Inherent

Harry shakes his head in seeming disagreement and disentangles our hands to stand up from the sofa. My eyes follow his every move, still enraptured in everything he does.

“No, thank you, sweetheart,” he grins abruptly, and I watch in my own newfound disbelief as he readjusts himself at the crotch of his jeans so his abundant arousal isn’t quite as prominent. His smirk returns when he notices my bashful stare, shameless in his intimate actions, and I quickly look away with a thick swallow. It’s impossible for me to deny how sexy he is, especially with his confidence and how utterly comfortable he is with himself. If someone was so inclined they could still easily spot the bulge displayed in his trousers—even with his shirt half covering his hips. Everyone will jump to conclusions as to what we were up to in here, and what’s worse is that they would be right. Harry won’t mind, of course… and if he does he is more than capable of playing it off well.

I am a totally different story.

The fact that he was the one to stop things before they went too far is a little off-putting still, too, regardless of his explanation and seemingly infinite amount of patience.

“Right,” he starts; the sound of his throaty tone draws my attention upward to his devious smirk. I find my own growing, too, though mostly out of embarrassment, and I bite my lip to keep myself from letting loose a nervous laugh as he peers down at me. “Shall we get back to the party?”

Reality hits me now, and I remember we are not alone in Harry’s Castle. Heck, it is barely midnight and we still have the whole night to go. Selfishly, I wish I could have him to myself just for the rest of the night, but then I remember what Nick said, that Harry hasn’t been around a lot lately. Since I came along, in other words. So for his celebration of all times, I don’t want to keep him away.

He should be out having fun and celebrating too, I realize. I only wish I could feel the same way, though, with the recollection of the look Louis gave me I don’t feel nearly as brave as my actions made me out to be moments ago. Going out there now and facing everyone again, for some reason, seems terrifying.

“Oh… um, yeah. Let’s go,” I start off with a hint of apprehension and end off my sentence with painfully obvious fake enthusiasm. In tune with my emotions on a deeper level than I could ever imagine, Harry notices the instant my easy going mood disappears. He studies me closely, bottom lip placed between his teeth. I fidget under such close attention, crossing my arms over my chest out of insecurity and keep my eyes trained anywhere but on him, wishing he would go over and unlock the door already to avoid any possible confrontation.

Maybe he will let it go, like earlier when he first noticed my subtle shift in mood while we were still with everyone else… but that was only because we were so crowded, and I haven’t forgotten he might have brought me back here specifically to talk. When we are alone, like right now, it’s especially hard to even attempt to hide my true feelings from Harry.

His assessing gaze remains cool as he releases his lip from between his teeth only to run his finger over it in thought. He is so on to me. Standing around and looking guilty, I suppose, doesn’t help my cause too much either.

“Harry?” I question, hoping like hell he will see how uncomfortable I am and just let it go. I don’t even know how to explain my thoughts to him right now.

Despite my quiet, desperate plea he shakes his head. In the past he has done very much the same—pushed me when I felt most vulnerable, like I do in this second, and this time is no different.

“Something happened, just now,” he states, not an ounce of hesitation or indecisiveness in the short sentence. Totally sure of his conclusion, he closes the short distance between us until he is close enough to reach up and tuck a stray curl back from obscuring my face.

All I can do is idiotically shrug and play it off, and do a miserable job even with the small task. I don’t want to bring up my short-comings and insecurities—this party is about Harry, not me. He hums a sound of disapproval when I make no move to speak. “Care to explain, baby?”

“Not really,” I try to say cheekily, but it comes out shaky and my hands can’t seem to stay still as they smooth out the hem of my dress—always a sure sign of my nervousness. Harry frowns at my deliberate avoidance to his fishing concern.

“Julia.” His voice lowers an octave in suspicion and he cracks his knuckles, something I notice he does a lot when under pressure or irritated. Right now, however, it’s as if he does it to avoid the reoccurring urge to touch me, probably figuring I need space.
I wish he would touch me, if only to calm me so I can try and think rationally for a moment. My mind cogs itself with worries over Louis and whether or not he likes me, if I did anything wrong, if there is any hope in winning him over at all so I can finally clear my conscience and tell Harry. About my heart, not my stupid worries. Somehow I want it to happen more than ever—maybe then I would not be so caught up with just one person’s opinion of me, if Harry knew and accepted.

But right now—right now I panic and am not even sure I can make it out of the room, let alone spill something so huge.

“Something is wrong. Tell me. What happened?” Harry mixes questions with orders, but it all sounds like a demand in his firm tone. It makes me want to let loose all the worries I have withheld over the past week, not just tonight, ever since I agreed to attend this event with him despite being so socially inept.

