Scrabble | Harry Styles

13

It had been almost six weeks since I'd met Harry. I'd call it six weeks of chaos.

I'd been questioned. Twice. Everybody from school had - the police had called us in the day after the bonfire, arriving at school and calling us out of class one by one.

I wasn't much help - I knew that. The only people who could be of much help, were his friends, and frankly, I wasn't even sure who they were - that was how little I knew him.

The police had tried to rule it as a suicide, despite the public knowledge that it was undoubtedly murder, but it was pretty near impossible. Three weeks into the investigation, they ruled out the option of suicide and determined - officially - that Finn Morrison, was murdered.

It was impossible to believe. My mind felt like its own broken record - repeating the same thoughts again, and again, and again - because I simply couldn't comprehend it. It was so beyond my mind's capacity, and it seemed to be beyond everybody around me, as well.

It had been the topic of near enough every conversation from the past six weeks. Between Zayn and I, Liam and I, Vic and I, and even between Harry and I. It was difficult to discuss anything different - it just consumed everything.

"It's your move."

My head snapped upwards to land on the boy in front of me, his long legs bent at the knee and crossed over one another and his eyes fixated on my own. I sent him a sheepish look, fumbling with one of my squares as I contemplated the word to follow. 

"I was planning to thrash you, but you're distracted," Harry spoke gently, articulating each word with ease. I caught the shift of his eyes; the raise of his eyebrow, and I pouted slightly.

"Shouldn't that make it even easier to thrash me?" I asked, sending him a lopsided smile.

"Yes, but a little less satisfying," he replied, wit in his tone as I felt his arm extend over the board and his hand wrap diligently around my wrist, pulling me towards him. I was leaning over the board, and I let out a quiet squeal in awareness of the plastic squares beneath my hovering knees as his lips met my own, causing Harry to let out a soft chuckle against my mouth, which I couldn't help but mirror. 

Even amongst all the disarray, Harry managed to maintain such a nonchalance - a laissez-faire approach to each day that passed, and I relished in it. The instant calm I was engulfed in the moment I slipped away from the cluster of police cars camped out onto every street into the presence of Harry, who didn't bother conspiring about the murderer on the loose, or on any other source of stress. He was interested in me, and how I felt, and how my day was - and, perhaps selfishly, I liked that. 

I was so vulnerable, and I didn't even know it. The sudden distant predicament of living in a classified 'murder town' had caused me to cling onto just about any form of consistency, whether my mind had comprehended such, or not. That's what I've come to know since then. 

Harry felt like a dream; and that's all he was. Every inch of validation I'd subconsciously craved for the majority of my teen years had been rewarded to me by the hands of one individual - a tall, curly haired, green-eyed individual, full of wit and silent challenges and bold proclamations.

"How was school?" he asked casually, as I shifted over the board to sit beside him, my two legs hooked over one of his. 

"Vic didn't show," I shrugged, "which I thought was weird, but she's acting kind of odd with me again, so Zayn called her to see what was going on, but she just has a cold, I suppose." Harry dragged my hair backwards with two of his fingers, placing it behind my shoulder away from where it had previously been sitting, running his gentle hand over my shoulder afterwards. A small shiver greeted my spine at the feel of his touch, and I had to bite back a smile.

"What classes did you have?" Harry asked me, now, and I couldn't help but soften at how genuinely interested he was in the course of my day.

"English, Sociology.." I trailed off, "did I tell you school is closed tomorrow? For teacher investigation?"

"You did, petal," he let out a soft chuckle, "a few times. You'd think it was Valentine's Day tomorrow, or something." 

I let out a quiet giggle, shaking my head up at him. I genuinely couldn't help it - never in my life had Valentine's come around, and I'd had someone to spend it with.

"You're right," I shrugged, sighing dramatically, "you'd think I had a Valentine."

"Don't you?" I caught the raise of his eyebrow, as I stood up and wandered across my room.

"Mm, no, I don't think anybody asked me," I innocently batted my eyelashes in his direction, and I caught the flash of a smirk upon his lips, as he pushed himself up from the floor. 

"I didn't realise we were one for formalities," he teased, before softly demanding, "Come here." I raised an eyebrow. "How am I supposed to ask you to be my Valentine if you're all the way over there?"

I glanced back at him, his glinting eyes meeting mine, and I turned back fully to face him. "I'm listening.." I teased.

"My beautiful Blair Winters, will you be my Valentine?" he asked smoothly, dipping his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, and presenting a small black velvet box. "In fact, will you do me one better, and accompany me to the Valentine's dance tomorrow?"

 I felt my heart swell - especially at his final addition to his request; the dance. I hadn't even mentioned the dance to him, yet he'd taken it upon himself to know it was taking place and invite me all the same. A grin swept over my face, as I closed the space between us and hurriedly pressed my lips to his own, taking him by surprise, and causing him to chuckle into a kiss.

"Is this formal enough?" he whispered with a cheeky grin, our foreheads pressed together as I brought my arms across the back of his neck. 

"Even more so," I murmured back, mirroring his smile, as the small gap between our lips was closed once more, this time by Harry's execution. 

The fluttering within my chest and stomach had yet to cease, constantly fuelled by Harry's very presence - it was just euphoric. His hand ran smoothly over my cheek, before he brought it over one of my hands to bring it back down into the space between our torsos. The small, velvet box that my mind had managed to neglect for a moment was pressed into my hand, and our lips separated.

I looked down, as Harry's free hand now crept to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Open it, then."

I unlaced the silk bow enveloping the box, and lifted the lid between my forefinger and thumb, a small gasp leaving my lips at the sight in my hands.

"Harry.." I trailed off, at a loss for words. I lifted the necklace from the box, the thin silver chain dainty in my hand, with a small heart dangling from its centre.

"Flip it over."

I did so, an even smaller heart-shaped groove in the back of the metal that would fall closest to my skin. My eyebrows knitted together, confused by its significance.

Harry extended his hand in front of me, and it was only then I noticed a new ring, shiny and prominent on his left middle finger - a tiny heart shaped embellishment that would slot almost too easily into the groove of my new necklace.

"Oh my gosh, this is perfect," I almost whimpered, throwing my arms around him again to pull him into a tight hug, my voice dropping to a whisper, "you're perfect. Thank you so much."

I couldn't believe how lucky I was to find him, as he gently lifted my hair and nudged forward to clasp the necklace around my neck. It lay perfectly, as if the space had just been aching to be filled.

I caught the smile on his lips, as he reached forward to kiss me again, but took two timely, courteous steps backwards, as my mother pushed my bedroom door open to ask if he'd be accompanying us for dinner.

I sent him a glance, which he took as a silent invite to stay, and I couldn't stop my grin from widening even further.

I never wanted him to leave.