Devil's Desire [h.s.]

Chapter 24

a/n: READ CHAPTER 23 FIRSTTTTTTTTTT (this is an order.)

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Chapter 24

Christmas day wasn't anything I'd expected it to be.

Last year, I'd spent the holiday surrounded by my friends and drinking cheap wine on my couch alongside Meatloaf. I hadn't met Harry yet—hadn't an inkling of an idea that his sort of life even existed. My biggest worry had been paying rent and selling enough paintings at the gallery to meet our monthly quota, which I now knew had been for nought anyhow.

This year, while I still found myself drinking cheap wine and sitting beside Meatloaf, only one of my past friends was present and I was instead wedged between a whole new group of people on a very different couch than the one that had been in my apartment. An ugly, gaudy thing in my mother's living room.

The morning had started much too early. With Ian and Brooks coming bounding into mine and Harry's room, exclaiming in both French and sign language that we must come quick—that Santa had arrived overnight! They crawled over the two of us, yanking back blankets, and breathing down our necks, not relenting until Harry grumbled that we would be down in a second—and to go bug Zayn and Morgan instead.

Harry had shifted to curl himself tighter around me the moment they left, snoring just seconds later with his face tucked against my neck, leaving me wondering—in a moment of startling clarity—when he'd become so open and receptive to touch. As I gently stroked his hair, watching him continue to doze, I realized he hadn't even flinched when Ian and Brooks had crowded his space, yanking at his shoulders or tugging him by the arm. When he held me tightly enough that I couldn't breathe, legs and arms draped over mine as if to mark territory, I thought back to how we used to sleep separated by a wall of pillows.

By the time we both finally roused, almost a whole half hour later much to the chagrin of the children, Harry was surprisingly upbeat. He showered and dressed quickly, yanking me along wherever he went, meaning I also showered and dressed quickly—having been forced under the same stream of water as him, to be promptly wrapped in a towel by his nimble hands, then shoved into a pair of his sweatpants and one of his shirts.

I was almost in a daze when he grabbed my hand and led me downstairs.

Harry had spared no expense, I realized, the moment we entered the living room—and it was suddenly clear why he'd been so desperate to get down here. The small space with overflowing with wrapped presents—large and small—that started from beneath the tree, curling all the way around the couch. Even my mother and Austin looked shocked when they entered, their gazes drifting from Harry and I to their children who were sitting politely on the couch—looking about ready to burst with the effort it took not to lunge at the gifts.

"Did you do this?" I whispered in Harry's ear, threading my fingers through his and leaning against him while I surveyed the scene. When he would have gotten the time, I had no idea.

Harry placed a chaste kiss on the top of my head. "Don't be ridiculous," he said loud enough for the room to hear. "Santa did."

Ian and Brooks nearly exploded. My mother took this as her cue to sit down with a sigh and wave her arm, gesturing for them to begin. They darted forward excitedly, grabbing whatever was closest to them, and began poring over the labels to determine who the gifts belonged to.

Surprisingly enough, they weren't all for the kids. By the time Morgan and Zayn, then Louis, and later Olivia, came into the living room—each of them had amassed a pile of their own presents. The latter of whom was enough to make me grin, nudging Harry in the side, to which he'd huffed and turned red, shrugging.