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.
I heard Harry's footsteps before I saw him, walking from the front door of the building and up the stairs to the flat door. He'd been gone for most of the day, leaving a few hours after breakfast to go to work, and told me he wouldn't be home until the early evening.
That was what I hated. To go from being completely inseparable, breathing the same air, to the silence. How the world fell into complete silence once he was gone. I spent most of my days waiting for that sound— the key in the lock, his footsteps returning.
While he was gone, I read. I only managed books aimed at young adults, stories with simple plots and familiar language, nothing too complicated. And for the first time in my life, I could consume these stories, understand the words. I understood why people found comfort in these stories. I understood why Harry had always asked why I'd never read most of the books that line my shelves at my flat, before I'd ever told him that I didn't read them because I didn't know how. Now I disappeared into them, I fell into other worlds, I understood people. It was the most human interaction I had—reading about how other people navigated the world, navigated friends and relationships.
It was Saturday night, and Harry and I were going on a date.
I'd spent my morning walking Bean, reading a short story, and then absolutely destroying the spare bedroom, which technically still counted as mine, even if I'd never slept a single night in there. Every item of clothing I owned had been thrown across the floor in a frantic attempt to find the perfect outfit. The room was chaotic, divided into piles of no, maybe, and definitely not, with not a single thing in the yes pile. So despite my makeup being done, nails freshly painted, and hair still somewhere in the middle of being styled, I was lounging on the couch in pink plaid pyjamas.
Bean was curled on my chest as I read, the book resting against my knees, when I heard Harry's steps outside the door, his footsteps that I could recognise without thinking. When I heard his keys jangle in the front door, I sat up from my spot on the couch. Bean hopped off where she'd been resting on my chest, and bolted to the door, greeting Harry with such excitement it was like she hadn't seen him in years.
The second the door opened, Harry's eyes found mine. I rose from the couch, crossing the room toward him, already knowing that I'd be greeted with a kiss.
As I stepped toward him, Harry's eyes swept slowly down the length of me. His lips parted, pupils dark and wide, and a slow, wicked smirk began to tug at his mouth.
"Fuck." he rasped.
"Hi, Harry." I grinned, unable to help the way my heart fluttered at just the sight of him.
He drew his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. "Hi."
In the way he looked at me. I saw every thought running through his mind. His eyes darted between mine, and then to my mouth. As his arms slipped around my waist and he drew me into him until our chests were together.
