Rays of sunlight come streaming through the window, hitting me square in the face and nearly blinding me. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn over in bed, pressing my face into the sheets. Inhaling deeply, I begin to realize that these sheets don't smell like mine. I open my eyes, panicking for just a moment before realizing where I am.

Last night when Harry took me back to my dorm, I found out that I had inconveniently forgotten my keys inside. I told Harry to just leave, and I would wait for my roommates to come back and unlock it for me, but he insisted on waiting with me. After an hour with still no response from any of my roommates, Harry finally convinced me to just go sleep at his place. He tried to stay up and talk with me, but his friendliness only conflicted and confused me more, so I pretended to fall asleep to just avoid the whole thing altogether.

Harry must have carried me to his bed at some point, because I could have sworn that I was on his couch before. My question is how he keeps picking me up so effortlessly, because I a not a small person by any means.

Forcing myself to sit up, I look around the room and see that I am alone. I also notice that I am no longer wearing that terribly uncomfortable dress and instead am wearing one of Harry's black tshirts. I do remember changing into it, so no worries.

I can't tell what time it is, so I walk quietly from the bedroom in case Harry is sleeping somewhere in here. To my surprise, I see a pillow with a folded blanket sitting on the brown, leather couch with no sign of Harry anywhere. Just as I am beginning to freak out just a little, I hear the sound of water running from the next room over. When I enter the kitchen, an amazing smell reaches my nose and I see Harry standing with his back to me, shirtless and rinsing something in the sink.

Okay, that's for sure sexy as fuck, but what is it with guys standing shirtless in the kitchen every time they have a girl over? That happens in movies all the time, but I kind of just thought it was a myth. I guess I was wrong about that one. Also, if those are pancakes I smell, I'm literally going to die of happiness.

My breath hitches in my throat at the sight of the morning sun shining through the window and onto his tan, tattooed skin. When he turns around, the light hits him in such a way that outlines his silhouette and makes him look like an actual angel descending from heaven to make me food. But aside from all that, when Harry smiles at me, I become suddenly terribly aware of the fact that I have no pants on- just a lacy black thong and his tshirt that barely covers my ass. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Good morning," Harry says in his deep, groggy morning voice. His eyes dart down to my legs as I try to pull the shirt down as far as it will go. He doesn't look long, and when his eyes meet mine, I can see just a little bit of redness infiltrating his cheeks. Is he blushing?

"Good morning," I reply, nervously walking towards the counter and standing behind it to hide myself. When I get closer to him, I see that there are, in fact, pancakes cooking on the stove. Hell, yes. "Thanks for letting me stay here, Harry. I really appreciate it."

"Any time." As soon as the words leave Harry's mouth, I can see that he becomes slightly flustered, which honestly, is totally adorable. "I mean, yeah, no problem," Harry corrects himself, turning again towards the window and taking two plates from the shelf. He sets them on the counter beside the stove and picks up the spatula, flipping the beautiful, sweet carb-cakes onto the plates.

"I hope you like pancakes," Harry says smilingly, walking past me to the kitchen table and setting the plates down.

"Who doesn't?" I laugh nervously from my place behind the counter and try not to think about the fact that I'm literally standing here with no bra in my underwear. Harry glances up at me again and tells me to wait just a moment before he heads into his bedroom. When he returns, he is wearing a plain, white tshirt, and in his hand, he has a pair of plaid pajama pants.

God bless this boy.

Harry hands the pants to me, bashfully turning away and walking towards the refrigerator, "Do you want anything to drink? I have milk, orange juice.... water?"

He looks over to me again and sees that I am pulling the pants over my legs, the sight of which causes him to turn his face hurriedly away. Okay, what is with him today?  Was he this nervous last night, too? I can remember everything from last night pretty clearly, but maybe I managed to miss him acting like a nervous twelve-year-old boy. I really don't know.

Either way, Harry is acting really weird and I don't understand it. I'm sure he's had many girls in this kitchen with less than what I'm wearing, so I really don't get why he's being so considerate of my privacy. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it a lot. I'm just confused.

"Water is fine," I tell him, tying the drawstring on the baggy pajama pants, and walking towards the table. "Thank you."

Harry sits down at the table, placing both the glass as well as a fork down in front of me before he absolutely drenches his pancakes in syrup. I can't help but laugh at him because damn, son. That's a shit ton of syrup.

"Would you like some pancakes with that syrup," I ask him, taking a much-needed sip of water. The water feels like life is being restored into my poor, dehydrated body for the first time in days. I'm by no means hungover, but dehydration doesn't make you feel all that great either.

Harry glares playfully at me before sticking a syrup-coated piece of pancake in his mouth, "You know, if you're just going to be mean to me, I'll just have to take those pants back."

And Harry is back.

I laugh, cutting into my first pancake, "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," Harry smirks, placing his fork across his plate and raising his brow at me. I can't help but admire the way he looks at me. His messy brown hair looks like a bird's nest atop his head, and the way he crosses his tattooed arms over his chest makes my inappropriate subconscious begin to daydream about him pinning me down on the kitchen table and really kissing me.

