Scrabble | Harry Styles

18

A short chuckle left his lips. "You're gonna have to be a lot more specific than that, love. A lot of people do a lot of things."

Silence fell between us, and for a brief moment I wondered if I could take back everything I'd said in prior moments, just to prevent the progression of this conversation that, now, I just didn't want to happen.

"The murder," I swallowed, the words sounding simply ridiculous coming from my mouth - so much so that I was almost embarrassed to be saying them, "murders." 

Neither of us had even mentioned tonight's events since we'd arrived back at Harry's - my mind had been a little selfishly preoccupied with Vic and her words, and - in all honesty - I didn't trust what would come out of my mouth if I did. 

His frown deepened for a moment, before he tore his eyes away from me, eyeing a random space on his wall and chewing on his lip. I watched him in silence, as the change in expression couldn't have lasted longer than a few seconds, and his face's natural state was restored.

"And what do you think?"

I straightened up a little, not expecting his response. "I think she's mad."

"She's absolutely mad," he returned, shaking his head slowly. "You know me, don't you? And I know you know that I'm not a bad guy, am I, love?" he asked, almost as if he was actually awaiting the confirmation from me.

"Of course you're not. She was drunk, and saying stupid things, H. I don't believe her, and I didn't. Not even for a moment-"

"Why would she say that?" he asked me, genuinely, his eyes meeting mine again. I opened my mouth, closing it again when I realised I didn't have an answer. "Is there a reason?"

"What do you mean?" I frowned.

"I mean," he paused, "why the fuck would your best friend think I murdered someone? What motive do I have?" His tone grew sharper, watching my face as he said the last part, as if he was looking for me to conjure up a motive for him. I wasn't sure what I'd expected his reaction to be, but it certainly wasn't this. I'd perhaps expected - or hoped - he would laugh it off, or even get a little heated and cuss her out - not to demand answers from me as if I was the one throwing accusations about. I hadn't truly stopped to consider if it was a viable option - because it simply wasn't an option. Harry wasn't a murderer, and I'd told him what Vic had said out of love and respect for him - and admittedly due to his persuasion for me to do so - not in hopes of an interrogation from him.

"I don't know, Harry. All I know is that you wouldn't dream of doing something like that - never in a million years. She's just scared, and jealous, and wants to pin the blame. But it's ridiculous, and I'm tired. Please, just come to bed."

"I hope she's not spreading that kind of shit around," he pressed his lips together, unfolding his arms, and taking a step towards me. "Can be really damaging, you know."

"Harry, she was drunk. Nobody was listening to a word she had to say."

"Of course," he chuckled again, as if the whole situation didn't matter. He opened his mouth again, but I interrupted before he could continue.

"Come here," I pleaded quietly, and he took a few steps towards me. I wrapped my hands around his wrists, bringing one of his hands to my lips to press a kiss to his knuckle. I watched his face soften a little. "You're a dream, Harry, I'm more than convinced."

"'Know you are, petal. And I can't tell you how much I.." he returned, trailing off, unzipping his jeans and moving closer to the bed, leaning down to press his lips to mine. I relaxed in an instant, the warmth of his kiss enough to wash away any tension Vic's antics had caused with ease. I hung onto the words that had begun to fall from his lips, suddenly finding myself eager to find the end of his sentence, realising this wasn't the first time he'd cut himself off like that recently.. was he..?