"How'd I ever breathe without a goodnight kiss from goodnight you?" - Go Radio

• • • • •

I don't know what time it is when Harry wakes me up but all I see is a bright blue square in the middle of a pitch black room. The movie must have ended and the TV is now burning my drowsy eyes.

"Hey, let's get you home," Harry softly whispers as he stands up.

A long yawn expels from my mouth as I fall into the empty space he left on the couch. "I'm too tired. Can I go home tomorrow?"

A few seconds after I shut my eyes again, I feel his arms under me, scooping me from the couch. I lace my hands behind his neck and he carries my limp body through the dark hallway.

"Do you want to borrow a shirt?" he asks, sitting me on the edge of his bed.

"Oh, um, yeah," I say, wondering how I managed to fall asleep with a dress on in the first place.

I listen as he blindly shuffles through his closet and after a minute, I hear a clamoring crash.

"Ow," he groans.

"Are you okay?" I ask into the darkness.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I found one." A t-shirt lands on my lap.

"Why don't you just turn on the light?"

"Because then I'd have to leave while you change." A gentleman at his finest.

As the soft fabric slips over my head, I'm immersed in his scent: clean and fresh with a vague edge of Old Spice. It's as if he's holding me at all times. I curl into his bed and he leans down to press his lips to my forehead.

"Goodnight, Jules," he whispers before heading back out the door.

"Where are you going?" I mumble, sitting up against my tired body's will.

"It's alright, you can have the bed and I'll take the couch. I don't mind."

"Jesus Christ, Harry, how much more of a gentleman can you be?"

He laughs. "My mum taught me well, I reckon."

"Don't leave." It wasn't meant to sound like a plea but it does anyway. I'm not sure if I care anymore, nor does he.

I can see his shadow backlit by the moon from the window, the tousled silhouette of his hair and rotating shoulders as he turns back to me. A couple seconds later, I feel him wriggle into the covers next to me. He cups my body into his arms and feel myself happily dozing off again.

"You know what I think is really nice?" Harry says, jolting me awake.

"What?" I murmur, my eyes still closed.

"Out of all the girls that I've ever been remotely involved with, even the ones I've only said two words to, you're the only girl that hasn't got her name plastered all over magazines or the internet. Nobody knows who you are."

I doubt it's his intention, but I start to feel unusually self-conscious. "So... I'm a nobody. Is that what you're saying?"

He must sense the somberness in my tone because he shifts himself to face me. "I'm sorry---alright, how about this. Some of the girls I've been involved with were nobodies themselves and suddenly after one date, everyone knew their name. But not you."

"Maybe it's because they're gorgeous and have, like, that actress or model look, whereas I kinda look like your best friend's little sister who has a creepy crush on you."

He exhales a light chuckle. "Has that happened to you before?"

"Maybe."

"Well no, that's rubbish," he replies. "And you're far more beautiful than any model or actress I've ever seen."

I'm about to interrupt and tell him that's utter bullshit and list at least five actresses and models off the top of my head that would disprove his claim, but he keeps talking.

"The reason being is you don't tell anyone about me. You don't run around bragging to everyone that you've been hanging out with Harry Styles. You don't post loads of pictures of us online to impress other people. In fact, I think the only person that knows is Effy."

He's right. I hadn't really noticed, but he's absolutely right.

"There's so many people who know who I am that it's almost impossible to tell who's there for me and who's there for my fame," he says, a marked sadness in his voice.

"Then how do you know I like you for you and not your fame?" I challenge.

He answers without a moment's hesitation. "Because you gave me your number when I was just Harry. Not Harry Styles of One Direction."

It's quiet between us for a few seconds, and I have a feeling he's waiting for me to come up with a response to that. But I can't.

"You're different, Jules," he says. "That's why I had to keep trying. I knew you were going to be worth all the effort. I'll be honest, I thought you were just playing hard to get at first. But then I realized you weren't. You're just picky, but you deserve to be. I just can't believe you picked me."