“It’s nothing, Harry. We should get back, I bet people are wondering where you are. I don’t—”

Before I can form any more half-assed excuses, Harry interrupts my rambled speech with another quick shake of his head and a deeper voice which far overpowers my own. “Don’t lie to me, Jules. You shut down on me again, just then, and I want to know why.”

I swallow nervously again at his forceful demand, knowing know there is no way I can get out of the predicament I so mindlessly placed us both in. Reaching forward with a simmering touch, Harry abandons his earlier restraint and brushes the tips of his fingers against the pendant on my chest, the mere remembrance of the piece of jewellery and events which unfolded after I received it helps me to relax under the pressure, to collect a few of my jumbled thoughts and try voicing them aloud for once. The pendant appears to shrink under the grasp of his large fingers, the small mended heart looking as resilient and beautiful as ever. After a moment he allows it to softly fall back into its original place, and I muster up a little courage to speak. “I just—I’m afraid your friends don’t like me.”

Or Louis, in particular. But thankfully, his name doesn’t slip. I don’t want to get Harry’s close friend in any hot water because of me—Harry wants me to tell him how I feel, and so I am. Leaving out a couple of details, perhaps, but it’s not as if I am telling him a lie.

“What? Did somebody give you that idea?” He asks instantly, eyes hardening with irritation as he voices another simple, angered question. “Who?”

“No one,” I respond a little too quickly, still set on not getting Louis in trouble for my insecurities. In the big picture it shouldn’t matter if he dislikes me—he is more than allowed to form his own opinions. But it does, unfortunately, matter to me. Stupidly I can’t help feeling as if I failed somehow, in that I had just this one goal from the start of the night and I wasn’t able to accomplish it.

Before I was used to protecting myself from exactly something like this happening, and now I flounder for a way to cope… before Harry, I never tried, so it didn’t come as a surprise if someone didn’t like me. Tonight, though… tonight I tried, and the truth to the matter is that it wasn’t enough. Louis probably just isn’t fond of me, and I need to hurry up and get over the fact.

Harry straightens his shoulders as he stares at me, clearly unimpressed, and crosses his arms over his chest again. When I look longingly toward the door, now wishing to go out so I can escape this confrontation, he sighs. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

Deep down I know it might be my uncertainty about telling him tonight, about Alex and everything else which I have kept to myself for so long now, overflowing in the form of all these self-conscious doubts. Right now, though, this all feels very real and very valid. “I’m being stupid, Harry,” I admit on a huff, turning away. Great… I manage to annoy him on a night when he is supposed to be happiest. It’s just—with the time we spent alone in here, Harry treated me as if I was the most fascinating person in his world and now I am faced with the idea of going back out to face everyone again and for some reason, it makes me a little queasy. Momentarily I let it get to me, allowed my fears and worries to seep through even though I tried so hard for them to remain concealed.

“Don’t call yourself that,” he gruffs suddenly, rough and on the verge of shouting. His large palm encases my hip and he pulls me back around to face him. I have no choice but to stare up at him in surprise, rattled by the force he exudes in each word and the intensity in his gaze, which has darkened under the sparse amount of light. “You are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, Julia, and I won’t stand for you discounting yourself or your feelings.”

The ferocity Harry infuses into his last sentence is staggering, this being something he seems to truly believe. For several seconds all I can do is blink stupidly, dazed from his heated argument. A moment later I gather what is left of my wits and blow out a soft sigh, feeling defeated though admittedly uplifted. Harry truly does believe in me, and just from the way he looks at me is if I have gone totally mad tells me he doesn’t understand why I don’t feel the same way about myself. My eyes fall to the floor, focusing on his booted feet while I mumble out my latest begrudging admission.

If I could sum up how tonight has made me feel in just one sentence, this would be it. “I feel inadequate.”

As soon as the claim leaves the recesses of my mind is perhaps idiotically spoken, I close my eyes and wait in anticipation for Harry’s reaction.

“What?” Because I’m a coward and won’t allow myself to look, the only sense to his question I receive is his quiet, hard tone.

“In—”

“I heard what you said,” he cuts me off with a brusque snap which is enough to make me open my eyes again. Nothing ever prepares me for the power and intensity Harry manages to provoke, though I miraculously don’t resist when he swoops a finger under my chin and forces me to look him in the eye, as overwhelming as it feels.

“Explain. Because I sure as hell don’t see—in any way, shape, or form—how you could ever be considered ‘inadequate’.” He nearly spits the word out with such distaste he looks inexplicably close to exploding altogether. Now… now he looks angry, and it’s my entire fault.

