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When Harry pulled up outside of Kit’s building, he immediately felt bad that he’d judged her neighbourhood before even seeing it. The small, three story apartment building was located on a quiet, dead-end avenue. Two little old ladies sat on a bench across the street, and there were no gang members in sight. This wasn’t the Tower Hamlets he’d seen on the news, and he was relieved. Thinking of Kit living among drugs and gun fights was enough to make him want to kidnap her – of course, he wanted to anyway.

He climbed out of his car, clutching Kit’s scarf in his hand as he made his way up the chipped cement stairs. His stomach was twisting around erratically, something Harry wished would cease. There was no reason for it, he tried to convince his mind. He silently scolded himself as he pressed the buzzer for unit six, telling himself he was being ridiculous.

He shifted his weight as he waited to hear Kit’s voice come through the intercom. He was just about to press the button again – like the obsessive nut you are – when he heard the window above him open, and a cheery voice call down, “hello!”

Harry looked up, seeing a grinning Kit leaning out the second story window, her messy hair blowing in the light wind. Seeing her bright, cheeky smile caused a wide grin to spread across Harry’s face, and it took him a moment to remember to reply to Kit.

“Hello, you,” Harry called back, beaming at Kit. She was incredibly adorable. “Erm… Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair?” He asked questioningly, feeling a bit silly reciting fairy tale quotes to Kit, though the grin remained on his face.

Kit laughed loudly, the old ladies across the road looking up at the sudden noise. Any thoughts of feeling silly instantly vanished with the sound of her laugh. Harry realised then that he would do anything to hear that giggle. “Well, we could give it a whirl,” she mused teasingly. “Or you could just use this key instead,” she added, holding up a small silver key on an obnoxiously large, fluffy pink keychain. “The buzzer lock is broken… Ready?” she asked him, dangling the key out the window.

“Sure,” Harry laughed, easily catching the massive keychain. He fumbled with it for a moment at the sticky front door before the latch gave way and allowed him to enter. His nerves were still giving him a hard time as he took the stairs to the second level, and seeing Kit waiting at the open door for him didn’t lessen the jittery feeling.

“Hi!” Kit greeted again, her voice sounding overly chipper. She had been anxiously awaiting Harry’s arrival all afternoon, and was unable to hide her excitement at seeing him. She leaned against the door jamb as he walked down the narrow hallway towards her. She had been apprehensive about her invite to him, wondering whether or not it was a good idea. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t. But as Harry stepped down the hall, all of her thoughts disappeared. He had a hold of her, something she couldn’t resist.

“Hi,” Harry echoed Kit’s greeting, stopping in front of her door and offering her a wide smile, sprinkled with a hint of bashfulness. Kit matched his smile, though the bashfulness apparent in Harry’s smile wasn’t present in hers. Without a second thought, she threw her arms around his waist as soon as he was close enough, pulling his body tightly against hers. Hugging him felt incredibly right, two pieces of a puzzle magnetized to one another, though with the lingering thought of her boyfriend in the back of her mind, her closeness to Harry also felt terribly wrong. But he’d insisted they were friends – though she found herself struggling with the insipidness of the word – and Kit never let a friend cross her path without receiving a hug.

Especially when that friend was Harry Styles.

To say he was taken aback by Kit’s greeting would be an understatement. For as awkward as he was feeling seeing Kit, he assumed she would be feeling comparable. Knowing he wouldn’t have initiated a hug – as much as he wanted to – he was thrilled Kit had done so.

Her body felt perfect against his, and as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders he could smell her sweetness – whether it was shampoo, lotion or just Kit, he didn’t know, but it was delicious. He loved it. He allowed his hands to run down her back just once, imitating his actions from New Year’s Eve. How was he supposed to be friends with her when she made him feel the way he did?

After a moment of an embrace, Kit came back to earth and met Harry’s eyes. She swallowed hard as she remembered the last time she’d seen him, and the last time he stood in front of her and looked into her eyes with such a shine in his own. With the memories of New Year’s Eve flooding her mind, she suddenly felt uncharacteristically shy.

“Uhm… well, come on in, then,” Kit remembered to tell Harry after a few too many beats had passed. She stepped away from him, allowing him to walk into her apartment and attempting to refrain from inhaling deeply as he brushed past her. Still, the scent of velvety vanilla and sandalwood mingled with the crisp winter air lingering against his skin wafted past Kit and she had to remind herself to remember to breathe.

“Thank you,” Harry replied, stepping past Kit, who had her body pressed against the wall and her arms stiff against her sides. Despite their embrace, her stance left him feeling uneasy. Again, he found himself doubting his decision to visit Kit.

