Bruise of Love | L.S ✔

Green Light

The enigmatic child, Harry Styles never ceased to amuse him. He was a fickle one, always brewing up trouble then soothing it with his gifted charisma.

Only a fool would find himself fascinated while the wise would fear him. Fear his pure wildness cloaked with plastic innocence.

Though he was far from wise, Harry Styles brought along a fear so heady that he couldn't help but slave to it, to him. He saw through the plastic innocence and craved his pure wildness.

He wasn't the same again.

● ● ●

Sweat beads at my temple, did Ansel know about the key? Why is Harry here?

I toe around Ansel and move into the living room. It's bloody arse o' clock in the morning and the two people who cause my feelings and emotions and every single nerve in my body go haywire are apart only by four walls.

"Where are you slinking away to, Princess?" He demands, still sitting in the chair.

The fear I had accustomed myself to, especially around him lessens with the knowledge that Harry's out there.

My nose high in the air, I smile manically,"Just a surprise for you, from me."

I don't wait for his response, Harry Styles, my safe haven was outside the door.

My hands don't shake, they're steady even though I should be worried about Ansel and Harry being at the same place.

I pull the door open, in front of me stands Harry Styles in all of his chiseled perfection. The silver boots are back.

"Tomlinson." He opens his arms, offering me solace.

I take it, I drink and swallow everything familiar about him, the sharp hip bones, the chubby hips. Strong and soft, repentance and reward, my nothing and everything all in one body and soul.

A throat clears and I break away from Harry Styles. There's a man lingering behind Harry.

As I usher them inside, I notice Harry noticing Ansel's shoes.

"These were on your doorstep," Harry says as he dumps a bouquet of purple flowers in my hands.

"What are these?" I enquire, peering at him, confused out of my mind.

He shrugs in a way that means he knows but doesn't want to reveal them to me.

I flick the lights on, my heart sinking to my stomach. Ansel's leaning against my bedroom's doorframe.

I keep the flowers on the telly. Eyes darting between the pair.

"Harry Styles! What a pleasant surprise, Princess," He sneers, face morphing into an scowl.

The brown bloke who could only be Dev Patel-eyes me with a concealed grin.

Ansel and Harry are giving each other strained smiles. One more ugly than the other. I am the prey of one and the prize of another.

"My name is Dev Patel, yes I'd love some tea, thank you Mr. Tomlinson for offering!" Dev claps his hands together, loud and clear.

I flip him off. "You're not my guest, want some tea, go get it yourself. I'm not offering you any."

"We could talk over tea," he reasons.

"Always so rude, Princess."

"One more time you call him that, you'll have a mouth full of your own teeth," Harry snarls, a silver clad finger pointed at Ansel.

I groan in the kitchen. What is even this mess?

I reach up into the shelves and stick the kettle on. My heart was still sunken. My stomach flips, Ansel and Harry Styles, together five feet apart with no one to interrupt in case of a brawl.