Maybe he doesn’t see anything on the surface which could make me feel that way, but he doesn’t know, and I know now is not the time to bring it about. Not when he is angry enough already.

“Please calm down,” I urge quietly, fearful I might have ruined the night with my stupid insecurities. “I, I didn’t mean to…”

“I’ll calm down when you tell me what the hell is going on in that mind of yours. Where is this all coming from?” The fact that Harry looks utterly bewildered is disheartening, because I know he thought we were past this. I thought we were, too. And though he is no longer shouting, he has not lost a single ounce of passion.

“This is your night,” I attempt to protest one last time, feeling like a broken record, and I fidget when Harry’s jaw noticeably jumps. “I don’t want to make it about me.”

“Parties here are thrown all the time. I’m tired of them—the only reason I even attended tonight is because I wanted you to come. I’d much rather stay in here with you and fix whatever is wrong than go out and party,” he doesn’t let up once as he argues, so sure of himself I have to believe what he says is how he truly feels. “Now quit with the stalling and tell me.”
I shake my head one last time in resignation, though Harry takes it as a sign of my refusal. His eyes harden. “Julia…”

“Okay, alright,” I say quickly, all but shouting, because his anger might be rising to a crescendo I’d rather not be the focus of. He tries valiantly to mask his impatience, and waits the few lengthened moments it takes for me to gather my thoughts with his mouth set in a firm line and penetrating stare engaged solely on me. “I can’t help but to compare myself to others. To everyone here.”

“Is this about your silly belief that you don’t belong?” He demands, rehashing the topic we already discussed downstairs in the lobby.

I shake my head rapidly. “No—at least, I don’t think so.”

Great… with all this inner turmoil and none of it being voiced, I have confused even myself. Harry, thankfully, doesn’t react to my muddled speech, and slowly with my cooperation he loses some of the tension which caused his biceps to clench threateningly. “I just don’t see why they would like me, I guess. Everyone here is so… so confident, so sure of themselves and they’re doing. In life. And I’m not. So I’m afraid they won’t like me because of that.”

Not once did I even think about admitting any of this out loud, to Harry or even myself. I didn’t even realize half of this affected me as much as it did until I gave in and started to ramble, but it makes sense. It makes sense and it hurts, because it is just another thing to add to my list of insecurities.

Totally unmoving, Harry remains silent until I finish my frantic tangent and even then he doesn’t make a single move for several agonizing seconds. They feel like an eternity to me because it is impossible to interpret his indecipherable, neutral expression, eyes not once betraying what he feels. Except, perhaps, determination. This is something I tend to see a lot of in Harry, but the familiarization doesn’t do much to help me feel better. I don’t like when he is silent.

“You’re twenty one years old, right?” He asks suddenly, his voice deceptively light and casual.

“Yes,” I agree, slowly, wary now. Is Harry planning to hell me how childish all these worries of mine are?

Maybe he is finally tired of all my self-conscious doubts. Though I have felt more confident and stronger than ever lately, they still linger… and tonight has managed to bring some of them back from the grave. If I were him, I would be. I would have given up long ago, but that is just my nature. Harry is much stronger. He’s going to tell me to quit being such a baby and act my age.

“Right. So you’re twenty one years old. You achieved your bachelors—early, you single-handedly run your own graphic design venture, you pay every last one of your grandmother’s medical bills on top of taking care of her house and every headache which comes with that, and you work at a book store with an asshat of a co-worker five days out of the week.”

As Harry speaks his light tone falls off, gaining in power and firmness until he takes a deep breath to give me a dead-panned look, surely having noticed my frozen state as soon as he started to list off every single aspect of my life. When he says all of it out loud, it seems like much more than what I usually consider it. Which are just my day-to-day worries. “So I fail to see, even past all of that, how you are ‘inadequate’. I know you might not realize it, Jules, but you have your life together much more than a lot of people your age.”

By the end of Harry’s heated speech he breathes in slow, controlled inhales and exhales—obviously in an effort to keep calm, though his fists clench as if he can’t believe I could ever think such a thing. I am left motionless, utterly shocked by his heated rant and desperation for me to see myself like how he sees me.

“I…” I start, but I never get to finish because Harry crashes his lips to mine in a kiss so intense I would stumble backward if not for the solid hold he places around my waist, drawing me closer while I’m still so caught off guard from the abruptness of his actions. His head dips down to meet mine, me being too shocked to try and accommodate our differences in height like I usually would, but it isn’t before long that some sense finally kicks in and I wind my arms around his neck, pushing my torso into his while I try to bring myself as close to Harry’s body as possible. My mouth moves instinctively with his in a dance so natural it is hard to believe I was so inexperienced before he came along.

