Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His eyebrows were furrowed, falling upon his eyes so severely that she assumed they'd simply shield them. His bright green eyes stared down upon the disconnected papers laying ahead. His hair was covering his face but he made no effort to push it away, almost accustomed to its presence there. He had a toothpick between his teeth, and she wondered if it had molded into his lips, becoming a part of his physical features, since she had never seen it move, or escape his lips at all.

He didn't grant his attention to her at all, not even when he finally spoke to her.

“ Montgomery, is it?” It took her a bit too long to realize that he was indeed, directing his words towards her, clearing her throat, forcing her eyes to look away from him.

“ Yes, sir.”

“ It’s Styles.”

“ Sorry. Mr. Styles.”

“ What are you here for, Miss Montgomery?”

“ I- um-“ She felt like telling him that she was there because all she ever wanted to do was write, and have people quote her words, and await for her weekly or maybe even daily article, to add pleasure to their otherwise dull day. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t have words to say, but she certainly had words to write. She wanted to tell him that she was there, because people never listened, so maybe, they’d at least read what she had to say. She could have gone into full detail, taking a day or two, to fully allow him to grasp why exactly she desperately needed that specific job, but as per usual, her words had failed her, as she stood there, contemplating every single decision she had ever made, that had led her to where she was now.

“ They told me that I should come here, and talk to you, since you’re the lead journalist in the paper, and you’re supposed to mentor me for a while.”

For the first time since she had stood by his desk, he removed his glasses, and stared at her. Hands locked with one another, a single leg bouncing under the desk, lips formed into a perfect, thin, line.

“ Who’s they?”

“ They, the-“ She turned to point a finger towards the junior reporter that had led her to him, but his voice immediately demanded her full attention.

“ I am not interested in what they told you to do, I simply asked you what you were here for, and you failed to give me an adequate response to that. I hope you have a more elegant way with written words, or we’d be in deep trouble.”

It was odd, really, how calm his voice was, soothing almost, even when he was ridiculing her. She blinked, searching through her scattered thoughts for a proper response to his accusations, but he rose to his full height, retrieving his few objects, biting down upon his toothpick in the process.

He then walked away, and she was certain she had lost the job she had no time to celebrate.

But then he spoke.

“ Tomorrow. 9 am sharp.” She stared at his broad back, shielded by his black winter coat, and she wondered if she had correctly understood what he implied.

“ Good talk Miss Montgomery.” Tilting his head backwards for a final glance, he stared at her through his glasses, a slight smirk taking over his features, before he turned away, shoulders , feet firm against the ground, hands hidden in the pockets of his coat, and toothpick, still captured between those merciless lips of his.

And the lone thought in her head that went past his mere being was; I got the job.

Chapter Text

His long legs rested on the table, his back leaned against his chair, looking past his reading glasses, upon the final papers for her first ever almost published story. She couldn’t quite stop fidgeting, as she awaited his crucial response; the response that would either allow her story to be published and her name to be known by at least a couple of people, or, trash that story, next to all her hopes and dreams. He could literally, make or break her. His firm features revealed no expressions, which only made her task of seeming nonchalant and professional, even more difficult.

“ You’re making me nauseous, Miss Montgomery.” His eyes remained on her papers, and again, she wondered how he managed to notice her instability, through his undying concentration on her writing.

“ Sorry. Nervous, that’s all.”

“ You shouldn’t be. Nerves mean that you’re uncertain, and you should never be uncertain when it comes to your writings. If you’re uncertain about your own story, how do you expect people to believe it?” He spoke so slowly, so carefully, that she found it extremely difficult not to follow the organized movement of his lips. After extremely lengthy, seemingly endless moments, he put her papers on the table, bringing his feet firmly to the ground, as he leaned forward, emeralds finally meeting her own fearful, easily intimidated eyes.

“ Okay, Miss Montgomery, would you like to tell me what you want to say here?”