“You have a lovely place here,” added Harry politely in an attempt to lessen the sudden tension, though it was a stretch. The small flat was bordering on hoarder territory. The living room was crammed with mismatched furniture, piles of books, magazines and miscellaneous items were precariously stacked atop a chipped coffee table. A bookcase was shoved into the corner, stuffed with even more books. A wooden desk somehow fit beside the bookcase, but rather than being covered with books, it appeared to be a craft table. It was impossible to tell what activity Kit was working on – the makings of at least three different projects were scattered across the desk.

“Thank you,” Kit replied, her voice sounding as polite as Harry’s. Naively, she hadn’t thought seeing Harry would be awkward. They had texted nearly incessantly since New Year’s and Kit had convinced herself that their almost-kiss would be forgotten. Silly Kit, though. She hadn’t forgotten the moment. The way her skin tingled as he ran his hands up and down her back, the way her heart fluttered when he confessed he wanted to kiss her, the way she felt safe and accepted and exactly right in his arms. Try as she might – though guiltily, she knew she wasn’t trying to at all – she hadn’t forgotten the moment and the feelings. She was certain she couldn’t, and never would.

Harry, though unable to tell what Kit was thinking about being face-to-face with him after the New Year’s Eve moment, knew that the moments leading up to the kiss that almost was wasn’t something he could easily forget, nor did he want to. He didn’t want to forget how soft her skin felt, or how her hair smelled like a strange combination of strawberries and charcoal. He couldn’t forget the beat of her pulsating heart against his chest or how perfect she felt in his arms. For his own sanity, he knew he should at least try. But trying to forget about Kit wasn’t something he was prepared to do.

“Oh… uhm, here’s your scarf,” Harry remembered, thrusting his arm towards Kit and awkwardly holding the item towards her. Mentally kicking himself, he wondered why he was giving her the scarf so early. Delivering her forgotten clothing was the only reason he was standing in the middle of Kit’s living room. If he had been smart and suave, he would have purposely forgotten the scarf. Now, he realised he had no acceptable reason to stay.

“Thank you,” Kit repeated, accepting the scarf from Harry and tossing it onto the sofa. She pursed her lips together, shifting her weight. She didn’t want Harry to leave so soon, but would he feel obligated to now that he’d delivered the scarf she didn’t even care about? She was desperate to get him to stay, and almost considered texting a neighbour and asking them to slash his tires. But rather than being an accomplice in a crime, she blurted out her next idea.

“Would you like a drink?” Kit asked Harry, her tone sounding hurried, as though she had to extend the invite quickly, lest he decided to leave. Her brows knitted into a slight scowl, confident that Harry would turn her down the same way she’d turned him down. How unfair she was, asking him to spend more time with her while having to stay in the friend zone neither one of them wanted him to be in.

Harry beamed, his reaction surprising Kit. “Absolutely,” he replied sincerely, the bright grin never leaving his face. He had to refrain from jumping up and down, thrilled that Kit had offered to extend the evening invitation. He knew, sullenly, but he knew, that the evening would be nothing more than two friends hanging out. Kit had made her feelings abundantly known – she wanted to be with Kevin, not with Harry. Though not a conceited man, he couldn’t fathom why.

“Really?” asked Kit, vocalizing her surprise without thinking. She felt herself flush, but a smile crept onto her face, matching Harry’s. “I mean… well, that’s good, then,” she corrected, an embarrassed scoff escaping. “Come on,” she added, gesturing for him to follow her into the tiny kitchen. She grabbed the kettle from beside the stove and stuck it under the faucet, meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Tea’s okay, right?” she questioned, hoping he wasn’t expecting something with a higher proof. Despite her brazen tequila shots on New Year’s Eve, Kit much preferred a cup of tea and a handful of McVitie’s than the bitter alcohol and a morning headache.

Harry smiled. Kit was so refreshing. He couldn’t remember the last time he stood in a girl’s kitchen while she bustled about, brewing tea and throwing a stack of digestive cookies onto a plate. The girls he knew tried too hard. Kit didn’t try at all, which was the most endearing thing about her.

“Tea’s perfect,” he told her honestly. He chuckled quietly as he watched Kit stand on her tip-toes, reaching her arm up in an attempt to grab the teacups from the cupboard. He watched her for a moment longer, distracted by her gangly yet intoxicatingly sexy form, before offering his assistance. “Here, let me,” he told Kit, stepping closer to her and resting his hand against the small of her back. He was surprised he allowed himself to touch Kit in such a spot, and when she turned to face him, he could tell by the widening of her eyes that she was surprised as well.

