~Cassidy~

“Give me my fucking goggles back, you fucker!”

I chased Matt around the pool deck. He was laughing his ass off, holding his arm straight up, my goggles clutched in his fingers, waving around in the air like some sort of flag. It was easier for him to run, since he was wearing flip flops; I, on the other hand, had to make sure I didn’t trip or stumble every ten seconds.

“Fetch!” he yelled, and tossed them into the deep end of the pool with a splash. I shrieked and dove in after them, hoping that I got to them before they settled at the bottom.

Once I surfaced, my goggles now wound around my wrist protectively, I wiped water from my eyes and saw that Matt was doubled over, laughing so hard that he had to clutch his stomach.

I screamed a long train of profanities out at him, but he didn’t seem to be hurt by them.

“You fucking asshole!” I shrieked, swimming over to the side of the pool and hoisting myself up out of the water. I stood on the pool deck, my wet feet causing me to slide slightly. I gripped my hair—which was currently hung in a ponytail—and squeezed it, making excess water droplets fall to the tiled floor.

Matt was still laughing, close to crying. I stalked over to him, holding out my arms. “

Come here,” I said in a false sweet voice, “Give me a hug.”

“Kane,” he warned but I was already there, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing him as tightly as I could. I was sure to let my hands snake into his hair and ruffle it all up. When I pulled back after many of his failed attempts to push me off, his t-shirt and shorts were littered with dark, wet patches.

“Cass!” he yelled at me, and I brought my middle finger up to my lips, and blew him a kiss. It was my turn to laugh now as he bunched up parts of his shirt and wrung them out, desperate for a way to get them to dry quicker.

“You little—!” he was off, chasing me again before he finished his sentence.

I screamed and turned around, trying frantically not to slip on the pool deck. There wasn’t supposed to be any running—but hey, rules were created just so that they could be broken.

I neared the side of the deck where the changerooms were, my goal being to run into the ladies’ changeroom and lock the door, finally ending our little battle. As I rounded one of the pool’s corners, I peeked back over my shoulder at Matt.

He was only ten feet away and gaining on me, a devilish smile plastered on his face. Then his eyes widened and his lips parted, gazing at something behind me.

I turned back to the front—only to crash into the naked chest of Harry Styles.

Oh, fuck.

For a nanosecond—almost as if it had happened in slow motion—I caught a glimpse of his face, only to find that he was looking back at me, a hint of surprise prominent in his jade eyes, accompanied by something else—something I could never figure out about him, something that had me wishing that I could read his mind, just to take a glimpse inside.

And then we were falling.

“Oh shit!” I yelled as we toppled.

Subconsciously, my right hand wound around his bicep and my left hand gripped his shoulder tightly. He held out his hand reflexively and it softened the blow to the ground somewhat. I heard him swear as he banged his elbow on the hard tiled floor—fuck, that had to have hurt.

“Holy shit!” I heard Matt yell, but his voice sounded muffled.

I had just pushed myself up, my hands on his bare shoulders, my long ponytail falling around us. Harry’s mouth was curved up into the smallest of smirks, his nostrils flaring with each panting breath he took—no doubt from the adrenaline rush—and his eyes glinted, amusement present in them. He looked really cute.

“Well hi,” he mused, his smirk growing a tad bit wider.

“Shit,” I breathed, not greeting him, “Are you alright? I’m really sorry.”

At the same time, we both seemed to realise our position. My hands were on his shoulders, my legs straddling his stomach. His fingers were wrapped unthinkingly around my bare thighs, igniting a fire that I didn’t know possessed. It raced along my nerves like little electrical cords, spreading, spiralling, and throwing me into a pit of oblivion.

“Um,” I shifted, trying to get up off of him, but I was wet and slippery, and I just ended up falling back down, my knees hitting against the floor and banging—hard. “Fuck.”

He chuckled lightly as Matt walked over. I looked up at him and held my arms out, and he took my hands, pulling me off of Harry. I stood, careful not to slip again, and rubbed my knee, where an angry purple bruise was already blossoming.

Fucking lovely.

“I’m really sorry,” I ground out through my teeth, wincing slightly as I pressed my fingertip to the bruise. Um, like, ow.

“It’s okay,” Harry grunted out as he pushed himself off the floor and wiped his back free of the millions of germs present on the pool deck. As he did, Matt sucked in a sharp batch of air, “Dude, you’re bleeding.”

Harry held up his elbow to his face, and I noticed a small trickle of blood running down his arm. “Huh,” he said simply, “It would appear that I am.” He shot Matt a grin.

“Let me take you to the janitor’s closet,” I blurted suddenly. Matt and Harry both looked at me incredulously and I hastened to amend things, “I mean—there’s a first-aid kit in there, right? I don’t know what I’m saying, I just feel bad.”

