Open Your Eyes \\ Harry Styles

Chapter 3

Emerson's POV

"Sorry" I said for the hundredth time as he grunted.

"It's fine, just hurts a teeny bit" Harry said from beneath me.

I wiped away the excess ink and continued with the gun.

Of course it was going to hurt. He wanted it on the small of his back and that was definately going to hurt because there was barely any meat between this skin and bone.

Throughout this whole thing I had tried to ignore how close I was to his ass.

I had him take his shirt completely off and he's laid on his stomach.

His butt had such a nice shape.

Like, oh my god, no kidding, it was such a nice ass.

"How long have you done this for?" Harry said, obviously referring to tattoos.

"A few years" I said quietly.

"Why don't you talk much?" He asked.

Why don't I talk much? Should I talk more often? Would that make me normal?

"I don't know" I said furrowing my brows as I worked on the small design.

"Why don't you ask some questions now" he said and I thought for a moment.

"What's it like to be on the road all the time?" I asked.

I was actually curious, I had never been on a plane and I'm sure I would never and long car trips didn't seem like my thing.

"Oh. It's not too bad, it's great fun with the lads but sometimes I miss my family and friends. Growing up I looked up to Gemma- my older sister -and now she has her own life and I have my own life, but I missed out on seeing her grow up. I wish I could've seen it but I was doing what I love the most: Performing. So I guess in the end there are things I can do and things I can't" He said.

His response seemed very well thought out and structured.

It was silent for a while as we both thought.

"What about your family? Any brothers or sisters?" He asked.

Growing up I always wanted a big brother or sister to look up to and idolise, someone to show me the right things and the wrong things and the good and bad.

But I never did.

Maybe I did.

I can't remember.

After a long while I answered with a quiet "no"

"What about you parents?" He asked.

"Don't have any" I shrugged.

It wasn't a complete lie.

My hatred for my parents went deeper than love ever could and I don't think that would ever change.

"That's a lie. Everyone has parents" he said and I furrowed my brows.

"Well, mine didn't want me" I said firmly.

I wasn't going to sugarcoat the truth for him just because he's a fucking pop star.

"I'm sure it wasn't that they didn't want you" he said.

Was he trying to be nice?

"They didn't. Your tattoo is finished i just need to put on the bandage and you need to leave it on for eighteen hours" I said stiffly putting the plasters atop the ink.