One moment he is arguing, loud, and shouting his disbelief and the next he secures me in such a tight embrace, his mouth solid and hold reassuring, all of it surely made to prove a point.

Regardless of my surprise, it only takes me a moment to gather my bearings and fully immerse myself in Harry. I tug at the end of his hair much like I did not moments ago on the sofa, loving every single kiss he has bestowed upon me tonight and his tongue skilfully slopes into my mouth, gently caressing my own. Then, without any warning, he grabs a hold of me by the upper thighs and lifts me in the air. I gasp into the kiss from surprise at the feeling of being so weightless in Harry’s strong arms, like my body is nothing more to him than an oversized feather. I have no other choice but to hold onto his neck and wrap my legs around his waist in an attempt to find balance, though he holds me securely. This new level of closeness is something my desire filled mind becomes caught up in, and ultimately I disregard every single point I brought up to Harry about my inadequacy. Because obviously to him, I am the total opposite. And that is enough for me.

He chuckles at my surprise; a deep, lust filled boyish laugh at both my nervousness and my natural instinct to lock my legs around his waist. I barely hear the clunk one of my heels make as it falls from my foot and onto the floor, far too absorbed in this new level of intimacy to care.

“Harry,” I breathe, flustered, right as my back gently comes in contact with a wall. This startles me slightly—before now I wasn’t even aware he moved at all.

He hushes me gently, his mouth close to mine as he stares into my eyes, so intense I have to look away. “I have to tell you something and I want you to look at me when I say it, because I’m not sure you’ve ever heard this before.”

Hesitant and with my heart in my throat, I drag my own eyes up from his collar bone to meet his, which haven’t lost any of their heat. “You’re enough,” he says, catching me off guard with the simple phrase. He rapidly searches my expression, probably to try and look past my surprise, and I part my lips to say something but nothing at all is articulated. No—no one has ever told me that before, and I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until Harry said it himself. He smiles, his mission of rendering me speechless once again accomplished. “Damn it, Jules,” he groans lightly through his faint amusement, leaning forward and into the crook of my neck. “You’re much more than enough.”

He lays lingering kisses to my throat, much like I had to him minutes ago, and in unison our breathing grows slightly laboured.

“You’re right,” I say, half babbling yet sure I need to let him know this too. And even though his lips are attached to my neck, it is a little easier to get this out when I’m not absorbed in the raw power his gaze always holds. “No one’s ever told me that before… and I, I want you to know that you are more than I could ever ask for. You know that, right?”

With support from the wall to keep me in place, Harry leans back. “You have it backwards, love,” he speaks deeply, focussed on my lips, which remain parted from my perpetual shock. “You are more than I could ever deserve… in this life or the next.”

One of his hands strays back up my thigh, not allowing me to form a heavy protest at his argument—which is probably what he aims for, and his long digits easily slips past the hem of my dress. He is phenomenal in distracting me from his explorative movements when he reconnects his mouth with mine with immediate, all-encompassing intensity. I don’t think I could ever get tired of Harry’s kisses, always new, always with meaning, whether it is to prove a point or simply to feel how much he cares. Never pointless.

Even with all my mind focussed on the kiss, I am still hyperaware of his touch because the cold air tickles my exposed skin as the skirt of my dress is hiked higher, stretching to allow Harry’s large hand until his nimble touch brushes against the waistband of my panties. I unwittingly flinch at the initial contact which is so foreign, panicked and exhilarated at the same time as his finger pulls at the tiny bow placed at the center front of my thong. When he pulls back to allow us both a moment for some air, I wait with bated breath for him to make his next move, my hand tangled in his hair again with my legs tense around his middle. He undoubtedly feels every one of these not so subtle reactions of mine, yet I can’t bring myself to be nervous or embarrassed because of it.

He pants from the seeming effort he exerts to hold himself back, eyes hooded and concentrated still on my mouth. I recall the self-control he mentioned almost losing earlier, yet somehow it doesn’t cause me any amount of worry. Harry might believe so, but I know for a fact he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. He has proved as much time and time again. “I would love to show you, just how adequate you are…” He inhales sharply before he can finish, and somehow despite his arm between us he rolls his hips against mine, creating an electric amount of friction which causes a soft, surprised whimper to fall from my mouth. I ache for Harry to do something—anything.

“But not here,” he finally says, and he sounds as if he regrets voicing his refusal as much as it disappoints me. My hammering heart jolts, instinctively fearing tonight’s second dose of rejection. “Because I don’t want you to regret this later, this happening… here.”

