A capricious rollercoaster of feelings - just for you and Harry, minced with a flavour of each emotion and sentiment you desire to experience.
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[Oneshots] First prize winner of Imagines category in Kiwi Awards, 2019.
• When a sudden wave of pride washes over Harry, he can't help but admire you—leaving you in a state of awe •
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♧
The best feeling in the world—when you feel his eyes observing you. Might as well be it the way you nibble on a pencil in your hand or furrow your eyebrows when a glitch in your work tumbles over you; he doesn't look away.
Well, it could've been the best feeling, but you had to work. And he was simply being an awfully adorable distraction—with his sleep deprived, forest green irises set in a glue and hair in a complicated mess of a nest. You had managed to steal a glance with the corner of your eyes. Ofcourse you were aware of his scrutiny—had been from past five minutes.
Harry was mesmerised—expecting you to look his way. His eyes danced along your outline, your every single flinch and flaw being his reason for doing so. The silence was profound—the ticking of the clock went unnoticed by you as you tried diverting yourself from his heavy stare. But nothing seemed to work. It made you insecure—but you were never going to admit it to him.
Minute brushes of inhale and exhale were rigorously audible—that being of you and the brunette, absurdly goggling you.
You knew he was looking at you. He knew you were aware. You suppressed a smile, threatening to dip into your lips as you finally elevated your head from your laptop to glance at him. You were amused, but nevertheless your face was pretending to be annoyed—not wanting to give yourself away.
His expression didn't waver a bit—eyes maintaining his stare as if he'd found out a way to peek into your soul. It felt cliché, but you knew it wasn't. This didn't happen everyday, it couldn't be anywhere near an inch of banality. It was two in the morning for God's sake.
“Don't you have to sleep?” You sighed—partly pretending. A moment later, he just blinked and chuckled, shaking his head at you.
His eyes sloped down to behold his fiddling fingers, a small smile replacing the thin line of his pressed up lips. The roles were reversed.
“What?” You pushed—genuinely confused. Why was he staring at you? You had no idea. But he definitely did.
He had benched himself over the living room's coffee table, which was fortunately right in front of you. You nudged his kneecap with your foot when he chuckled again without replying. “H, why in the world were you staring at me?”
He inclined his eyes up towards your face, his hands settling over his knees as they clasped together in a weave. He leaned forward, “Does it make you insecure?” Boy, that voice was rough like corduroy.
You frowned. A question for a question? Not fair. “That isn't an answer, you dumbo.”
He shook his head, “Nah, I need to know. Does it?” His insist didn't waver. You couldn't fetch an alternative for your distraction, neither a riposte for his question.
You licked your lips, “Well—I can't help it when you keep staring at me in the middle of the night, without any reason.” Excuses, excuses.
Admit it—you're insecure, a voice in your head, chided. Whatever it is, he doesn't need to know, you internally argued back before it could make you overthink.
The fizzles of your hair were messed up like a bowl of ramen noodles, whereas your eyes were drooling every now and then—they demanded sleep. But you were determined to edit your article—It was due tomorrow.
Your face was an original havoc—without any traces of make up, that is—and your shirt required ironing. You looked like any person who wasn't in bed after a long, tiring day through life—exhausted and drained.
Never in a billion years you'd have managed to imagine what Harry uttered next. He claimed it so casually—so plainly, that it left you in a bunch of complications. It made you choke on your spit. You couldn't help but doubt his sincerity as much as you admired it.
“I came downstairs to drink some water—but then I saw you on the couch, typing away on your Mac.” He smiled and shrugged, “You looked beautiful, I couldn't help it.”
But I look like chaos, you gawked.
You could never understand, he was talking about the little things you did—the little things that made you, you. He had no intentions to stare but just a moments' glimpse had had him hooked—he had to make a double take. It perplexed him, how you could elongate yourself to work for your tomorrow.
And that made him admire you more, even if it seemed impossible. That made him gander at you in awe. Besides being worried about your health, it also made him proud—he was proud of you for always trying to make it work—minus those times where you couldn't help but straddle the bed being a lazy bitch.
He sighed and stood up, sleepily dabbing at his eyes. “Come back to bed soon, yeah?” He ducked down and pecked your forehead gently.
“I'm so proud of you.” He softly whispered against your hair. You couldn't miss it for the world. How could you? The room suddenly felt like the air had been sucked out, only leaving behind a cold vacuum to retch into. His confession had taken you off guard.
Harry didn't say much then—just went back to bed before leaving you with a supportive pat on your shoulder and a reason to gawk into nothingness.
♧
❝I'm in love with you, and all your little things.❞
. . .
☆ Inspiration credit goes to my stupid little brother for always staring at me, just in case to annoy the shit outta me. But atleast that gave me this idea—even though it's nowhere near this imagine but you planted a seed. Just this one time (only once, don't flatter yourself, you shit!) this shot goes to you bro!
☆ QOTD; have you ever been to any concerts? It can be any, including one direction.