“ It’s all in there, it’s-“

“ I read that, I don’t care for that,” He disregarded her writing, his features twisting in almost disgust, and she tried to not grow offended, but it was impossible, “ I care for what you have to say.” He continued.

“ I- I’m trying to tell the audience about how the husband ruthlessly murdered his wife after-“

“ Oh, you’re trying? I see.” He returned to what he was previously typing before she had offered him the draft to her first article, barely looking down upon the letters he was pressing, completely ignoring her persistent presence.

“ Is- is there a problem?”

“ Yes, Miss Montgomery, in fact there is. The problem is that you were trying to say something, but you failed miserably.”

“ Wh- what?” She couldn’t help the suffocated sound that resembled her voice, but he didn’t seem to notice, as his fingers ceased their professional movement against the keyboard, green eyes lifting to meet her own.

“ Lesson number one, Miss Montgomery,” He retrieved his toothpick, holding it in the air as if in a counting manner, his tone dropping in carefulness and tenderness, “ We leave traces of what we have to say in every single word we type, whether it be in how we spell it, or how we word it. I can say hard, you can say difficult. I can say shit, you can say rubbish. All about what we say and how we choose to say it. So, all you did here, was tell me how gruesome the murder was, and the kind of weapon he used and whatnot, and any reader can easily get this information through the internet, or watching two minutes of the 9 o’clock news. You gave them nothing to actually care for and be interested in. If you were the editor in chief, then we would have been screwed, because you practically burned the whole newspaper to ashes.” After his words had settled in, dissolving among all the other rather discouraging, mysterious, probably meaningless words he threw at her before, she felt the overwhelming urge to cry.

She didn’t though.

She simply collected the scattered papers of her article, avoiding the gaze that probably was no longer fixed on her. She couldn’t possibly look at him again, after he had deliberately shattered all her hopes and dreams, so she began walking away, sniffling silently as to prevent the approaching breakdown, but then he spoke again.

“ Miss Montgomery.”

God, the way he called her name, so discretely, so respectfully, that she just had to cease all her actions, and respond to him. She didn’t dare meet his eyes though, so she chose to only stop her march.

“ The paper shredder is down the hall, to your right. Don’t put too many papers at once or it’ll get stuck.” She knew he didn’t care enough to await a response from her side, so she continued her defeated march away from him, determined to spend all the coming hours attempting to fix her article, and hopefully, not disappoint him again.

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She woke up to the sound of papers crashing onto her desk. She flinched, adjusting her confused eyes to the familiar surroundings. She was still on her desk, crumbled papers covering the surface, dried drool where she had previously rested her head, and the final edition of the next day’s issue resting on top of all that.

“ Morning, Miss Montgomery.” Her eyes then fell upon his distancing figure, as he spoke casually to all those passing him by, accustomed to his slight roughness. She rubbed her eyes, clearing her blurred vision, only to see her name, at the top of a column in the third page of the paper.

“Written by: Aimee Diane Montgomery”.

She stood to her feet, quickly following the route that he had taken, ignoring all questioning, unfamiliar glares.

“ Mr. Styles!” She called, once he had come into view, but he continued his march, until he stood by the desk of the journalist responsible for the Hollywood page. Once she reached him, she opened her mouth to question the meaning behind this, but she was panting, breathless, even though it took minimal physical effort for her to actually find him. She leaned her hands against her knees, breathing in and out, the sound of her heart pounding almost deafening her.

“ Are you okay, miss?” It wasn’t his voice, but the other journalist’s. She weakly nodded, standing to her full height again.

“ What is this, Mr. Styles?” She pointed towards the paper in hand, as he eyed it nonchalantly, before refocusing his attention on the colleague’s computer.

“ This is tomorrow’s issue.”

“ Yes, I understand that, but what is my article doing in there?”

“ That’s normally where articles go, isn’t it?”

“ Mate, if you’re busy…” The other journalist commented, but Harry shook his head, maintaining his concentration on his friend. He always made her feel so small, so insignificant, which she was never used to; being the class’ star and the teacher’s favorite, even through college.

