"In another life
I would be your girl
We'd keep all our promises
Be us against the world"
- Katy Perry, 'The One That Got Away'
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"Saying goodbye to Wendy was the hardest thing that I had to do." - Harry Styles
At first, Harry was surprised with how I didn't shove him away from me. I couldn't blame him. I mean, I basically felt the same way. Normally I would've punched him in the throat and rendered him unconscious and then would have fled the scene. I also probably would've taken his wallet because gas is fucking expensive.
All in all, Harry would not have survived to tell anyone that he had kissed me, especially because I wasn't intoxicated.
Instead, the exact opposite happened.
I slowly coiled my arms around his neck, pulling him closer so that we closed the gap between each other. My fingers entwined themselves in the curls at the nape of Harry's neck. One of his arms was wrapped around my waist, holding me so close like he thought I was just going to get up and go. The other one was still softly rubbing circles on my back.
I don't know. It made no sense. If you would've asked me what I thought about Harry in that point of time, there really wouldn't have been an answer. I was so confused about everything, but it was like each of his soft kisses were his way of reassuring me that everything was going to be okay.
Harry gently moved his hands down to my legs, rubbing just above my knees for a few moments before wrapping them around his middle. He then lifted me up.
"It'll be okay. Everything's going to be okay. I promise," he whispered, kissing right beneath my ear.
I didn't say anything.
It didn't matter, though. I don't think that Harry was trying to have a profound conversation with me at that point in time. But it also wasn't like he was just using me for a quick fuck. Other than the point-five seconds of knee-touching, Harry had made no move to even touch any of my bare skin. He wasn't trying to undress me. He wasn't grinding himself against me.
He just held me, lightly peppering my face, throat, and shoulders with his kisses, softly muttering things to himself or gently whispering soothing words into my ear.
I don't remember how long it took for him to lightly set me down on the bed, but the next thing I knew, the soft down-feather mattress comforter engulfed me.
Wait.
What the fuck?
Two things: first, since when had that comforter been so damn soft? We normally slept at places that were even lucky to have blankets. And second, was he tucking me in? Not that I was some raging horny bitch or anything, and especially not at that point in time, but seriously. Nobody had tucked me in since I was eight.
I was about to open my mouth in protest when Harry slipped in beside me. His arms once again found their way around my stomach and he nuzzled his face against my cheek.
"Just go to bed, Wen," he gently commanded. "Just go to bed. I'll be right here when you get up, I promise."
Again, I wasn't trying to rape him. Because I really wasn't in the mood for that shit either.
