Honest || h.s.

Unveiled

This chapter is for MaraRuiz453 because of the incessant friendly comments and support. I see you, I see you. Haha

But seriously. Thank you, kind human. I hope you keep enjoying Honest. Hit up my dms anytime. Lmao

To readers in general: I considered rewriting this many times. I'm very sorry if you hate it. I will too, very very soon.

Leave a comment if you a Harry hoe. 

Or if you would let Ashton Irwin lick you. Bc. Damn. Amiright.

Ciao for now. x

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Skylar.

Ink soaks into his skin and stains it. I drag the marker over his veins, trying to ignore the small gasps he gives under his breath. I've only ever drawn on Mara and myself. Being close to him like this, to draw on his skin, is making me surprisingly nervous. I focus intently on keeping my fingers from trembling.

"Sky," he mumbles softly. "I... I... I'm sp-speechless, more than usual."

I don't dare look up at him, only smile and continue to draw. There's a few more lines I need to depict  before I can risk getting distracted. 

He remains silent, whether out of politeness or awe or nerves, until I am finished. I cap the marker, but I don't want to shift away yet. I've gotten this close, and he's not pulling back--in fact, I can feel the warmth off his arm  grow closer, and the vague smell that clings to his clothes is starting to make my head swim. I'm conscious of the way I hold myself--the fall of my hair, the set of my mouth. I wonder if he's watching me, but I'm too frozen to look. Instead I pretend to examine his wrist, gently tracing the lines I've drawn. 

Art on art.

"Skylar," he interrupts my shyness, his voice soft but pleading. I glance at him at the sound of my name, a reaction I wish I hadn't taken. His eyes pierce mine, less than a foot away. My breath hitches. I wait.

He says nothing, his irises thinning and then expanding again, pupils etching across my face. My features burn. I am absently tightening my grip on his wrist, my lungs reaching shallowly for air.

The last boy I kissed was a jackweed. He was just literally the worst. Messing with fuckboys is in no way as fun as it is made out to be, especially when they won't stop begging you for pics even when you've moved to a different town. 

Harry's different. It occurred to me when I met him that he may be faking it all to get attention of some sort, but it quickly became apparent that he was not acting. He is the most authentic person I've come across in a while--even more real than Mara, and definitely a lot more gentle. 

His fingers skim mine, and I glance down, fighting a shiver.

"I'm--s-sorry," he notices my slight jolt at his touch. "Sh-sh-shou-should I not..."

I look back up at him and he falters, blinking into my gaze. To my surprise, neither of us back out. Neither of us look away.

"Can we go inside?" he blurts, tugging his arm back to himself.

I nod, looking away and bashfully straightening in my own seat. "Yeah, of course. It's your house, lead the way."

And he does. Slowly, we enter his darkened house. I nod when he presses a finger to his lips, assuming that his Mum is home and asleep. He motions for me to wait in the kitchen entryway while he retrieves a plate of cookies from the bar, and then gestures for me to follow him upstairs.