1986 [harry styles au]

XXVII. EVIDENCE

CHAPTER XXVII. EVIDENCE
A few hours later and Harry was driving his car back home, only this time I was in the passenger seat beside him. I had ran inside to dress, wrapping up warm in a heavy jumper and jeans, before we decided to leave. His hand was positioned over the material of my thigh and his cologne filled the air of the vehicle, I felt suddenly free. I had to trust Harry. Out of everybody, he was the one to connect with me on such a personal level. I wouldn't get that again; our relationship was too personal for secrets. At least, that's what I hoped.

'What are you thinking about?' Harry interrupts my thoughts, his thumb making circles over my leg and igniting butterflies deep at the pit of my stomach. His usual look had returned to his face, his typical smirk pulling at his lips and he seemed like Harry again; the Harry I had grown to love. Love. It seemed satisfyingly strange to admit.

'About you.' I state, noticing how his lips had drawn into a confident smile. I nudge his arm playfully. 'Oh, you're happy about that?'

'What about me?'

'How I trust you.' I tell him and his hand moves from my thigh to reach for mine. His fingers intertwine through mine over the gearstick. I watch the road as we drive, the sun now casting bright rays of red beams onto the ground. In that moment, I wanted us to turn around and drive somewhere far away from here. To run away from everything that had happened in Bridgemont Valley, to run away from the secrets we had kept and to run away from investigation as a whole. But I knew we couldn't do that. It was too good to be true; but were Harry and I ultimately too good to be true anyway? 'There's something else too.'

'Spill it.' He instructs, his hand still latched to mine.

'Are we definitely going to work?' I begin and he raises an eyebrow. 'I don't mean it that way. I just mean, it's 1986, we're two teenagers from opposite sides of the spectrum and that makes me doubtful. You're so high class, what would your father think of us if he knew who I really was? That I'm not a rich doctor, I'm a working class girl who's obsessed with literature.'

'I wouldn't want to fall in love with anyone other than a girl who's obsessed with literature.' He reassures me, glancing to the road ahead in thought, before opening his mouth once again. 'Don't worry about my father, he's just naturally strict; he was brought up that way and unfortunately, I can't change him. It will be alright, everything will be alright.'

'I hope so.'

'I know so.'

We both head into his home once his car is parked, feeling the winter air instantly. I shiver as I wrap my hands around my arms, Harry's arms doing the same over my shoulders. 'I don't think I like winter. I like summer, where the sky is pretty and the weather is tolerable.'

'Me too, baby.' He agrees, I flush from his use of nickname, unlocking the front door and allowing me inside first. His hands hurriedly close it before heading to the thermostat, already finding it turned on. 'Someone else is here.'

'Who?' I ask, still frozen in the hallway but feeling relief in the heat.

'Marcia?' He calls one of his maids but nobody answers. A footstep catches us off guard as we both turn to lay eyes on Harry's father, stepping in from the kitchen and into the dining room. An off-white apron was slung over his shoulders, and his eyes flashed with surprise before melting into a friendly gaze. At least, I thought it was friendly. He turns to me as an emotion of worry registers over his face, but makes sure to cover it swiftly.

'The maids have finished their shift. It's just me.' His father's low voice booms between the four walls. Harry shrugs his winter coat from his shoulders, hanging it up over the marble coat rack. 'What are you kids up to?' His eyes find mine before soon catching Harry's.