When I look up, he's already staring at me. Even in the dim light spilling in from the window, his eyes are spectacularly green. They're different from other pairs of green (or any color) eyes I've looked at before. There's a certain kindness and authenticity to them that is foreign to me yet makes me feel right at home, like I belong exactly where I am. Those eyes are different because they say he would never tell me anything but the truth.

Harry's warm breath gently tickles my nose then gradually, he closes the space between us a plants a kiss firmly on my lips. He pulls me closer as our lips collide again and again, deeper with each contact. My arms instinctively loop around his neck. His hair is satin between my fingers. It's not tangly at all, I realize, it only looks that way.

He grapples my hips until I'm fully pressed on top of him, his warmth radiating all over my skin. His hands are at my side and begin to follow the concave of my waist, and the thin layer of t-shirt feels annoyingly obstructive all of the sudden. He slips his hands under the fabric and his fingertips electrify my lower back, my spine, the skin beneath my bra. He pulls me even closer, even while our bodies are already pressed together, as if he could never get close enough to me.

Then he flips around and kisses my lips and my chin and leaves soft, ghost-like kisses on my neck. Button by button, I remove his shirt. My hands smooth over his shoulders to slip it off and it flies into the darkness, landing somewhere on the ground. Without spending more than a second away from my lips, he hastily flings off the shirt of his that I had been wearing. His kisses descend, trailing from my collarbone to the slope of my breasts, all around my belly button and my hips, which makes me shudder with pleasure. Not long after, the remainder of my layers join the pile of clothes on the ground.

Harry sits up and pauses momentarily. I notice his eyes, gazing and studying my unclothed body. Normally, this makes me extremely uncomfortable, but the pure appreciation glittering in his eyes causes my every insecurity to evaporate. His hands slowly and carefully roam all over me, like a sailor navigating across uncharted seas, finding their destination within my inner thighs.

He's slow at first, gentle. The gray moonlight causes his bare chest to glow like a marble sculpture that's come to life. I rest my head on a pillow and watch the two birds and butterfly inked on his upper body, watching the way they seem to take flight with every slight ripple of muscle underneath.

As his movements steadily build with passion, his necklaces dangle over me and clink together in the same rhythm as the head board slamming against the wall behind me. I stare admiringly at his toned arms, growing more defined the harder he grips me. He keeps his eyes clamped shut, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed in a straight line. I'm not sure what turns me on more, his physical actions or just watching him, but he's quickly pushing me closer to my brink.

He leans forward and I cling to his shoulders tightly, letting his fragrant curls bounce against my face. His arms wrap around me. My breathing matches his, which is jagged and feels hot on my ear. He whispers to me, rough and heavy, and it feels like every nerve in my body is alive for the very first time. It doesn't take long before I fall apart.

For a moment, we do nothing but lay side by side, breathing hard. Neither of us say a word while our heartbeats do all the talking. Then Harry turns to me. A sliver of pale yellow from the streetlight outside highlights the content grin on his face. His bites down on his bottom lip to keep it from growing any wider.

"Hi," he says, his voice still rough like sandpaper.

"I'm cold," I whisper.

In our haste, we sent most of his bedding off the edge and onto the floor. He picks them up now, and envelopes us both in the thick comforter. After he pulls me in his arms, I rest my head next to his chest, which rises and falls at its regular pace again. Our legs tangle together beneath the sheets. My toes are still a bit chilly but his feet are like ovens and it feels wonderful.

"Better?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He tilts my chin up and presses his lips to mine, slowly and tenderly. With every kiss, I feel myself falling deeper for Harry, deeper than I had before. I can only compare it to jumping into a dark well and not knowing what's at the bottom, although I've never done that before. Similarily, I've never felt this way before.

There's no longer a fear in my stomach, or a nagging voice in my head. Replacing it is pure euphoria.

I return into the cozy crook of his arm beside his chest, listening to his heart. Its beating in my ear, combined with his steady inhales and exhales and the quiet brushing of his thumb against my shoulder blade help me drift into a peaceful sleep.

Notes