“ But I- I thought you hated it.” With an agitated sigh, he turned to face her, and she noticed he didn’t wear his glasses. His eyes were so….. green; like the forests in the hottest of all summers, so bright and alive.

“ Yes, I hated it, but you wanted it published, and according to the paper’s standards, it wasn’t that bad, so I put it in there, because you were so desperate for people to merely check your name, before flipping the page, or throwing the paper all together. And you got your wish, so what is to be expected from you, is to shut up about it, and do better next time.” His voice held such dominance, such firmness, that she was certain its octaves could slice her small figure in halves. The green of his eyes had dimmed, pupils widening in God knows what, as his chest heaved, almost colliding against hers, but not quite, toothpick never once falling out of his mouth. She noticed a tattoo peeking through the curve of his shirt, but she couldn’t grasp its full shape or meaning. After taking her time to manner her thoughts, she realized he was awaiting a satisfactory response from her side.

“ I- Yes, Mr. Styles. Thank you.”

“ That’s not shutting up about it, Miss Montgomery.” He rolled his eyes, looking away from her, and onto his friend again.

She stood there, eyes welling up in tears, for whatever reason. It might have been her exhaustion after the previous night, causing her to be overly emotional. Or the roughness he continued to treat her with. Or it could have been her being the hormonal woman she always had been. She didn’t know for sure, but her hands trembled, legs suddenly weak, as she cleared her throat, sensing his friend’s eyes on her, and hers on Harry, still.

She turned around, walking back towards her office, she stared down upon the paper, where her article was, and she didn’t sense the pride coursing through her. Her heart didn’t leap with enthusiasm.She didn’t intend on framing it and hanging it on her wall. Instead, she felt disappointment settling at the pit of her stomach, growing into some form of disgrace, because although, her article was up to the paper’s standards, it wasn’t up to his.

Chapter Text

She found them all walking into the chief editor’s office, including Harry, who gave her no instructions to follow or not to. So, curiously, she lifted herself off her desk, dissolving among the crowd of lead journalists and photographers, closing the door behind her.

“ Did you invite her to come?” The chief editor, who was a graceful looking woman in her mid-fifties, spoke, directing her question to Harry, who merely shrugged, uninterested in anything related to her.

“ Do you need her here?” The chief editor; Katherine Frost, presumed.

“ I don’t give a fuck. It’s your call.” Harry responded, eyes focused upon the folder that Frost was about to introduce. Katherine rolled her eyes, hissing a “bloody hell”, before nodding at Aimee to stay.

“ Alright, what we’ll discuss here is extremely confidential. Don’t talk about it, don’t think about it out loud, and just, don't drunkenly blabber about it to a perfect stranger, am I making myself clear everybody? Harry?”

“ That was five years ago, Frost, get over it.” For the first time, Aimee saw a genuine smile taking over Harry’s features. It was unfamiliar, but it looked good on him. If she could carry a civilized conversation with him, she probably would have told him to do it more often.

“ Okay, so, exactly an hour from now, they’re going to announce the murder of Viola Banks; wife of Ian Banks-“

“ Ian Banks? The multimillionaire who’s running against Liam Payne for a seat in the parliament?” Aimee eagerly spoke, earning quizzical stares from all those surrounding her, except for Harry, who simply shook his head to himself, eyes pinned on Katherine.

“ Yes. That Ian Banks.” Katherine responded, looking towards Aimee only momentarily, before refocusing her attention upon the circle of journalists.

“ Anyway, as you all know, there had been rumors about cheating and fighting and possible divorce between the two, which of course, aroused all suspicions towards Ian, therefore, he’s the main suspect. What we need to do is; Harry, you know how to go about this of course,” He curtly nodded, toothpick moving with the chewing manner his lips moved in, “ the rest of you need to find me pictures, of Ian getting arrested, or the crime scene, or anything related. Go around and look for any clues, talk to policemen, ask neighbors, anything. All other departments are to keep quiet. I’m telling you this before you see it on the news, and get ahead of yourselves, understood?” Everyone offered nods, before they scurried out of the office, while Katherine and Harry spoke discretely.