They both chuckled at my babbling.

Matt looked sheepish and ruffled the hair on the back of his head, looking at me cautiously, “Yeah, um sure,” he said slowly, like he was trying to analyze my sudden change in attitude towards Harry, “Just be back soon, you guys are supposed to be in a lesson right now.”

I nodded firmly and Harry ran a hand through his chocolate curls and waves before turning on his heel and making his way back into the changeroom.

Matt looked at me, “You sure? What’s going on, Cass?”

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant and hoping he’d buy it, “I have to start being nice to him some time, right?”

Matt suddenly broke into a wide grin, and I felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders; he’d actually bought it. He clapped me on the back, “You’re a good friend, Cass.”

Desperate to get onto a different topic—I had a feeling I’d slip up if we continued talking about this—I scoffed dramatically and flipped my hair, beginning to walk towards the women’s changeroom.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I called over my shoulder, and he laughed, making me smile.

Once again, as I entered and pulled on a pair of shorts, I couldn’t help but to feel guilty about lying to Matt. He was my best friends, and he’d done way too much to deserve this, but I knew that I couldn’t stay away from Harry even if I tried. Things were just so fucked up right now; I had to choose between my best friend and the guy I lov—liked. The guy I liked.

My jean shorts were now tainted with small wet patches from my bathing suit, but I didn’t care. Squeezing out some more excess water from my hair, I pushed through the changeroom door that led to a main hallway in the community center.

Harry was already there, waiting for me. His hair was still completely dry, and he only stood there in his swimsuit, no flip flops, nothing—but then again, I wasn’t wearing shoes either.

I really want to touch his hair right now.

“Hey,” he smiled at me. I tried to return it, but I don’t think I did. He seemed to realise something was off, but he didn’t press for details.

I simply walked past him, “Come on.”

He followed me, and we turned around the corner. I opened the janitor’s closet and stepped inside, searching vainly for the first aid kit. The closet actually wasn’t all that small. There were several shelves, a sink and a counter, and a small chair. Littering the shelves were cleaning wipes—Lysol—sprays, various rags and towels, and boxes of bandages.

Finally I found the kit hanging on the wall. I pried it down and opened it, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage. I turned to Harry, who had ducked into the small room as well.

“Elbow?” I said, and he held up his arm. I grabbed a paper towel from atop the counter—they were bunched in rolls—and cleaned away the blood.

“You alright?” he questioned me as I balled up the now red-stained paper and threw it away. I nodded, scratching the back of my neck, and reached for the disinfectant. Before I could though, an arm snaked over my shoulder, and Harry snatched it away.

“Hey!” I scolded, reaching for it, but he held it over his head, “Nuh-uh,” he said childishly, but the expression on his face could not be more serious, “First tell me what’s wrong.”

God, he was persistent.

“I can’t keep lying to him,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, “I’ve never lied to him before. I feel so guilty.”

Harry nodded and I opened my eyes again. He was biting his lip; his torso attracting my gaze like it was a fucking neon sign. My eyes kept dropping to the intricate tattoos, and each time, I would force them back up, determined to not let him catch me and smirk, because I knew I would blush.

His hair, though. Holy shit, I want to run my fingers through it.

“I thought you wanted this,” he told me, and he sounded hurt. Fuck, I didn’t intend to hurt him.

“I do,” I urged him. I swore and rubbed my forehead with my fingers, wishing that things just weren’t so difficult and complicated right now. Everything in my life was always complicated. Things at the orphanage often spiralled out of control. My career had high standards that were so fucking hard to reach. And now…this.

“I just—,” I sighed, “I wish I didn’t have to lie to Matt in the process. Why did he even tell you that we couldn’t do this?”

Harry shrugged, still gripping the bottle of disinfectant, “I don’t know,” he said, his brow furrowing. He looked sincere, so I believed him. I just wished I could’ve asked Matt why the hell he didn’t want Harry and I doing—whatever this was.

You’re his fucking girlfriend. How many times must that be repeated?

But I couldn’t ask him, because then he’d know. Everything was just one problem—one complication—after the other. Fucking peachy.

“I want to be with you, though,” Harry told me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked up at him, my lips parted. He smiled lightly at me, his fingers coming up to dance along my jawline, “If you don’t feel the same way, just let me know.”

“I do,” I explained, my cheeks turning pink—I’d never really admitted it so openly before, “But I just—I…” I trailed off, not being able to describe what I was feeling at the moment—all of my thoughts were just so jumbled and mixed up, leading me to confusion of what to believe…it fucking sucked.

I bet his curls are silky and soft.

My subconscious was a fucking blabbermouth. Just shut up with the hair for a second, would you?

