Chapter Thirty-One: "Stacy Styles."
The week surpassed quickly, nothing particularly special about it. Throughout the few days left until break, Eli didn't bother to speak to me. Harry still grilled me to explain what happened the night he got wasted, but for the thousandth time, I refused to tell him. It wasn't because he didn't deserve to know, but that I didn't want him getting upset over it. I know that if I conveyed the absolute truth it'd crush him.
"You've got, like, a hundred of those sweaters."
"I have three, idiot."
Harry and I were currently resting in my room, arguing over him borrowing one of my bright sweaters. He carried his inside joke long enough, insisting he keeps one for memories. Despite my constant protests, I was amused he was so interested in such a ridiculous thing. Where could he possibly use a girl's clothing?
I plucked at my pink sweat shirt, as if trying to get him riled up. Over the past few days, I had found a sundry of ways to piss Harry off, some funnier than others. One thing he hates is when I purposely show off to him. It gets him jealous and I usually end up benefiting from it... in a couple of different ways.
"Della," Harry warned. "You know I hate it when you do that."
I laughed absentmindedly, resting my cheek against the window pane. Harry sanguinely draped his arms around the small of my back, grazing his lips against my neck. My eyelids fluttered in desperation to keep them open, though I knew it was a matter of time before I fell asleep. It was only six o' clock, but I had a long Friday.
I was startled when Harry's indurated hand began to stroke my hair. The strands of light hair in front of my face was currently behind my ears, so he could look at my face clearly. I faintly smiled, before exhaling loudly and leaning against his chest.
"You know I love you, right?" Harry mumbled, leaving a compassionate kiss on my collar bone. I bit back a shiver, feeling my smile turn into a grin.
"Yeah." I prattled, eyes still feathering open and closed. "'Cause I love you, too."
I could sense Harry's massive smile by the way he bobbed his curls onto my chin. I silently laughed, adjusting myself so I was curled in the cuddle-up near the bottom of my feet. More kisses were planted until they stopped just at my lips, but I was so spaced-out I didn't kiss back. Harry wasn't offended, just amused.
"You can't go to bed yet," Harry whined. "It's too early. Stay up with me."
I wanted to laugh at his childish tone, but instead forced myself to close my mind up further. Another pet peeve of Harry's; he hated when I ignored him. I guess he inherited it when I used to get angry at him all of the time, while sitting there with a blank expression on my face. Now if I did it, he'd make me pay the price.
I knew I'd set him off when his hands squeezed my sides, attempting to wake me up. I was stifling laughs, regardless of how easily I was about to crack. Suddenly I was rolled onto my back and Harry was towering over my silhouette, fingers stimulating my stomach confidently. I let out a single cry and slid from his grasp, dropping to the floor like a fly. Harry sat on the window seat giggling his head off, watching me scramble to situate the enormous pile of duvets that toppled on me.
"Oops," Harry mused. "Guess you can't go to sleep now."
I raised both of my eyebrows in my personal den of blankets, before sinking in them like a ball pit. My breathing kept hitching due to how excited I was to watch Harry chase after me. It only took a couple of seconds, and he was drowning in the comforter along side me.
"I would sing 'Under the Sheets' by Ellie Goulding, but I'm afraid that'd ruin the mood," I joked, voice muffled by a pillow stuck in my face. Harry chuckled in the darkness, before scooping me in his arms. We both fell from my cave in heavy breaths.
"Now will you stay up a little longer?" Harry revealed his bottom lip.
He wasn't going to back down. His lips was quivering and everything.
Finally, I sighed and fell back first on my mattress. Harry followed me, but made sure he was lying on top so he could keep me awake. I sighed heavily, before pushing his forehead of curls towards the floor. Harry chuckled.
"Come on, Har," I groaned. "Just let me sleep."
"What if I let you have one of my sweaters?" I knew I had him the moment the last words left my lips. Harry's emerald eyes twinkled and he vigorously nodded, preparing himself to about rip the sweat shirt off of me. I rolled my eyes stubbornly. "Not the one I have on. My blue one."
