INDIGO➵Harry Styles

5 ___BARE___

Our footsteps were loud, clumsy, clanking a messy tune over the metal staircase we climbed up. Liam's hand was clasped firmly in mine as I tugged him up the stairs behind me, roughly urging him to keep up with my pace without stopping to ask questions.

The lights from the party were distant, faded flashes from what seemed like miles away. The beginning of this night did seem like it was miles away; how could one night, a few hours, be so changeable? I, of all people, should have known how the dials and pulleys of time fall and slide so quickly, wheeling into new shapes and sequences by the moment, never stopping, never certain. I had thought that I was at peace with that. That I knew it. Apparently not. And this was the only way I knew how to fix it.

And, of course, as always, by fixing it, I meant making an even bigger mess.

The echoing of our footsteps became louder, more hollow, a chilling damp settling over my skin, as we neared the warehouse's roof. I knew that there was a room at the top of the staircase, unused and decently clean. It must have been an observation point, a manager's center to control distributions and sales. Until now, the rooftop room had continued its purpose, in some respect, since I used it to manage something - myself - or at least try to. In the middle of parties during the last weeks, I would wander upstairs and look out of the empty room's windows. I loved them. They were big, so big to me that it seemed as though they could hold the whole world. They really did hold their own world, at least, elegant and humble in their task of cradling the city by night, the star-studded buildings and streets. This time, the room would have to hold more chaos in its peace.

A few steps before we reached the heavy steel door, Liam finally spoke.

"Indigo? What are you doing?"

It was the last thing I wanted to hear right now, and the last thing I wanted to answer, since I myself didn't know what I was doing. Or I didn't want to stop and think about it. I couldn't stop.

Swivelling around, I grabbed a fistful of Liam's shirt, bringing him to me, finally, finally, drawing him into me, to feel him, to feel something I had chosen to. I didn't care to show any hesitation or shame as I drove my lips onto his.

It almost brought me to my knees, how much I needed him a thousand times more after I'd felt him, after I'd tasted him. His lips were smooth enough to compete with velvet, warm, but decisive in confronting mine, his response shooting straight through shock and doubt. I was only beginning to savour him when our kiss was cut short, Liam jolting away without any notice. Goddamnit, why can't you just kiss me? Why can't you just take me, no questions asked? At first, when our lips separated, he didn't say anything. What would he have to say, anyway? What could he say? He just stood there, gasping to catch his breath that he'd quickly lost in our kiss, almost speaking but unable to form any words for a few dizzied seconds.

"Why are you doing this?" he questioned, his tight, urgent tone cutting straight through the damp and our warm little cloud in it. 

Oh, f*ck. Where do I even start?

I thought about explaining it to him. Then and there. I swear I did. Watching him there, lit in the precious few rays of light from the emergency light a little far off, I tried to make myself. Skin now drained by the slightly green hue of the light, eyes wide, lips only parted and in no way finding an upward direction, a way to a smile, he was still beautiful. Yes, beautiful,  but troubled. His eyes, that I had adored for their warmth, without complications, were now wide and ... alarmed? For me? By me? Had what he had seen in my expression, felt in my touch, scared him?

His features were lined with concern and I hated that it was because of me. He was serious now, his jaw set, our jokes long gone. But I could see that he was fighting a central battle with himself, terrified but wanting me all the same. Lust seeped from the edges of his resolve, breaking its finality, cracking the solid walls of his expression into crackling flames of desire, sparks flying in all different directions, uncontrolled, untamed, finally landing in the golden brown of those eyes where they crackled still, louder and hotter.