Scrabble | Harry Styles

4

Every Sunday, the local church held its typical service. I wasn't particularly religious - in fact, I wasn't sure I was even religious at all. When I was little, I was told that there was a God, and that I was to believe in it - or him. I didn't see much harm in it, though I guess what I was feeling could be classified as false faith. Because I didn't necessarily believe, but I didn't.. feel against such a thing.

My parents never forced it on me. My dad was indifferent when it came to the matter, and I was pretty sure that my mum just enjoyed the comfort that came with believing. She liked the sanctuary, and she liked the security that came with a greater being - and so she believed in it - whatever 'it' was.

Again, I saw no harm in it. I didn't particularly mind sitting through the services every Sunday, since it was practically a communal obligation. You just did it.

Liam and Liz also attended the weekly church service, for the very same reason that I did - and they did so with their families. Vic and Zayn, on the other hand, never failed to point out how church was not for 'people like them'. Vic had attended once, maybe three years ago, and had failed to resurface ever since.

Each Sunday after the service, the five of us would go to grab brunch together and hang out in the main square of town for a few hours before heading home.

The service seemed to be dragging along far more than it usually did, but again, I didn't mind. I simply sat through it, watching my mum as she watched the priest intently, and my dad as he seemed to be on the verge of dozing off.

The final hymn finally came around, and everybody stood up in unison, clasping lyric sheets in their hands. I held mine, routinely singing along with the lyrics without actually feeling them, per say. I glanced around the room as I sang, fixated on the backs of heads until I locked eyes with somebody in the corner.

Sure enough, Harry was standing there, with his own lyric sheet in hand - but he wasn't singing. Rather, if I wasn't mistaken, he was watching me sing, an unreadable glint in his eye as he did so. It sent an odd form of shiver up my spine, and I quickly tore my eyes from him, feeling my cheeks heat and hoping he hadn't noticed, though it was likely he had. Each encounter with him was proving my response to his question the other night to be a lie - he did make me nervous, but it felt as if I was beginning to like that.

I waited by the entrance of the church for Liam and Liz like I always did. It was just after half past ten according to the watch strapped onto my wrist, and we usually occupied our typical table at the diner by eleven.

"I didn't take you for a religious girl," Harry's voice sounded in my ear, and it was only then that I felt his presence beside me. His shoulder brushed briefly against mine, and I ignored the burning heat I felt from the connection. A minty scent filled the air between us, and I noticed that he was chewing gum as he leaned against the wall beside me, and I turned to look at him.

"What constitutes one of those?" I asked him, my tone even.

"Hm, I don't know," he hummed for a moment, chewing on his gum in what seemed like contemplation, "longer skirts, high-necked sweaters. Not allowing themselves to be corrupted by bad influences like me."

"Now I think you're just abiding to stereotypes," I returned, fumbling with my fingers in a way to maintain my composure. "Plus, who says I'm letting you corrupt me?"

"You're talking to me right now, aren't you?" he retorted, and I bit back a smile.

"You just keep popping up," I pointed out boldly, and I half-expected him to mimic my sudden bravery - but he didn't, simply continuing to chew on his gum.

"I don't hear you complaining," he replied, a little softer than I'd ever heard him speak. I felt my eyes shift down to take note of what he was wearing - similar skinny jeans and boots to a couple of nights ago, but this time he was wearing a checkered flannel, unbuttoned half-way and just daring me to look at the smooth-looking skin that was exposed, and practically glowing in the sunlight. There was a hint of black peeking out from where the first button was looped through, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was a tattoo. What seventeen year old has a tattoo? "My eyes, love."

I looked up like a child who was caught with their hand in the cookie jar, my face heating. "What?" I asked cluelessly.

He pulled back the pair of black sunglasses from his face, pushing them through his hair to reveal his eyes to me. "I think you had a moment where you couldn't find my eyes, so I thought I'd remind you. Easy mistake. But they're here," he extended his index finger to point at his pair of bold green irises, a knowing smirk on his lips, and for the second time since I'd met Harry, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.

"Oh," I heard a familiar voice from behind me, and for once I was incredibly grateful for one of Liz's interjections, "hi, Blair, we didn't realise you had company."

"Hi, Liz," I smiled, slightly relieved that she'd saved me from continuing that humiliating conversation with Harry. I noticed Liam beside her, looking at Harry in something I could only label as fear, as if he was picturing Harry taking his large boot and stomping on his head with it. "Hi, Liam."

"Hello," he replied in a rush, sounding incredibly small.

"Who's this, Blair?" Liz asked me, a knowing look on her face as she tilted her head towards the boy beside me as if she hadn't a clue who he was.

Harry, too, obviously knew who she was, having witnessed her along with the others spying on our conversation after squealing about him in the diner. But he disguised his knowledge well, an unreadable look on his face before his lips twitched into a grin.

"I'm Harry Styles," he said, extending his hand for her to shake. She looked at me briefly, raising an eyebrow before taking his hand and shaking it. So that was his last name. Styles. It seemed like something that could roll off the tongue with such ease - as if it were handpicked, crafted finely only for somebody deserving of it.

"I'm Liz," she returned, and Harry turned to Liam, and I half-expected him to do what most people did and point out how quiet he was. But he didn't. "This is my boyfriend, Liam," Liz introduced him, saving him the responsibility of speaking to somebody who was admittedly an intimidating character.

"Hello, mate," Harry extended his hand for him, too, and Liam hesitantly took it.

"Actually, Harry, we were all about to head over to the diner to get some food," Liz spoke again, and I sent her an alarmed look, which she ignored with another knowing grin on her lips, "why don't you join us? Any friend of Blair's is a friend of ours," she finished, and I closed my eyes. Surely he wouldn't accept..

"That sounds great, actually. I'd love to come," Harry responded, and I opened my eyes just in time to catch him addressing me with what I could've sworn was a wink, "if that's alright with you, Blair, of course."

I froze, not expecting him to have sought confirmation from me, my previous cool - well, cooler - demeanour that I'd managed to maintain immediately lost.

"Yeah," I nodded hastily, "of course. Yeah. You should come. It'll be fun." You could've just said 'yes', Blair.

"Mm, it'll be fun," Harry hummed, reiterating my cringe-worthy statement in a teasing manner, yet his sentence still remained so blatant, his tone barely faltering. It was as if he'd only meant for me to catch the mimicking side of his tone, directing the tilt of his head at me once he noticed I'd caught it.

"Well," Liz clapped her hands together, before intertwining her fingers with Liam's, "what are we waiting for? Let's go eat."