✓ maple street murderers || h.styles

two: he's coming for you

Four dates and thirty phone calls later Harry has his shit together. He did fall into old habits three times; two blondes and one red-head; all very much up to par. But he swears he's a changed man.

His hands still twitch in public when he's surrounded by people he wants to kill, but he has this under control.

He got rid of the smell of blood in his house, and cleaned up his basement. Now he has Delilah cuddled up to his body in bed.

It's midnight and he's getting that urge again. He feels his hands tighten around her and pulls away quickly before his nails can make pockets out of her skin. He tries to do something productive like clap his hands or play Thumb War by himself, but then his phone goes off by his arm.

The code reads Unknown Caller, but he already knows who it is and he's thankful that there are inconsiderate fucks like ShitFace who make phone calls at the dead of night to keep him from doing something he'd regret. He answers the call and presses it against his ear.

"Hello?"

"You're slacking, Styles."

"Hm?" The tingling in his fingers begins to settle. He's not interested in what this man has to say. He doesn't care anymore, really.

"Is it because of that girl? "

He sits up in the bed and Delilah's hand falls right off his chest and onto his lap. This falling feeling starts taking off somewhere inside of him. "Fuck you."

"She's got gorgeous eyes. I daydream about her most nights. You know what really gets me, though?"

"If you think-"

"I feel like she'd be even more beautiful in death. I know you're thinking the same."

"Call me again and-" He cuts himself off when Delilah stirs beside him.

"And you'll what? Report me? You don't know shit about me."

Harry hangs up when he sees her open her eyes, her thick hair covering most of her face. Her hand comes up to squeeze his arm, and he can't help but stare at her eyes because they're his favorite part of her. ShitFace's comment about them makes him pause for a moment but Del's voice pulls him back to her instead.

"What are you doing up?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "My phone woke me."

"Another prank call?"

He settles down into the bed and wraps his arms around her body again, pulling her up to his chest as some sort of distraction. Like holding onto her and feeling her heartbeat against his chest will somehow assure that she'll stay alive with him. That he won't slip up and do something crazy. "Yeah."

She mumbles something under her breath that Harry can't quite hear, and he shifts so his mouth is by her ear. "What was that?"

"I said it's probably one of the same kids that show up at my place wearing that stupid mask."

He stops moving and loosens his grip on her, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in this information. The shadows in the room start to dance when a car passes by the house, and Harry's frown deepens. He closes his eyes to avoid looking at her. "What are you talking about?"

"It's nothing big, Harry. Just peeping toms."

"Why didn't you tell me this before? That someone was watching you? Why the fuck didn't that come up in conversation?"

"Okay. First, don't raise your voice at me. And second, I don't need to tell you everything-"

"You do if it means there are strangers at your fucking house. Are you stupid? Do you know what happens in this town?"

"Don't interrupt me." She pushes away from his chest and stumbles out of the bed with a scowl to her face. "I'm going home."

"It's midnight." They were just having a conversation. Why is she acting like they had a full-blown argument? "You can't leave, it's midnight."

She slips on her shoes. Harry's fingertips begin to tremble and he shakes them out to try to stop the feeling. Maybe it is best that she leave. Maybe it's too soon to stop himself from doing something risky. She waves her hand in his face, hair moving with her quick, impatient motions. "Good night."

"I'll call you tomorrow." He's in a daze now. She's grabbing her coat and he's imagining her blood on his hands. He's imagining her wide eyes looking up at him as he carries her body to the basement. Kissing that love bite on the side of her neck where he'd press the blade, getting her blood on his lips.

"Don't. I'll call you."

He knows what that means. He's in too much of a euphoric state to call her back into the room she's just walked out of. Too busy thinking about how beautiful she'd look covered in blood and his fingerprints.

Clawing at his wrists as he drives the blade further into her throat until she stops moving altogether, eyes kept open even after it all happens.

Pulse dead against the pads of his fingers.

🔪🔪🔪

Delilah's heels aren't even strapped on right. The air is chilly around her but her wild hair is keeping her ears warm. She's wearing Harry's sweats and shirt; both too big for her small body. The elastic band of the pants are pulled tightly at her waist to keep them from falling off, and the way the cotton feels against her skin reminds her of him.

She doesn't know if she's entitled to feel upset because she knows there's something different about him. She knows he's socially anxious and occasionally loses his shit every once in a while, shutting down more times than not. He stares at her blankly sometimes with his hands behind his back like a child fixated on something they can't have.

She knows relationships aren't something he's used to, but he treats her like she knows. Delilah can't remember the last time she was even remotely interested in someone.

Just as she's considering turning back to his house, a small, black car slows down from where she's walking. She's a little shocked that she didn't hear it approaching. Her hands slip into her pockets and her right one brushes her cell phone.

The car drives slowly to catch up with her steps. "Miss," a man's voice breaks through the silence of the night. His casual tone makes her uneasy.

She quickens her pace and discreetly takes her phone out before scrolling to Harry's name. She doesn't press the call button yet, but the pad of her thumb is hovering over it just in case the man in the car tries anything.

"Miss, do you need a ride?"

"No," Delilah croaks out loud, seeing her house come in to view.

"You don't sound so good."

"Leave me alone before I call the cops," she bites back before looking down at her phone that's now shutting off from low battery. Her heart begins to hammer hard in her chest but she refuses to show how nervous she is. Strangers feed off of discomfort. This town thrives off of weak people.

"You'd call the cops on a man that just wants to make sure a little lady makes it home in one piece?"

The car stops and Delilah turns to look at it. The front door opens and she feels numb. A man in a mask emerges from behind the wheel and it's only when he waves a hand at her that she decides to sprint.

It isn't long before she can't run anymore while wearing her heels. She kicks them off and starts running on the cement, not getting that far since her hair is caught not that long afterward. She's pulled back into the man's body and all that comes out of her is a muffled scream before a cloth is pushed down over her nose and mouth.

She's already beginning to fade out of consciousness when the voice returns, this time right by her ear. His breath is hot as he speaks evenly.

"Don't worry, doll." He brushes his hand through her hair as the other one continues to hold the cloth against her face. "He'll come for you."