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...
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Harry Styles.
Winter and I spent the entire weekend together.
We were practically glued to each other's sides. Showering together, curled up on the couch watching the overly dramatic reality about rich housewives that I recently discovered she enjoyed, or switching to episodes of Mr. Bean when we realised it had been hours of the entertainment I refused to admit I also enjoyed. Sometimes we didn't even need to do anything. Just existing in each other's presence was enough.
I couldn't really fathom it, the way she clung to me now, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This was the same girl who wouldn't let me touch her, who wouldn't meet my eyes unless she was threatening me, who couldn't tolerate existing in the same space as me. Now, she was beside me at every opportunity. Her head on my lap while we watched TV, her gaze following my every movement as I cooked dinner, sitting on the kitchen counter, just wanting to be close.
She had practically moved in entirely now. The spare room was hers, with white bed sheets, a few decorative pillows, the wardrobe filled with clothes that fit her, suited her, instead of wearing my clothes that hung off her frame. The spare bathroom had pretty much transformed, as had the bathroom in my bedroom, since she ended up using that one half the time anyway. My selection of soaps and hair products was now drowned out by her collection of bottles, dozens of them. I had no idea what half of them did, but they smelled good. They smelled like her.
Despite having her own space, her own bedroom, she never used it. Not once. The past few nights, she stayed with me, her body tangled with mine beneath the sheets, constantly trying to get closer, willing us to become one singular person, it seemed. The shift had been so gradual that I barely noticed it happening. But when I thought back to how we used to be, how she used to flinch at intimacy, how she wouldn't stay the night, not even in a separate room. I remembered every single moment where she let herself get closer, the way my heart lurched in my chest each time her skin was on mine, when her touch lingered, even if she'd tried to be subtle about it. Every moment. I could describe every single moment that she had shifted closer, initiated touch, selfie vulnerable in front of me, let herself exist as a human being in my presence, since the night I had met her until now. I always noticed.
Still, I liked knowing that she had her own space. That if it ever became too much, if she ever needed a night alone, she had that option. I knew that this was all still strange for her, existing in the company of another person, letting someone see her. She'd always been alone, and always had her guard up. To relax and exist around another person was something recent, terrifying and new. She wasn't trapped in this closeness—she was choosing it. And, despite everything, it seemed we both wanted to spend every second together.
I'd left Winter sleeping when I got up for work this morning, not wanting to disturb her. I always wanted her to rest, she deserved to rest, sleep as long as her body let her. She was always so beautiful when she slept and relaxed, her eyes softly closed and her lips softly pouted. It was near impossible to slip out from beneath her. I didn't want to leave. I managed to move without disturbing her, placing a lingering kiss to her cheek, before tucking bunny, Muffin, into her arms when I left, knowing she always held something to fall asleep.