Not knowing what to do with herself, task-less, Aimee remained standing in the corner, watching their exchange with great anticipation. Finally, Katherine laughed, and so did Harry, before their eyes fell upon Aimee. His laughter ceased, all seriousness returning to his glare, and she wanted to disappear somehow.

“ Oh Aimee, I forgot all about you. You’ll tag along with Harry, won’t you?” Katherine’s eyes moved from Aimee to Harry, who shook his head, firmly, once.

“ Come on, Harry, you’re supposed to be mentoring her.”

“ She’s useless to me, Frost. She’s inexperienced, slow, in each and every way. I can’t work, with her consistently holding me back.”

“ I won’t, I promise!” She interjected, but then remembered that she was in no position to interfere between her direct supervisor, and the chief editor.

“ See? You can’t expect me to work with that.” Harry’s voice rose in volume and desperation, as he threw his hands in the air, toothpick between his fingers now, instead of his teeth. Katherine rolled her eyes, walking towards her desk. Aimee had her eyebrows furrowed, wondering what she had ever done, that was so incredibly terrible, to have left Harry with that impression.

“ She’s your responsibility, Harry. Plus, this isn’t a one man’s job, so you could use her help. Now, shoo, I’m busy.” Katherine put a nonchalant hand in the air, focusing on her computer, instead of Harry’s undying gaze. Eventually, he rolled his eyes, putting on his glasses, imprisoning the toothpick between his teeth again, as he turned to walk away.

“ We’ll go to the morgue to wait for the body and get the initial report. Don’t speak unless I ask you to, which I probably won’t. Don’t touch anything. Don’t do anything that I don’t directly, and explicitly, ask you to. Take notes, if you need to, but that’s it.” Harry spoke, taking wide, fast, steps away from Katherine’s office, with Aimee trailing behind him, struggling to keep up.

Once he reached his desk, he abruptly stopped, causing her to collide into his back. The speed with which they had collided, almost caused her to lose her balance, but she managed to regain it, holding onto his shirt for support. He didn’t fight against the action, nor did he aid it. He simply stood there, collecting the last of his things, along with his coat, before presuming his march out of the building, never once turning to see if she followed, because he knew that she would.

Chapter Text

“ I think I might throw up.” She leaned against the metal cupboard, attempting to breathe in, without drowning her senses in the dreadful scent of death.

“ Focus on your breathing.” He suggested, fingers skimming through the freshly printed report, glasses sliding against his nose bridge, feet tapping to the serene background music.

“ No. No, you- you don’t get it. Mr. Styles, I-“

“ Harry.” He simply stated, and her mind was too focused on clinging to consciousness to even begin to understand.

“ What?"

If you’re going to throw up on my shoes, then we should at least be on first name basis.” The confusion of his casualty was too much for her to handle through her nauseated state, as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the ground to stop spinning. The scent of detergents, molded into the rotting smell that leaked through the fridge’s chambers, nearly suffocating her lungs. There were traces of blood literally everywhere, although, the anatomic doctor had hid all organs away. It was all so incredibly overwhelming for her, and it didn’t seem to faze him at all.

He had walked in, kissed the female doctor on the cheek, laughed with her for whatever reason, before she had excused himself, telling him that he needed to hurry because she didn’t want anyone to walk in on him while he skimmed through the victim’s belongings and the confidential report. He had seemed perfectly accustomed to the horrific surroundings, while she had struggled to remain on her feet, and aim while throwing up.

“ I think I’m about to faint.” She choked out.

“ You’re not going to- woah.” Her feet gave out on her, and she almost collapsed onto the ground, if he hadn’t put his arms beneath her own, lifting her weight effortlessly.

“ Okay, maybe you are going to faint. Let me get you out of here.” He dragged her almost uncooperative figure out of the morgue, sitting her down on the chairs outside. He bent down on his knees, pushing hair locks away from her face, and his fingers lingered on her skin for a bit too long, and he didn’t really know why.

