𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌 & 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆! | harry styles

𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

A few things about Harry.

ONE.

He doesn't eat people. Unless you're a murdering asshole from Seattle.

TWO.

He actually eats animals. He likes bunnies. They taste like clover and sweet green grass and flowers. He likes mountain lions because their blood is rich and thick and tastes like the top of the food chain. He likes bears for the same reason. He likes foxes, the little red ones, because they make him feel slick and sly and somehow invisible.

He hates deer. They taste like dirt.

THREE.

The image of him wrestling a bear is simultaneously the scariest and the sexiest thing I've ever imagined.

FOUR.

When he met that guy in the woods that night, in the dark, he hadn't eaten in sixty-seven days.

FIVE.

He was starving. Literally.

SIX.

There's this thing called bloodlust. It's like sex. Like the thrill of skydiving or delivering a baby or injecting yourself with speed. It's blinding and wicked and completely incredible. It's unstoppable, and you wouldn't want to stop it anyway. Bloodlust is what made Harry attack that guy out there. He didn't want to, but he didn't have much of a choice. He was hungry and smelled blood - pure, clean, bright blood - and he just couldn't help it.

SEVEN.

The blood Harry smelled wasn't the guy's blood at all.

It was Sadie's.

* * *

"How do you think it all began?" I ask him, leaning up against the shitty car. The dark is creeping in, and the shadows are melting together, and the evening birdsong is starting to slowly fade away. I'm trying to comb through my knotted hair with my fingers because if I don't do something with my hands, I'm gonna go crazy. I'm pulling out more hair than I am untangling, dropping tufts of curls all around me.

"How did what all begin?"

"Everything. The earth. The sky and the sun."

"Why?" Harry peers at me through the gloom like he doesn't trust where I'm heading with this.

"Because I feel really fucking small right now," I grumble.

"You're not small. No one is small." Harry sounds sad when he says it, staring off into the dark again, but I know he's not seeing the forest, or the trees or the moonlight. He's seeing a couple lifetimes worth of people and places and moments. "No matter how insignificant a life might seem, every person touches someone. Changes someone. For better or worse."

"Am I changing you?" I ask.

"I can't be changed."

"So you're changing me, then?"

"Yes." He sighs before he nods.