“Thanks,” Kit told Harry, watching him as he easily grabbed the two cups and saucers from the top shelf. He smiled at her as he carefully placed the chipped china on the counter, causing Kit’s heart to skip a beat. He was so handsome. But more than that, he was so kind.

“You know…” Harry began, leaning against the wall as Kit examined the cups for dust. “In America, they boil their tea water in the microwave…” He let out a chuckle at the fact; not that it was overly amusing. But the tension encasing the room was suffocating and he was desperate to rid it. He wanted a reprise of the night before Christmas, before he’d insisted upon confessing his desire to kiss Kit. He wanted to hear her giggle and have her tell a silly joke, or dance aimlessly around the room. Instead, she was quiet and reserved, keeping her cards close to her chest, and it was all his fault.

Kit turned to face Harry, an incredulous look on her face. “In the microwave?” she asked him, her shock of the American way replacing the fluttery feeling she had after Harry’s gentle touch of her back. “Bloody savages,” she commented, shaking her head. “This is why you should just spend all your time here,” she continued, too distracted by her hostess duties to realise what she’d said. “People who boil their tea in a microwave can’t be… trusted…” she added, trailing off as she heard the words she’d spoken, feeling her cheeks heat up at her confession.

Harry grinned, wanting to grab Kit and kiss her fiery red cheeks. He didn’t think she could get more adorable, but when she was embarrassed, she was easily the sweetest thing in the world. Instead, he tucked himself closer to Kit, taking one of the polished cups from her hands.

“It’s true,” he mused, examining the floral cup. “First it’s microwaving water in a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee mug and pronouncing Zed like Zee, then it will be… World War Three and a hockey team in Las Vegas.” He snickered at his own joke, casting a sideways glance at Kit. When he saw a smile appear on her face, he felt relieved. Jokes were always a good way to break the tension, and if Harry had to become Jimmy Kimmel to get Kit to laugh, then apologies to Matt Damon.

“It’s a good thing you decided to make tea,” Harry continued, attempting to keep his tone facetiously serious as he set the cup down. He braced his hands against the counter behind him, the unspoken punchline of his joke causing a smile to break out on his face.

Kit looked up at Harry, a curious smile dancing across her cheeks. “Yeah?” She asked him, placing the tea bag in the bottom of each of the cups. He was laughing already, being part of a joke Kit was yet to be privy to. Normally, being left out of a joke would make her stomp her feet like a toddler, but Harry’s laugh was catching and she found herself laughing along with him without knowing why.

“What!” She demanded, her words vibrato as she laughed. Sharing a laugh with Harry, despite the unknown reason, caused the heavy air of the room to fade away, and leaving only two giggling friends behind. “Tell me!”

Harry ran his hand through his hair again before tugging on his lower lip in an attempt to cease his laughter long enough to emit the punchline. “Because… I’m wearing a T-shirt!” He told Kit, his voice raising several octaves before he began giggling again. He knew the joke was ridiculous, and hardly certified to even be called a joke, but he was finally hearing the sound he longed for.

Kit stared at Harry for a moment, unsure if she’d ever heard such a terrible joke in her life. Finally, her eyes squeezed shut and she ducked her head, her hair falling against Harry’s arms as she doubled over with laughter. She clutched her stomach, the other’s laughter causing each of them to crack up even more.

“You’re such a dork,” Kit told Harry, giggling as she straightened up, reaching out and giving his arm a playful shove. Unintentionally, she allowed her hand to linger against his tattooed forearm for a moment, feeling his soft skin on an otherwise rough exterior. Hearing her breath hitch as she touched his arm, she quickly drew her hand away.

Harry shrugged, unfazed by her comment though silently pleading with her to keep her hands on him. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But it made you laugh, didn’t it?” He pointed out, smiling at Kit as he reciprocated the playful shove, nudging her shoulder and letting his fingers gently pull through a lock of her hair. Touching her was dangerous, but he couldn’t help it. “That’s all I was after, anyway,” he told her honestly, his tone soft. He was treading on thin ice with his confession, and knew his feelings for Kit would only leave him with a broken heart, but nonsensically he thought maybe, just maybe, he could somehow change her mind.

Kit smiled at Harry’s comment but didn’t say anything as she turned back to focus on the tea. Comments like that were what made being simply friends with Harry so difficult. Kevin didn’t try to make Kit laugh. He told her that her laugh was more like a cackle, and was astonishingly irritating. Not to mention, Kevin wasn’t funny.

“Mission accomplished, then,” Kit finally replied, turning back to Harry with a cup and saucer in her hands. “Best add some milk; it’s quite hot,” she advised him, letting him accept the tea before turning to the fridge and pulling out a small carton of milk.

