the journal - h.s.

67

[amber’s pov] 

“I feel real dirty in these clothes, gosh. I think I seriously got a unhygienic-phobia going strong or something,” I chuckled as I shook myself a little in the clothes, as I seated on the floor up against the wall.

 It was the fourth day in a row I was wearing this shirt - the first couple of days it had been the only one I had wanted to wear. It was the only ‘thick’ sweater I had, which hadn’t been Harry’s grey sweater. I hadn’t been able to even move his actual sweater from that spot on my floor those several couple of days. Instead I had been wearing another sweater reminding me of it, of him. So I hadn't been able to touch - and in no way wear - his sweater but only one, which reminded me of it. Insane. Merely from that act I knew how I had been - and probably still was - wildly stupid and wildly emotional, which was probably the worst cocktail on the freaking surface of earth when you had a secret to keep.

From the sound of my words Harry looked up at me from having scribbled in his journal. As he had done that the past ten minutes, I had curiously looked over some of the music note sheets in his room. After we had eaten more dry cereal and both gotten dressed, he had ever so politely asked if he could be ‘cruel’ enough to just take some minutes to write something down. I had actually gotten up from the bed and picked his new journal up myself to give it to him with a proud smile. ‘A million times yes,’ I had told him.

It wasn’t like I had interrupted him with my statement though - as I the last minute had felt his gaze occasionally rest on me, while I had been looking over his sheet papers and the handwritten lyrics on them. I reckoned he had finished writing down his beautiful thoughts, as I had stated my words.

His green eyes were sparkling again. And just the sight of them running speedily over my body to take in the 'dirty clothes' ignited a million tiny flames of butterfly wings in my stomach. God, he was so beautiful that I would probably never get used to the sight.

“I think dirty looks good on you to be honest,” he said with a lowered voice as his eyes reached mine. A smirk was sneaking in on his lips like a predator, which suddenly attacked and ripped his lips apart into one of those beautiful, crooked smile.

“Really good actually,” he chuckled as I hid behind the sleeves of the sweater. God, it wasn't even his words making me do this - it was his raspy voice and that intense gaze I was hiding from. How could you not, when you felt like a male model was checking you out, huh? And saying stuff - like that to you.

 “If you want to,” he hesitated for a second making me peek out from my hide, “well ehm you can maybe borrow some of mine? Like only if you want to -”

 I seriously had not had that in mind when stating my thoughts out loud. Not at all - but his suggestion seemed like such an appealing idea suddenly. Going from puzzlement to joy over his pure adorableness; I felt very cuddable all of a sudden in his presence and being in my huge sweater too. I got halfway up from my seated position on the floor and crawled cat-style over to Harry’s bed. Giggling the entire time, as Harry watched my childish behavior with huge beautiful green eyes, right until I planted both my arms on the side of the bed and rested my chin on top, “I like your idea Styles. Actually I pretty much adore the way your mind works all of the time, so yeah.” Shrugging, I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to fight the smile in a try to keep serious.

I watched with bubbling feelings, as a smiling Harry put aside his journal and the pen, “yeah really?” His eyes didn’t leave mine, as he impossibly slowly turned over in the bed so he was laying flatly on his stomach. He lowered his upper body so controlled and slow it told me he was definitely well trained under the white t-shirt, which I had been sleeping in.