About (Harry Styles)

31.

Harry Styles' desperate lips meld somewhat awkwardly onto mine, his hands firmly keeping me in his control. I can feel his hands trembling slightly on my skin, his lips quavering with a nervousness I can literally taste.

His hands tentatively travel down onto the back of my neck, pulling me even closer to him. The subtle graze of his tongue over my bottom lip sends an uncontrollable spark through my veins, and I feel a growing urge to kiss him back, to wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. But I restrain myself.

I know I should at least pull away. My head is literally screaming at me to push him away, to throw him off of me, but my speeding heart dictates otherwise finally understanding the reason for its habitually sudden flutters.

I have feelings for Harry Styles.

I'm not sure when it exactly started, but somewhere along the way, he made the heart in my chest beat faster, he made the thoughts in my head all about him, he made me ... feel things I haven't felt in a long time.

He suddenly pulls away, breaking the kiss, a sharp breath falling from his pink lips, the caress of his touch still lingering on mine.

His eyes flutter open to meet mine, his brows low and full of concern, his fixed gaze confining an obvious enchantment. His large hands softly remain on my neck as his thumbs cautiously brush against my jawline.

"I'm sorry," he says, surprising me. His brows furrow even lower in resentment as he removes his hold on me.

"What -- " I don't even know what to say at this point. I can't yell at him nor sympathize with him for his actions are none that deserve a lecture. "Why..."

He doesn't respond right away. He takes a few steps from me, his back facing me as he runs a hand through his hair.

"I - ," he turns halfway to me, half of his face already enough for me to see his apparent frustration. "I was disappointed."

Disappointed in what? The kiss? I mean, I didn't kiss him back, but I thought it was pretty good.

"I didn't get to kiss you," he says, lulling me from my thoughts. "Ever since this morning ..." He wanted to kiss me this morning? The fact that I know he wanted to kiss me since causes an exhilarating sensation to swell in my chest. "And I didn't get to kiss you while we were dancing. I was really disappointed."

I remain like a statue, analyzing his gestures, his facial expressions for any sign of regret. But I can't decipher anything if he's not looking at me straight in the eye.

"Do you regret kissing me?" I ask.

The question causes his eyes to dart to mine, his eyes widening with surprise. He takes a step closer to me, abridging the distance between us.

"No," he answers honestly, his mesmerizing eyes revealing a softness that strangely makes me ache. "No, I don't regret it."

His assurance is relieving.

"Do you like me?" I dare to ask. Again. I needed to know.

He doesn't deliver an instant reply, delaying the answer to my question. His silence is enough confirmation for me though.

"I could have had another room," he begins, his deep tone sauntering in my ears. "But I chose not to. Does that answer your question?"

At first it confuses me. It's a neither yes or a no.

He could have had another room? All this time, he lied to me and forced us to share a room together. Why would he? Because he liked me? He liked me even before we ran into each other here?