𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐑! | harry styles

𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

"JOHNNY wants to talk to me."

Desmond looked up sharply, not expecting company in the kitchen. "Harry, I didn't even hear you get up this morning," he smiled. "What's this about Johnny? Johnny who?"

"Bree's dad. He wants to talk to me." Harry raked his fingers through his hair.

Desmond suppressed a laugh at how nervous his son looked. "He wants to talk to you about what?"

"I have no idea. I was wondering if you might know," Harry looked hopeful.

"As the father of a daughter myself, I can think of a thing or two he might want to talk to you about." Desmond winked.

Harry looked mortified. "No!" This can't be happening.

"Relax. I'm sure it's harmless. But if you want, I can call over there and see if this might be a meeting he'd like me to sit in on."

"Oh God, no," Harry shook his head. The only thing worse, in his opinion, than having a conversation about sex with Johnny, was having a conversation about sex with Johnny and Desmond.

Desmond continued to laugh as he exited the kitchen. "Come see me when you get back," he called over his shoulder, "I'm anxious to know what Johnny had to say to you."

Harry had no intention of relaying to Desmond what happened in the Hanson home. If he was able to live through the encounter, he had every intention of purging it from his memory forever.

On the bus ride over to Bree's, Harry tried to mentally prepare himself by playing many different scenarios in his head of what the afternoon might entail. He considered answers to questions he assumed Johnny would ask him and silently reminded himself to call Johnny 'sir'. All of his scenarios had one constant, which was Bree, sitting at Harry's side, quietly reassuring him that all was well.

None of them prepared him for the reality of her absence upon his arrival.

"Bree's not here?" Harry was sure he hadn't heard correctly.

"No. She had to run an errand," Johnny smiled, very aware of how uncomfortable he'd just made Harry.

"Oh," Harry gulped.

"Have a seat in the kitchen," Johnny gestured toward the narrow doorway. "Not there," Johnny spoke brusquely when Harry attempted to sit at the head of the table. "That's my chair."

"Oh, sorry," Harry took a seat to Johnny's left, as far away from him as possible.

The two sat across the table from one another for a few quiet moments before Johnny cleared his throat and put his hands on the table.

"Look, Harry, I was once seventeen, just like you, so I'm not going to pretend like I don't know what your intentions are with my daughter," he began.

"Sir?" Harry looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Don't even try it," Johnny shook his head. "I'm going to tell you this one time, and one time only. If anything, anything, happens to my daughter on your watch, you will not live long enough to escape my wrath. Do you understand me?"

Harry's swallow was audible. "I'd never hurt Bree."

"That's not what it looked like to me that day on the porch," Johnny reminded him.

Harry shook his head. "I was just really mad…not at Bree."

Johnny looked over his shoulder as if he were about to give Harry classified information and he needed to make sure no one else was listening. "You've got quite a temper on you, Harry."