So are you, Harry almost told her but caught himself in time. It was true, though entirely inappropriate and, with his luck, Kit would see it as another attempt at humour and laugh loudly at his non-joke. Instead, he obediently poured milk into his tea and stirred in a small spoonful of sugar to taste. He watched Kit tend to her tea, and smiled as she added too much milk and way too much sugar, resembling a child desperate to drink tea though abhorring the taste.

“I’ve got that,” Harry told Kit, reaching out and grabbing the plate of cookies. As he followed her back into the living room, he felt incredibly domestic. He didn’t do things like this with girls. They went to fancy restaurants or on ostentatious trips. They didn’t sit around in cramped apartments, drinking tea and eating crumbled cookies. However, with a sinking feeling, he realised he did do things like this with friends. He couldn’t count the number of times he sat around a messy house with Nick or Ed, watching sports or romantic comedies on Netflix. He would lay around on the couch at Alexa’s house, comfortably silent as they both played on their phones. As far as friendships went, tea with Kit was entirely normal. But the difference was, Harry was entirely satisfied with his relationships with Nick, Ed and Alexa being strictly platonic. With Kit Carrington, not so much.

Setting the plate of cookies on the coffee table, Harry carefully gripped his cup and saucer as he stepped around the side of the table. He was about to settle onto the end of the sectional Kit had gestured to when a canvas print propped up against the wall caught his eye.

“Did you make that?” Harry inquired, placing his cup on the table and stepping past Kit to examine the painting. Gold coloured script spelled out the phrase “O, sweet creature!”. The font was a unique combination of Olde English and calligraphy, and while the painting was simple, Harry found it mesmerizing.

Kit followed his gaze, nodding when she saw what Harry was talking about. “I did,” she answered, feeling modest. She hadn’t been into painting for very long, and knew she was still developing her skills. Still, the painting Harry was looking at was one of her favourites. She found herself hoping he liked it too.

“It’s from Othello,” she added, scratching her fingers against her palms nervously. “There’s this scene when Iago is telling Othello about this dream that Cassio apparently had… Iago is trying to convince Othello that his lady is messing around on him. Which, spoiler alert… he does. So he says that Cassio had talked in his sleep about Desdemona, and he cried out ‘o, sweet creature’ in his dream…” Kit trailed off, her love of Shakespeare clearly apparent and warming Harry’s heart. He doubted Kendall could even spell Shakespeare.

Reaching over, Kit picked up the canvas and lightly traced her fingers along the letters, her pride in the piece evident. “It’s a rather fucked up scene, and there’s always debates on whether or not there’s, like… homosexual undertones, but…” She trailed off again, shrugging at Harry as she looked up at him. “I just always thought ‘sweet creature’ was such an oddly endearing term, so…”

It was odd, and it was endearing, just like Kit. The word creature was rarely used with affection, and while this term was used by a wickedly evil Shakespearian character in an attempt to sate the belief of an affair, Harry couldn’t think of a more precise way to describe Kit.

“I love it,” Harry told Kit honestly, watching her admire her work. “Why don’t you have it up?” he wondered, looking around the living room. The wall hangings were as eclectic as the rest of the apartment – some clearly store-bought, some vintage, but nothing that appeared to be homemade.

“Oh.” Kit answered, her voice flat. “Well… Kevin doesn’t like it,” she told Harry, regretting confessing the reasoning to Harry. Before his visit, she’d made a promise to herself to talk Kevin up, in an attempt to convince Harry that he wasn’t as bad as he’d seemed on New Year’s. But stating that Kevin wouldn’t allow Kit to hang her own artwork in her own home wasn’t the way to make him seem like a good man.

Harry scoffed loudly, shaking his head incredulously at Kit. “It’s your house,” he reminded her. He made a deal with himself, that if Kit could prove Kevin was a decent human being, he would believe her, and believe she was truly happy with him. But every time his name came up, Harry found himself hating Kit’s boyfriend more and more.

Kit shrugged again. “It should be appreciated,” she told him, straining to sound nonchalant but knowing she was coming up short. She traced her fingers carefully along the words again, thinking that sweet creature could be an apt way to describe Harry. Looking up at him, she offered him a small smile.

“Would you like it?” She wondered. She chuckled at her offer. “I mean, I’m sure your home is filled with… designer shit, but… You can say no, if you want to,” she quickly added, certain a wealthy rock star wouldn’t want her Poundland canvas covered with garage sale paint, but perhaps her friend Harry would.

“Really?” asked Harry, his face brightening at her offer. “I would love it,” he told her, not touching on her comment about expensive décor. He had some, of course, but knew now the most prized possession in his home would now be the Sweet Creature painting, given to him by the sweetest creature he knew.

Notes