Shut up, brain, I tell myself, wondering where the hell such a thought would come from. That's a bit of an extreme reaction to him crossing his arms, don't you think?

Blushing at the boldness of my thoughts, I look quickly away from him and pop a piece of pancake in my mouth. For fuck's sake, is there anything this boy can't do? He swing dances, sings, plays guitar, and cooks? How on earth could someone be this perfect? Riddle me that.

"So," Harry hums casually, staring at the bit of pancake on his fork that is just dripping with syrup. "How are you feeling this morning? Need any Advil?"

It's now that I realize I still have makeup on from last night, and it's most likely smudged so badly that I probably look like a zombie. Oh, shit. I probably got it all over Harry's nice, white sheets, too. I am officially the worst houseguest ever.

I force a laugh, trying to cover my embarrassment, "I realize that I look like a walking piece of shit, but I really feel totally fine."

Harry frowns, his forehead tensing up and his eyebrows drawn together in a very concentrated stare, "You could never look like shit, Camryn."

His words make my heart swell momentarily before he goes and ruins the moment with another comment.

"But I must admit, you have looked better than you do right now, what with all that junk still on your face," Harry chuckles, the smallest of smirks tugging at the corners of his mouth to reveal those cute dimples of his.

I roll my eyes at his remark and pay him no more attention as I continue eating my ridiculously delicious breakfast. I may appear somewhat cross with him; however, I'm secretly cherishing every moment of this meal together. Everything is simpler here at the breakfast table. We're in pajamas, giving each other a hard time, and eating the greatest meal known to man in a bright and happy kitchen on a Saturday morning. Literally though, how much better can life get than this?

Despite the complete pleasantness of this morning, I can't help but wonder just when the daze will end. I mean, aside from last night, Harry and I hadn't talked since he kissed me, so I just want to know what this means for us. I had resigned to the idea of never seeing him again, but now, I don't really know whether I'm supposed to lift the mental ban I had placed on the topic of Harry Styles.

The last thing I want to do is disturb the quiet peace between us, but I just have so many questions that I need to ask him, so I don't know how much longer the stillness will last. I want this moment to last forever, simply because it's probably the happiest I've been in a long time, but as I have said before, all good things do come to an end at some point. I just wonder when that moment will be.

I'm not left wondering for very long though, because Harry is the one who says those terrifying words that no one ever wants to hear, "All joking aside, though. I do want to talk to you about something."

I freeze in place as I am chewing and try not to choke on my pancakes. My heart rate has surely skyrocketed in the last two seconds, and I'm honestly feeling so terrible that I fear I might pass out. Okay, yeah, that's a little dramatic, but still, I'm freaking the fuck out and I have no idea what to do with myself.

Do I look at him? Do I not? Do I try to ask him questions? What the hell does one do in a situation like this? I suppose actually listening to what he has to say is an option, but such a calm and rational approach seems somewhat silly to my frazzled brain at the moment.

Despite my internal panicking, I find that the best way to not look like a complete fool is say nothing at all and just nod for him to continue. Harry inhales deeply when I nod at him, and he puts his fork down before readjusting his whole body to face me entirely.

"Right," he says, rubbing his hands on his thighs and forcing his eyes away from the ground. "I wanted to apologize... for the other day. I shouldn't have been such a dick to you, especially after I..." Harry trails off, and for a moment, I hear a sort of weakness in his voice that I have never heard before. It's a sound that makes me feel the weight of his words as well as an absurd feeling of hope that I haven't allowed myself to have for several days.

His eyes meet mine, and I can see that there is real sadness trapped behind those green irises. Surely, he can't be feeling this bad about what happened between us. There must be something else.

Unsure of what to say, I try to come up with some way to ease whatever guilt he may have, but Harry beats me to it, "I'm sorry that I came onto you like that. I don't want you to ever feel like I've taken advantage of you."

Wait, what? Is it just me, or did what he just said sound like he's implying future interactions? Surely, I'm overthinking this and he's just trying to move on so he doesn't have to think about me anymore.

Even if that is the case, even if he's just trying to clear his conscious, I feel as if I owe it to myself to at least let him know how I feel about him. He doesn't need to know all of it, clearly, but he at least should know that I wanted to kiss him. Maybe that's a bit bold of me, but honestly, I don't really care. If I don't tell him, I'll always wonder what would have happened if I had said what was actually on my mind.

"Harry, no. Yeah, you were kind of a jerk that day, so you can apologize for that, but please don't apologize for the other thing. I..." Okay, this is where I chicken out, I know it.

No, I remind myself. Tell him.

"You've never taken advantage of me, Harry," I say rather firmly. "You've helped me more than I can possibly begin to explain. And as to the other thing, I wanted you to do it. I know in the moment, I was kind of a bitch about it, but believe me, I really wanted you to do it."