"But I like pink," Harry argued. "And it'd be a bonus if I could get you to take your clothes off." I just barely missed the wink he sent me, reluctantly shuffling over to my dresser. Harry watched over my shoulder as I neatly clutched my sparkly blue sweater, brighter than yellow neon. He grabbed it eagerly.
"I LOVE IT."
I let out an obnoxious laugh as Harry slipped the sweat shirt on over his muscular chest, after discarding his other button-up blouse. It was half his size, though covered him up until just above his belly button. I wanted so badly to take a photo, but let him strut around with my hefty snickers behind him.
"You could be a model with those legs, Styles."
"What would my stage name be?"
Harry's grin widened, not in amusement, but in realization of how great of a name that was. He gasped and threw himself at me, cupping my face with his now glittery hands. "This needs to happen." he stated, with the straightest face.
"Can I at least take a picture before you get famous?"
Harry hindered over the thought over-dramatically, but finally nodded. I dashed to retrieve my camera, laughing all the way. Suddenly Harry was posing for me, while I tried so hard not to make the photos blurry. I was shaking so hard in laughter it hurt to breathe. Finally we both got pretty tired of all the excitement, finding ourselves sprawled out on my bed viewing the pictures I took.
Harry abruptly stole the camera and angled it towards me, without warning snapping a quick photo before I could protest. I struggled to take the device from his grasp, but he stopped me.
"You look beautiful, Della. Trust me."
The heat rising in my cheeks was unbearable, considering the mocking expression Harry sent me. I tossed a pillow at his face, avoiding his eyes until my face turned back to normal. We both lay there tiredly, staring at my blank ceiling as if it was full of stars. Suddenly, the idea of stars hit me. The next thing I knew I was searching for paint in my drawers, rummaging viciously.
"What're you doing?" Harry inquired, placing his body next to me.
"Painting." I whispered, all in concentration.
I found myself perched on Harry's shoulders, feet dangling from his arms. I flailed my arms, streaking the ceiling with a glow-in-the-dark yellow color, shaped as stars. They were the type of stars you'd draw the apparent lines in the middle, except afterwards I went back to shade them in. I did this over twenty times until I looked back and noticed how many stars were covered on the white paste.
"You're honestly crazy." Harry commented, allowing my feet to thud onto the carpet.
I shrugged, before scurrying to shut off the lights. Harry glanced over at me in awe, studying my eyes as the painted stars lit up the room like a diamond. Sierra was presumably going to kill me; however, in that moment, I didn't care. It was a perfect experience for me, in such a strange way.
"I think it's looks nice," I placed my hands on my hips, only to find Harry's fingers replace mine. His chin rested on my shoulder, gazing up at the drawings intently. I angled forward to kiss his cheek, even through the dark noticing his face morph to a red.
"It does." Harry murmured. "I like it."
Next thing I knew, he had his hands holding me up against the wall. A few scraps of paint were left over on my cheek, transferring over to his. Our lips met jaggedly, far from how they were supposed to fit. Just as Harry's tongue went to slide into my mouth, the front door opened and we broke apart right away.
"Della? Sierra?" my mom's voice asked.
I sneaked a glimpse over at Harry, who had two of his fingers pressed to his mouth. I bit my lip and the bedroom door creaked open, followed by our padded footsteps. My mom was putting her car keys in a bowl and removing her shoes, coat and bag thrown across the room. She was just like me.
When she noticed Harry and I standing there, her eyes turned from hostile to flabbergasted. Then, once she tore off the last boot, she stood with a kind smile plastered on her face. No matter what, she always seemed to respect the guests, even if they were inked with tattoos.
Harry nodded shyly, continuing to stand slightly behind me. I forced back a smile at how ridiculous he looked, shuffling his feet awkwardly, eyes more pleading than ever.
"Seems I'll be seeing a lot of you then." she pressed. "You are Della's boyfriend, right?"
My eyes widened in humiliation, wishing that I hadn't walked in on her arrival. The saddest part was how confused we were ourselves, debating whether or not we were a couple. I mean, I don't know what Harry told his mom, but obviously he told her we were official. Now, what was I supposed to do? I flickered my eyes from Harry to my mom.
"Yeah, he is."
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