, pretending like she wasn't even there.

I could feel her confusion, her eyes on me as I kept my back turned.

"Morning," she said softly, like she was testing the waters.

I grunted in response, not even looking her way.

Louis, picking up on the tension, shot me a glance, one eyebrow raised. I ignored him too. The last thing I needed was the boys getting involved in whatever was going on here. It wasn't their business, and it sure as hell wasn't hers.

"Rude much?" Niall muttered under his breath, but I let it slide. I had bigger things on my mind.

I sat down at the table, deliberately choosing the seat farthest from Delilah. The silence between us was thick, heavy with all the things I wasn't going to say. I could feel her staring at me, waiting for some kind of explanation that I wasn't going to give.

"Everything alright?" she asked after a while, her voice quieter now, cautious.

"Fine," I replied curtly, not looking up from my coffee.

She blinked, clearly thrown off. "Are you... sure? Because you've been—"

"I said I'm fine, Delilah," I snapped, harsher than I meant to. I could see the hurt flash across her face before she quickly hid it, her posture stiffening.

She didn't say anything else, just picked at the edge of the table, her confusion and hurt practically radiating off her in waves. She had no idea why I was acting like this, and that was exactly how it had to stay.

I couldn't let her in. Not after what happened last night. Not after she saw me like that.

Because the truth was, I liked the way she'd looked at me when I was playing. There was no judgment, no fear—just her, seeing me for who I was in that moment, not what I'd done, not what I'd become. But that look? That feeling? It was dangerous.

And I've learned that the hard way—when people get too close, they get hurt. Or worse.

So I shut it down. I pushed her away. Because it was the only way to protect her. From me. From this life.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of tension and awkward silence. Every time she was in the room, I made myself scarce, doing everything I could to avoid her without making it too obvious. I couldn't let this go any further. I couldn't let her get close.

But as I watched her move around the house, the confusion and hurt still lingering in her eyes, I couldn't help the guilt that gnawed at me. I hadn't meant to hurt her. I just... couldn't let her get hurt worse.

This was for the best. It had to be.

But damn if it didn't feel like I was already losing control.