Pink, Purple and Blue (Harry Styles fanfic)

Chapter 9

Hey hey hey!

Here's the chapter I was supposed to post on friday, sorry for that. It's there now, and it's just a big cheesy ball. 

A bit short I know. Hold on tho, cuz action is coming in the next chapters :)

Here you go, enjoy! :)

Chap 9

“Where are we heading?”

Okay, it may or may not have been the third time I asked.

“You’ll see,” he grinned.

Did I mention I was the one driving?

Yeah, he hadn’t learned with the wheel on the wrong side. In England, he had said, the wheel is on the right side. Which comment I answered with ‘Yeah, but we are driving on the right side of the road’. He had just laughed.

“Stop here.”

“Here?” We were in the middle of nowhere. With nothing in sight.

“Yes here.”

He stormed out of the car and I opened my door.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing!” he pouted at me. “I’m supposed to do that for you!”

I laughed. “Gosh, you’re so old fashioned.” But I closed my door for him to open it. He did with a little smile, asking for my hand by putting his out.

“I’m not old fashioned, I’m a gentleman.”

I smiled. “Did I ever say I didn’t like it?”

He smiled back at me, eyes shining even brighter than that morning.

“Good.”

He didn’t let go of my hand and led me through the high grass. It only took a minute until I saw why he brought me here. What a view!

We had an amazing panorama on the ocean. Enough to take my breath away.

And then I saw a blanket and a picnic basket.

“So cheesy,” I commented.

“But who doesn’t like cheesy things?”

Okay he had a point there.

I sat down with him and he started pulling out food.

Loads of food.

I no longer wondered what he had done all day.

Sandwiches, cold pizza, Ice Tea, salads and a bunch of other stuff.

We talked about pretty much everything and anything. He told me about his life in England, about his mom, about his sister Gemma. He talked about high school, about how X-Factor changed his life, about the lads.

In return I talked about my childhood, how my parents never really cared about William and I and how they kicked me out when I was sixteen. I told him how I skipped year one and five and how I came to Cali after highschool at 16 (I also explained the different school program in Québec that is quite particular, like how we don’t have a year twelve and two years of Cégep before Uni. Oh and how middle school, that exists in the US doesn’t exist either, years seven to eleven are all called highschool) because my parents kicked me out, and I had always wanted to get the fuck away from them anyway. I had been accepted in Uni here right away even thought I was so young.

“I was a complete geek. I mean, I still am, but I was the stereotype geek that gets picked on. A nerd. I even corrected the professors. Well I still do when I have a class here and there, but not in the same way. I did in a really nerd way, you know? Gosh, I even taught my math teacher how to use his fucking computer and created him a program for his demonstrations! Then, a year after, when my brother turned sixteen, my parents kicked him out, too, and he came here with me all summer. That’s why I bought this apartment. But he didn’t stay here, he went back to my aunt’s back home instead. He is now in Uni there. But the summer he passed here, he taught me to live. To be myself. To make friends. To drink and go to parties. I had my first heartbreak that summer, too. But I wouldn’t change it, because it was my first love and it made me discover who I really am.”

“Wow,” he smiled softly. “I would say that I’m sorry your parents kicked you out, but if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met you.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m way better off without them. They wouldn’t have accepted me anyway.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

I took my necklace in my fingers. “They wouldn’t have accepted who I am.”

If he asks, I’ll tell him. If he doesn’t,  I will tell him when he does, too, I thought. Or when it’s the right time.

He didn’t thought. For a minute, we stayed silent.

“I was lucky for that,” he began slowly, and for a second I thought he had understood what I meant. He turned toward the wonderful landscape. “I have a great family that would accept every single detail that makes me happy.”

There I even thought he would tell me. But he didn’t.

“Well of course as long as it’s not bad for me or for others,” he smiled, turning his head back to me.

And I saw it in his eyes, that he was going to tell me but backed away. Another time I guess.

“Course,” I smiled back at him.

The conversation restarted smoothly. We talked about things we liked or disliked, from books to celebrities (which was rather funny, because everytime I would say something bad about somebody he would either be like ‘No! I met him and he’s absolutely not like that!’ or ‘Gosh, I was wondering if I was the only one to think that.’). We talked and talked, but it’s only when the sun went down that I realised how much we really had talked.

It’s beautiful,” I stated, looking at the pinkish skies.

“I can’t say anything’s beautiful when I have you to compare it with.”

I almost cooed. Almost. Took me everything to keep it inside, though. And I couldn’t help the burning sensation that came up to my cheeks. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only with the girls I like.”

I reddened even more and tried to look away, but he cupped my face with his hand and looked at me in the eyes. “And I really, really like you.”

I didn’t have time to react that his lips were on mine. But it wasn’t a rough, hungry, demanding kiss like we had shared before. It wasn’t full of desire or sexual tension (not that I didn’t like those kisses either). It was soft, passionate and caring.

My hand found its way (no, not down you perv!) through his curls, and his grabbed my waist to pull me closer. His tongue asked for entrance and I gladly let him in, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.