I fall silent, gathering my pride and my dignity and bracing myself for the worst case scenario of what he might say to me. I sneak a glance at Harry and see that he has a surprised expression on his pretty face. His soft lips are slightly parted and his striking eyes seem to be alive with wonder. I can't help but accredit this change in demeanor to my ballsy confession, and for the first time in my life, I think I have actually said the right thing.

"You- you did?" Harry questions me, his voice completely uncertain and shaky. I can't explain why, but I love the idea of him being nervous around me. I guess it just makes me feel like maybe I'm not just one of the other girls he's entertained. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help but think that maybe I'm different than them. Surely, Harry isn't faking his nerves. I hope for my own sake that he's not.

Despite my doubts, I try to keep my head in the game and actually have this conversation with him. We've talked a lot during our brief whatever it is, but never before have we talked like this.

"Yeah, I did," I reply encouragingly, forcing myself to give him a small smile before I say the most ballsy thing I've ever said in my life. "Harry, you should know that I still do.. you know.. want you to kiss me."

My heart is literally racing now as I wait for him to say something. I have this problem where I can't have caffeine because it makes me feel like I'm going to have a heart attack, and right now, that's about the same feeling that's happening. It wouldn't be so bad if I could actually read Harry's expression, but alas, he is sitting there with that same look of concentration on his perfect face. It's a good look for him, but right now, I just wish that he would reveal his reaction to my words instead of just staring at his knees and absentmindedly chewing on his lip.

After what seems like actual hours, Harry finally cracks a bit of a smile and I begin to feel my pounding heart slow just a bit. For a moment there, I thought he was just going to shrug off what I said and move on without discussing it. Or even worse, I feared that he would mock me for my honesty. It's not like him to tease someone for things that actually matter, but still, the fear was there.

"Good," Harry finally says, the sound of hope evident in his tone. That sound, in turn, further inflates the small bit of hope that I have allowed myself to have. If this goes crashing down now, it's going to be a bitch to clean up. Hope makes things messy, and right now there's of a lot of it in this room.

"I know I've probably been confusing to you these last few weeks," Harry murmurs, lifting his panicked eyes to look me in the face. "I haven't done this kind of thing in a while... You know, like taking things slow."

Is he seriously going to bring up his past flings right now? We're literally still in the flirting stage; there's no need for such a weighty confession.

"You're going to think I'm crazy," Harry continues, an embarrassed smile plastered across his face. It's in moments like these when he looks like a little boy that I really love to look at him. It gives him a sense of innocence that makes my heart flutter like a little girl in love. Whoa there, let's chill with the L-word.

"But I really like you, and it's, like, really weird to me, if I'm being honest. I didn't really expect to feel this way about someone so soon into the school year," Harry admits with just a bit of his normal confidence returning to his composure. I adore his nervousness, but his confidence drives me crazy in all the right ways.

But aside from analyzing his demeanor, let's talk about the fact that that he just told me he likes me. Um, what? I mean, I guess I knew he did a little. Why else would he drive all that way to my house when he didn't have to? But still, I never expected for him to just say it out loud without me pushing him to have a conversation about whatever the hell is going on between us.

He's being uncommonly upfront to me, and it makes me wonder where this side of him has been all along. He would go literal days without so much as waving at me despite us being in the same room three times a week, but now he's sitting in front of me telling me he likes me? I'm not complaining, I'm just a little surprised.

"I'm sorry," I smile nervously, mentally slapping myself on the tit for such a ridiculous reply. He just told you he likes you and you say 'sorry'?

Harry doesn't seem to think I'm dumb, though. He simply laughs and rakes a hand through his messy hair, "You apologize too much. It's not your fault that I don't know how to deal with my emotions. I'm working on it, but sometimes I slip up like I did the other weekend."

"I know the feeling; until two weeks ago, I hadn't had a right and proper cry in two years, so not dealing with my emotions is sort of a specialty of mine," I say in attempt to lighten the mood a little bit. I'm not very good at having deep conversations, and I tend to use sarcasm and humor to steer the conversation in a different direction so I won't be uncomfortable anymore. It's a convenient talent to have, but sometimes it just makes saying what needs to be said very difficult.

Harry smiles, "I'm assume you're just as confused as I am, then?"

"Indeed, I am," I tell him, finally feeling like I can breathe again. I'm glad we're finally both on the same page, it's much better for my poor nerves.

"So, what does this mean? ...You know, for us?" Harry asks, and I feel the weight of my stress come crashing down on me. I really don't know what it means; I've spent the last two weeks trying not to think about him, so I'm really coming into this conversation unprepared. I try to respond, but I end up just opening and closing my mouth like an idiot.

Harry scoots his chair a little closer towards me and offers a reassuring smile, "You don't have to say anything if you're not ready to. How about we just go slow, yeah?"

•••

lol I think that's a good place to leave off :)

I think I'd shit my pants if any of this conversation happened to me... which is why I'm here writing harry styles fanfiction instead of, you know, engaging in a real relationship with a person I actually know in real life.... hopefully, I'm not the only one who does that, too lol

Thanks for reading, voting, and all your lovely comments! I look forward to them every time I update, so keep them coming! Love y'all!

-Kate