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.
I was awake before the sky. Through the curtains, everything was still a deep navy blue. It was before dawn, and everything was quiet—Everything except for her. Her breathing was soft and steady with little exhales brushing against my cheek and the curve of my throat where she was nestled.
I didn't move, and I didn't want to shift anything or disturb a single second of this. Her weight was draped over me. Her arm across my stomach with one leg tangled between mine, her cheek against mine, our faces pressed together. I couldn't help but smile when I realised the way we were sleeping squished together like we were trying to mould into one singular person. She clung to me like she was afraid I would vanish if she let go. So, I didn't let her go. I wrapped my arm tighter around her, pressing my hand between her shoulder blades.
Sometimes I need a second to remember that she was real. She was here. I didn't know how many times in the past few days I needed that confirmation. How much I longed for the weight of her body next to mine, her warmth against my ribs, her body on top of mine. For weeks I dreamed of this. Dreamt that she would come back.
It had been weeks of lying awake with nothing but the ghost of her. The empty space. I turned to where she should be, where she used to be, expecting her fingers to brush my skin or to feel her soft breath against my face as she slept, her cold toes between my calves and the warmth of her body every single time I reached out for her. But my hand would land on empty sheets. Cold and quiet. And I would just lie there wondering where she was and what she was doing. What they were doing to her. And then I wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night.
Last night when she padded through the hall barefoot and slid under the covers without saying a word I felt my heart rise into my throat. And when she curled into me and nuzzled her face into my chest like she always did, and I pulled the blanket around her like I was used to, I almost cried. I didn't. I held it back. But I could've.
It had been so long since we slept together like this, naturally revelling in the warmth in the comfort of each other. She had always denied it but when she slept so soundly when she was beside me. Even before she let me see her, when I would still build up those pillow walls between us, she would sleep so peacefully.
I remembered the first time that we'd ever slept together with no barrier like it just happened yesterday. When she wandered through to the room where I lay whispering quietly that she didn't want to be alone anymore. Before I even had the chance to move, she was gone, back through alone thinking that I wouldn't join her. I remembered how my heart had been racing in my chest, how I could feel it pulsing in my throat when I left the spare room to join her in the bed. I remembered hearing her soft voice telling me to move the pillows, I remember the tug of her hand on my arm pulling me closer. I remember her turning to face me resting her cheek on my chest. I remember watching her sleep wondering, if anything in that moment had been real or if it was just my dreams. Because that's what I felt like to be with her. It felt like a dream.