It is noticeably hard for him to string together his sentences in a coherent manner, this first time I have ever witnessed Harry with such a loose grip on his restraint, and I realize it might have something to do with how I instinctively clenched my thighs around him as soon as he began the mesmerising movement with his hips, in an all new torrid craving to feel more of him.

“When we get home,” he purrs quietly into my ear, an unspoken promise between his words, and he nips enticingly at my earlobe as his hand releases my panties and retreats from underneath my dress. I shiver at both the feeling and the need his words bring forth. “When we get home, I won’t be able to help myself. Not if you keeping doing that.”

With one final reluctant groan, he allows me to slide down the wall until my feet touch the floor. Or one of them, rather, as my other heel is abandoned some meters behind us and causes me to be a little unsteady… but in reality, it is more likely Harry’s effect on me. He still stands unbearably close, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and touch him again, to kiss him like I so want to, and he looks down at my madly blushing, lopsided form with my ruffled dress and flittering gaze with a satisfied smirk.

Before I can even think of what to say, a heavy knock raps on the French doors. My head snaps toward it, heart thumping against my chest. Harry hears it too, of course, but for several seconds he doesn’t react, eyes closed and lips parted as he breathes, visibly trying to calm down. His grip on my waist doesn’t lessen, however, and I’m stuck on how mind-blowingly considerate he is, even when I myself can’t think straight though my own desire. Because the hard truth to the matter is that, if he wasn’t the one to think before it progressed any more than it did, I would have done something I might regret—as Harry so graciously pointed out. Not because it happened, with him… but because of the setting. Because someone is outside, knocking, wanting to see Harry and that wouldn’t have been very good at all. I already feel shameful for just how much occurred between us, anyhow.

“Go on,” I say shakily. Harry opens his eyes and stares down at me, expression indecipherable once again. It is easy to tell, however, that he doesn’t want to end this moment as much as I don’t want to, either. “You can get it.”

When another knock rings through the heavy door and further slices through the little cocoon we have created in each other, Harry sighs and leans down to peck my lips lovingly one more time before he ventures over to the door, turning the lock on an already irritated huff. Another thing I have learned about him is that he doesn’t like to be interrupted—ever. He only opens the door a crack, enough to see who is there and so the visitor doesn’t catch an eyeful of my form still pressed up against the wall, blushing like a fool with obvious evidence of what just took place. While he speaks in a hushed voice to whomever it is and some of the noise from out in the club seeps in, I find my discarded shoe and put it back on quite bashfully.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Harry says eventually, the tail end of the conversation being all I can hear. He sounds frustrated, and that is putting it lightly; I remain still as he turns back around and faces me, with what seems to be a small mask of guilt forming over his features.

“Who was it?” I ask, curious and a little worried judging from how fast his mood has changed, even more since his initial annoyance at our interruption. He’s tense again, one hand at his hip as the other runs exhaustingly through his hair, mussing it even more.

“Security,” he answers, all of the sudden curt and not at all like the soft spoken Harry he was moments ago. I straighten, worried right away, because if security is talking to Harry something must have happened. He senses my concern, however, and tries to cover valiantly. “It’s nothing much. Someone wants to see me downstairs.”

“Oh… okay,” I reply, but if still feels like there might be something more he is neglecting to tell me.

“I want you to stay here, alright? I’ll only be gone a minute. Don’t leave this room.”

Recognition hits me as soon as I hear his strained, apprehensive tone, and while chewing on my lip I nod hesitantly. The man in front of me more resembles the one from the baseball game, the one who didn’t want me to leave my seat to get us some snacks. But I realize his worries might be justified in this club, I do… and I don’t even want to venture outside without him. And if I can’t go with Harry while he takes care of whatever’s is going on downstairs, then I suppose staying put in here is my best bet.

“A few minutes?” I ask with a small smile, trying to ease his worries. He nods in what seems to be relief and watches me as I approach him, tentative yet determined. I lean up to place a kiss to his cheek, at the corner of his mouth like he so often does to me, before I lean back down, my hand lingering on his forearm. “I’ll be right here.”

Finally some of his tension melts away, and with a murmured thank you and an order to lock the door behind him, Harry is gone.

Notes

Hello lovelies! I wanted to update on Sunday like I usually would but things have been so busy lately. A lot is changing for me--I got a new job just in these past few days alone and it's made things a little hectic. Plus I have a terrible cold right now... haha. So yeah. I'm not feeling the best.

I'm also not sure how I feel about this chapter! I edited it and was just like what was I thinking? lol. Hopefully, though, it is bearable for you guys! I did laugh when Harry called Alex an asshat. For some reason it seems entirely too funny to me.

Leave me a little love in the comments so I have a reason to smile when I get off work? :) Love you guys!