“I get it,” he nodded, and handed me back the bottle. I took it, sighing, and I spritzed some of its contents onto his elbow, then setting it back down on the counter, reaching for a bandage and ripping open the small package. I smoothed out the Band-Aid, my fingers brushing against the skin of his elbow, sending small tingles through my body.

“You’re turn,” he told me, and then—so suddenly—he lifted me by my thighs.

I yelped—surprised—but he just chuckled, setting me down onto the counter. He pulled over the small chair and sat on it, grabbing my calf and setting my foot on his thigh. Wherever his hands touched, I was on fucking fire.

“It’s bruised,” he noted coolly—the farthest thing from what I was feeling right now, “But you also scraped it a tad bit. Here—”

He grabbed the bottle of disinfectant and sprayed some on my knee, blowing on it to quicken the drying process. I tried to keep in a shiver. His warm breath tickled my flesh, his hands like hot-pads on my legs, fingertips tracing swirling circles along my skin. Holy crap, I was completely caught now.

“Bandage?” he held out his hand. I fished out another Band-Aid from the packet and handed it to him.

“Here you go, doc,” I joked, and he cracked a small smile. He ripped the paper covering with his teeth, and I swear I was panting now. Slowly, he smoothed the bandage out on my knee, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.

I couldn’t help it: I reached out and ran my right hand through his hair, feeling the volume and the softness between my fingers. Immediately, his head snapped up, gazing landing on mine, and I bit my lip. I know I should’ve pulled away, but his eyes—those astonishingly beautiful eyes—were looking at me as if asking—no, no, begging—me to continue.

So I did. My left hand joined in, fingers braiding through his hair, marvelling at how soft it was, how easily the curls and waves slipped through the creases of my fingers, my palms. I tugged on some of the hairs at the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes, and we sat there in silence, my hands exploring his tresses. I expected him to stay still, enjoying the feeling.

What I didn’t expect was for him to mutter, “Fuck,” and then stand abruptly, causing me to lean back slightly.

And then his lips were on mine, our mouths a flurry of intimacy. He bit at my bottom lip, nipping at it, his tongue immediately tangling with mine, delving into each other’s mouths and tasting them. He tasted exactly as he smelled—the wonderful, cooling scent of spearmint, so intoxicating.

“God,” he groaned, as my mouth trailed from his all the way to his jawline. I trailed the tip of my tongue along the chiseled bone, tasting the sweet smell of spearmint mixed in with a salty tinge of sweat—God, it tasted wonderful. His mouth nipped at small patches of my neck, not hard enough to leave a mark—thank God—but just enough to have me craving more.

My hands were everywhere: tangled in his curls, splayed out against his back, gripping his shoulders, running along the warmth of his chest.

His were resting on my legs, fingers pressing into my thighs as he slid me closer to him on the counter. I wrapped my legs around his waist, ankles locking, heels rubbing inexorably and obstinately against the small of his back. I closed my eyes while he continued to suck on my neck, making my breathing speed up.

And then my common sense came back to me. Fuck.

“We—we should go,” I gasped out, knowing that Matt was probably waiting.

He froze, hands still painfully grasping my thighs, but I didn’t mind. He sucked in heavy, choppy breaths. I could see the muscles in his back contracting and expanding as he did so.

“Fuck, you’re right,” he whispered against my neck, his hot breath sending an irrepressible shudder down my spine.

He pulled back, his hair all dishevelled, his lips slightly swollen. I looked away, afraid that he’d be mad, but he just smiled sheepishly at me, raking his hands through his hair and mussing it all up the way it’d been before. “Sorry.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Don’t be sorry,” I shook my head, shooting him a small smile, which he returned. He put his hands on my waist and lifted me from the counter, pressing one last kiss to my forehead as he did so.

Once I was securely standing on the ground I closed up the first-aid kit and pinned it back onto the wall, stretching out my limbs.

“Come on,” Harry’s arms wound around my waist, making my eyes widen, and he planted a kiss to the side of my head. I turned to him, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Styles, I’m coming.”

He rolled his eyes, ducking his head close to my ear as we exited the closet and entered the bright hallway again, making our way back to the changerooms.

“My name,” he breathed, sending my body into an involuntary spasm when I felt his hot breath on my throat, “Is Harry.”

He was simply stating a fact, wasn’t he? So why did I feel so oddly happy?

Was it because I—? No.

Notes

Crappy ending, I'm sorry. I'm also sorry for taking a long time to update. Guys, I think I may only be able to update once or twice every two weeks :( I'll do my absolute best to make time, but please don't be mad.

VOTE! Let's reach 115+ votes? COMMENT too! I love waking up in the morning to see the comments...they start off my day in the best way! I love you guys!

Random fact: Grapes explode when you put them in the microwave (don't try this at home...or anywhere, really).

~Off to watch PLL now, bye~