i'm dead | harry styles

chapter ten

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I've never gone to an art museum and I have always felt that I've been missing a lot but when I see him, I know his prettiness doesn't compare to whatever artists have to show.

Harry doesn't let go of my hand. When he needs to scratch an itch, he uses his other one. I know it might not mean anything, but I love the warmth radiating from our locked fingers.

"Want another drink?" Charles asks me loud over the music.

"I think she's fine." Harry replies before I could. I give him a questioning look. I can see his scowl through the blinking color lights.

"Yeah, I think we should be going upstairs. It's been a long day and tomorrow will be a longer one." I drink the last of my drink before getting off the stool. "I think we released a bit of stress."

"Well, have a goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow." Charles says before turning to his other friends.

We walk out of the basement after twenty minutes of sitting down and drinking alcohol. I think we needed to leave sooner, Charles' guests weren't so happy that two strangers were joining them. As we approach to the stairs, Harry lets me go first and talks behind me.

"If you've stayed a little longer, you were going to get drunk."

"I only had two drinks. You didn't have to follow me."

"That's right, but it was obvious he just wanted to get into your pants," he lets out a heavy breath. "Or a skirt for this matter."

"So? Maybe I wanted him to." I reach the top and turn around. He's standing on the middle of the stairs, looking up at me. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and the corner of his lip twitch.

"You're not that kind of girl."

"Then what kind of a girl am I?" I look down on him, putting a hand on my hips. The people in the basement begin to chant 'Charles, Charles, Charles' I was afraid I had to repeat myself, but he heard me.

He begins to walk toward me and stops on the last step, towering me. He crosses his arms against his chest.

"You're the kind of girl that cries in an elevator with a stranger, the one who gives rides to strangers, a girl who's not afraid to step out of her comfort zone even if it means to travel with a stranger," Harry grabs my shoulders. "I got so many things wrong about you, Bonnie. Today I said a load of shit that I don't mean."

"It's okay. I said them too."

"No, it's not." He crosses his arms against his chest again and my shoulders behind to miss his touch. "I can't control what I say, sometimes I do and I still say it."

"Hey," I pick on the fabric of his shirt. "I said it's okay."

"I just had this..." he softly punches his chest twice. "thing inside."

"Guiltiness." I say.

He nods, but unsure.

"Want to hug it out, pal?"

"I rather n-"

I hug him and we almost fall back, but he holds onto something, so he can carry my weight. He hugs me back and I grab the back of his collar - almost seeming like I want to find his clothing size. But I just pull him closer to me, making the last of this bad day good. Maybe our day was bad, our night doesn't have to be. We don't have to look back to that time we went to Scotland and think it was all bad.