#harrystlyes

There was a knock on the door, I rolled my eyes as I rushed to get it, dish soap dripping from my hands. I unlocked the door to see none other than London’s best known gangster, Harry Styles. I had suspected that my brother Freddy as been involved in some risky business, but I never thought he’d go this far.

Harry’s eyes trailed up and down me, stopping at my soap covered hands. “Fred in?” I shook my head. “Where’s he gone then?”

I shrugged. “Should be back soon if you want to wait.” I politely offered. He looked either side down the street and shrugged, smiling at me and walking past me into the house.

He walked into the kitchen, me not far behind him. He shrugged off his blazer leaving him in his black slacks and a white button down top. I turned to the sink and carried on with my task. “You Freds misses then?”

I scoffed. “No no, his little sister.” I looked over my shoulder to see he’d taken a seat on the small kitchen table in the corner of the kitchen. “You a friend?”

He shrugged. “Friend, boss...he’s kept you quiet.” Harry stood and walked over to me, leaning against the counter and peering down at me. “You know who I am?”

I nodded and placed a plate on the rack. “Everyone knows you Mr. Styles.” I picked up a tea towel. “Fancy drying?”

He shook his head. “I’m a washing up man.” I smiled and dried my hands, Harry and I swapping places. He rolled up his sleeves, show casing his tattoos. My eyes widened. “You never seen tattoos?”

“Only in the papers, never in real life.” I explained, drying a cup. “When did you get them?”

“Years ago.” He shortly replied. “Who do you think I am?”

I picked up a plate and gently rubbed the damp tea towel over the porcelain surface. “A gangster.” I nervously said.

He chuckled. “Gangster, got a ring that has.” He scrubbed a hard stain on a frying pan I had used this morning.

“Well...are you?” I asked, putting the plate in the small stack I had beside me.

He shook his head. “Not a gangster, just a club owner.” He smiled. He pulled the plug and let the dirty water drain. He washed out some of the remaining bubbles before picking up the small stack of plates. “Where do these go?”

I pointed towards the top shelf of the china cabinet. “But that’s not all you do.” I stated, finishing up the last cup.

“It’s not? What else do I do?” He helped put away the frying pan and cups.

“I heard that you...well...you do other stuff.” I pondered, no one had ever really said what he did, all just said that whatever he did it was bad.

He chuckled again. “Nothing else Doll, promise.” My heart skipped at the pet name.

I smiled again. “You got any fags?” He nodded and walked over to his blazer, feeling over the pockets before producing a plush cigarette case and a box of matchsticks. He passed me the case. “Fancy.” I mused, slipping a cigarette out of the pocket and between my lips.

He lit a match for me, bringing his hand to light the end of my cigarette. His eyes lowered into mine before waving the match out. “Real gold that is.” My eyes widened again as I puffed out the foggy air.

“Not plated?” He shook his head. “Now I know you do other things than owning a club.” He chucked again and sat down in his previous position.

“You got a boyfriend?” He asked. I shook my head. “Go out with me Saturday.” He requested.

I pondered for a moment, taking another long drag and letting it out. “Why would I get mixed with the likes of you?”

He stood and walked over to me, backing me against the countertop. He took the cigarette from my slender fingers and took a drag himself, his body pressed to mine as he blew it out onto my face. My eyes squeezed closed, I didn’t see his face move to my ear until I jumped at the feeling of his lips against my ear. “Cos I’ve asked you to.” He simply rumbled. “And I can promise I’ll be the best sex you’ve ever had.”

I scoffed and shoved him away, his head thrown back in laughter as he looked at my pink cheeks. “I wouldn’t sleep with you.” I snapped, crossing my arms.

He took another drag from the cigarette before stubbing it out on the ash tray on the kitchen table. “Good, can never respect a girl who opens her legs on the first date.” My eyes widened at his language. “So is that a yes?” He came over and snatched up the cigarette case, slipping it back into his blazer.

Damn he was charming. “I get to choose the club.” I bargained.

He rolled his eyes. “What club would that be then?” He unrolled his sleeves and shrugged on his blazer.

“The Golden Esmeralda.” I said. He looked down and shook his head, lightly laughing. “What?”

He looked back up at me. “That’s my club.” He toothly smiled at me. “Looks like Fred’s not back, tell him I stopped by will you?”

I nodded and followed him out to the door, he stepped down the large step and looked up at me. “Why do you want Fred?” I asked.

He looked down the street. “He was in trouble, but now I’m dating his sister I’ll let him off.” I scoffed again as he winked. “Goodbye...” he trailed off.

“Y/N.” I finished for him.

“Y/N,” he repeated. “Lovely.” He strolled away, my eyes widening as he unlocked a brand new 1964 Aston Martin.

“That yours!” I called from across the street.

He stroked the roof of the car. “Yeah! Lovely innit.” He laughed. “See you Saturday!”

“You better get me in that car!” I flirted. He simply winked and got in, driving away.

Well, I didn’t expect this. Harry Styles is known for creating moods as much as writing songs. From the soft-rock nostalgia of his debut (I am still working on a karaoke version of “Sign of the Times”, but I just can’t hit that last high octave, damnit…) to the warm, personal feel of Harry’s House, his albums often create worlds you can enter. With Kiss All the Time. Disco, Occasionally, he…