✓ Meanwhile [h.styles]

.fourteen.

Astraya's lips taste like berries. The wine resting between her legs is open and she lifts her lips to the mouth of the bottle every once in a while. The alcohol hasn't really affected her much except for the warm feeling in her chest.

She plays with a loose thread from the sweater she's wearing. It's Harry's but at this point she wouldn't even care if he finds out she took it.

She adjusts her thighs on the marble counter and freezes when the kitchen light turns on. It catches her completely off guard, nearly blinding her before it's dimmed.

"It's you." The voice is monotone.

She blinks up at the man standing in the doorway.

Harry has a metal bat positioned on his left shoulder. It bobs against the back of his head with every step he takes, and then he drops the weapon on the floor, bringing his fingers to his hair like he's suddenly subconscious about how much of a mess it is.

Their eyes lock but neither of them say anything until his eyes move down to her exposed legs. "Where are your pants?"

"Fuck off."

He begins to walk closer to her like a predator after its prey. His steps are slow and his gaze is almost condescending. His eyes drop to hers for just a moment before finding her lips, and she subconsciously bites down on her bottom one in discomfort. "Give me the bottle."

"Fuck off."

He's in front of her within seconds, the only space between them being her legs and her outstretched arm. It's all she can do to make sure he doesn't get too close.

Her head has been spiraling out of control ever since he left her alone just hours ago, and after she allowed herself to cry it all out she realized that she did nothing wrong. It's okay to be a little skeptical about someone like Harry. Someone who kills people for a living and keeps weapons littered around the house. Someone who keeps a metal bat in his bedroom even though he's never played a game of baseball in his life.

"You're a fucking alcoholic."

Too many fucks. "Leave me alone, Harry."

"You're a coward," he ignores her demand and steps away from her slumped figure to lean back on the island counter with his arms crossed. He looks cocky but there's something in his eyes that she can't identify mainly because she doesn't think it's ever been there before.

"Yeah." Astraya smiles and then licks her berry red lips to taste the wine, looking him right in the eyes as she presses them against the mouth of the bottle for another sip. It's half empty now. "But I don't kill people to make a point."

A laugh bellows from deep in his chest. It's bitter and condescending. "But you did, didn't you? You're not shit, Astraya. Not better than me. I've killed more people than I can count, but I own up to it and I live with myself instead of being weak and waking up every night because of some nightmare. Boo fucking hoo; get over yourself. You don't feel bad because you killed a guy, you feel bad because you killed a guy for me."

She's a little tipsy, but she hears him loud and clear. And wow. Silently, she slips off the counter, taking the bottle with her, and walks away.

Something passes over his face but she turns away too quickly, refusing to look him in the eyes. Not after throwing that in her face.