Angels in Hell (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 45

Softly, I knock on the door. Why am I suddenly so awkward on my world? Before the whole "dream" or whatever you want to call it, I had confidence. Lots of confidence. Now suddenly, I'm this awkward guy who can barely talk to his best friend without blushing or saying something stupid. And now that I'm awkward, my awkwardness is rubbing off on Harry. I hate awkward. Especially with Harry. The person I've always been most comfortable with and still am. No matter how awkward, that will never change.

Just like Niall's love for food, Liam's love for Toy Story, and Zayn's love for himself. It will never change.

"Come on in," Harry says opening the door for me.

Holy fudge cakes. He's shirtless. Harry Styles is shirtless. Harry Styles is f*cking shirtless. Trying not to stare, I walk inside his room as he goes through his closet. He is wearing very tight black skinny jeans. I hope that doesn't turn me on... If you know what I mean. I watch as he looks through his closet most likely for a shirt. I honestly cannot stop staring at his bare chest. His odd, yet strangly adorable four nipples.

His toned stomach. His tattoos. I usually don't find tattoos too attractive, but he makes them work and they all have meaning. I'm starting to really like tattoos. The way he moves is even attractive. I often compare him to a cat. He moves like one. Slow and sly. Kind of like the way he talks, too. He loves short naps and when someone scratches his scalp and ruffles his hair.

I so badly want to call him "hybrid Harry." Although, I don't think he would like that nickname too much. But you have to admit that it's clever, right?

"Like what you see?" Harry says suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"You've been staring at me for the past minute and a half."

I blush, embarassed. I look down and sit at the edge of his and Zayn's bed.

"Sorry about that."

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Harry shrug as he finally finds a plain white t-shirt. He took all of that time to find a white shirt? He's almost as bad as my sisters. Maybe just as bad. He also has tantrums like them. I call them "Harry's tiny tantrums." They last only for a minute and usually end in him either getting his way or not getting his way and pouting. He is one spoiled child... Yet, I'm in love with the spoiled child. He pulls on the white shirt. As he does, I can see the little tattoo that says "Hi."

It looks like my handwriting and it was the first thing I ever said to him. It's my favorite tattoo of his. Not because it's related to me, but because it reminds us both of one of the greatest days of our lives. Meeting each other and being put into a wonderful band with four of my best friends. It's funny how one word can have that much of a meaning. Harry then puts the paper airplane necklace that I gave to him on. Once Taylor Swift was seen wearing the necklace. I hope it wasn't Harry's. I gave that to him. Not Taylor.

Even if it was his, at least he got it back. None of our fans really know that I gave it to him. He wears it a lot, though. Well, used to. That was until management made him stop wearing it. I don't know why. They probably found out that I gave it to him. They hate "Larry." He latches the necklace around his neck and smiles at me before putting on his white Converse shoes. (Converse buddies!) Then, he falls onto his back on the bed next to me, his legs dingling off the end.

I look back at him and his sweet face. He stares at the ceiling. He looks focused with his eyebrows knitted together and lips pursed. His hands rest on his stomach gently. How does one look so beautiful? I could never have a better guy (or girl for that matter) than Harry Edward Styles. If only he was actually mine... He pats next to him on the bed. I return a smile and lie next to him. He peers back up at the ceiling as I stare at him, watching as his eyelashes flutter and he licks his lips.