sign {h.s.}

kapitel vierzehn*

n. oh my fucking jesus i need jesus this is so long and so dirty i'm sorry also please don't read this in public i'm warning you

"YOU'VE GOT TO be kidding me." I say, crossing my arms firmly over my chest. Disinterest is bleeding into my tone. Annoyed and frustrated as I am with him, I've spent enough time with him to know that this is all part of his shtick. I refuse to let this act of his rattle me anymore. No matter how much he gets under my skin, I know that I can't gratify him with a reaction every time.

When I look into his eyes, I'll admit that I am shaken. I'm not convinced that this is part of the usual games that he likes to play. That familiar green glint of amusement is lacking from his eye and conviction rings in his tone as he avidly denies, "this isn't a joke, Cassidy." Hearing my name off of his tongue is odd enough. In the month or so since I've known him, he's taken to any number of amusing pet names, none of which require him to identify me by name. The sound is altogether jarring and causes me to temporarily freeze.

My lips pull together as I try to sort out my response. There is still the chance he is just trying to get on my nerves. In which case, he is about to succeed; though, I wonder how far he would really go just for the gag of it all. At some point, I wish he would just confess into getting a rise out of me.

In the back of my head, I know that he must be serious. Even just one look on his face can tell me that. He's stoic, his face stern and straight. It does not appear as though he will be giving in to me any time soon. Though serious as he looks, I can't help but fight the voice in the back of my head that is encouraging me to smoke him out. If he wants to play games, I can certainly engage.

Letting out a sigh, I shift my weight to my back leg. "Did you drive?"

"Obviously," his mouth barely moves to form the words.

Only then do I remember his reasoning and circumstance for coming to the party in the first place. Had I not been foolishly childish with my phone and drunk fingers—had I not acted like a stereotypical drunk college female—I would not be in this situation at all. Perhaps this is his way of getting back at me for dragging him away from his home that doesn't feel like a home. In which case, I'm more thoroughly beginning to understand the enigma of Harry Styles.

At the end of the day: that's all that he is. An enigma.

From the moment I met him, I knew it. He makes no effort to hide what a strangely unique person he is. No ordinary person I've ever met casually speaks more than ten languages. No ordinary person that I've ever met has a deluxe apartment with the absolute bare minimum of decorations. No ordinary person that I've ever met so vilely hates someone, yet also adds them on the list of people permanently able to visit their apartment.

Arguably, these quirks should be sending me a signal; more than likely they should signal some sort of red flag. If I am being honest with myself, I can recognize that they do. But, I don't take my own warnings literally. Instead, I've rationalized him. How is it possible that someone so cruel and mean-spirited does work so kind, helpful, and honest? In my head, I've managed to convince myself that I am looking at everything the wrong way.

"Well," the word falls from my lips slowly, as I try to work out my plan of action. His having brought a car acts only as an inconvenience to me, as I was planning on taking an Uber with Brody back to his apartment. "Well then you're coming with me."

"Fine by me." I'm shocked by his agreement. The words fall from his lips so readily; as if he would agree to any condition that I set.

I blink and look up at him, swallowing the lump in my throat. He notices the expression on my face, clearly relishing that he has finally seemed to take me by surprise, and a smirk pulls on his expression. "Lead the way," he instructs, holding his hands out in a wide gesture, allowing for me to take the lead up the stairs.