It was the most intimate he had allowed himself to become around anyone for a long, long, time, and he didn’t know what was it about her. Perhaps her innocence that leaned towards foolishness, or her eagerness and simplicity. It could have been that she seemed so lively, and how he just…. wasn’t. Her breathing slowed down remarkably, but her eyes remained closed. He knew she couldn’t see the way he looked at her, and for that, he was grateful. He pulled his hand away, clearing his throat and standing to his full height.

“ I’ll get the rest of my things, and we can go.” He walked back into the morgue, resting his back against the door, his breathing suddenly erratic. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, pulling slightly at the roots. His toothpick fell through his trembling lips, but he paid it no mind, as he collected the last of his belongings, typing the last number that the victim had called and texted, putting her phone away, before taking off his medical gloves and walking out of the morgue. He knew that if he touched her, then he’d feel all of that again, so he walked right past her, forcing his eyes to look straight ahead.

“ We can go now. I’ll be in the car.”

It was all so strangling. So unfamiliar and unknown and uncontrollable and he didn’t appreciate that. He got into his car, searching for a toothpick to replace his last, but there weren’t any left. He searched through the single, broken, dashboard, until he found an old pack of cigarettes. He opened it, taking one, and putting it between his teeth. His head was roaming with too many thoughts, and he thought he had overcome this chaotic state of mind, but clearly, she managed to deprive him of every last drop of containment.

The passenger door opened, and she came in. As silent as ever, as she closed the door, resting her head against the chair, eyes closed again. He was tempted to tell her to put on her seatbelt, desperate for any sort of control or reassurance, but he didn’t. He simply started the car, and began driving back to the journal. Normally, she would have fidgeted and moved until he told her not to, but she remained motionless, until he could no longer resist the urge to speak to her.

“ Are you alright?” She sighed, nodding weakly, before opening her eyes, tilting her head to the side, to see him, already looking at her. It made her uncomfortable, intimidated but mostly, assured. The smallest of all smiles formed onto her lips, as she imprisoned a hair lock behind her ear, reminded of the time that he so recklessly touched her hair.

“ Didn’t know you smoked.”

“ I don’t.” He fixated his eyes back on the road, clearing his throat, in an attempt to steady his voice.

“ You- but-“

“ It isn’t lit, is it?”

“ No. I guess not.” She frowned, looking down upon her hands that rested in his lap.

“ You should learn to word your questions differently, Miss Montgomery. You didn’t even ask me at all, you simply stated a fact, that you did not know I smoked, which is informative, but in no way interesting or useful. What you should have said is; why do you have an unlit cigarette in your mouth? Or, for proper preparation, you could have asked whether I smoked or not, but your statement didn’t intrigue me to respond at all.”

It was silent for a while, almost as if she was processing his every word, before acting upon it. Eventually, she angled her sitting position so that she was facing his side portfolio.

“ Mr. Styles, why do you have an unlit cigarette in your mouth?”

“ Because I don’t smoke, so it’s of no use to me lit.” Her frown deepened at his completely reasonable yet useless response. A confident smirk took over his features, his phone started ringing in his pocket, just as she opened her mouth, to question him further.

“ Styles. Oh, if it isn’t Mister Big Shot politician, Payne himself. Alright, alright, I’ll save it for later. Aha. That I know, yes. Alright. Tonight? Now?” He skeptically eyed her, all curious green eyes, and pale pink lips, before he nodded to himself.

“ Okay, I can do that. I might have some company though. Alright, Liam, see you then.” After he put his phone away, he took a sudden left turn, without using the signaling lanterns whatsoever. He could tell the question was on the tip of her tongue, but as per usual, she was too belittled to speak it freely.

“ Mind coming along to meet someone with me? It’s Liam Payne, and a few of the most important individuals in the industry, who also happen to be friends of mine. Strictly for learning purposes of course. And if you’re going to work on this case, or any other case really, you’re going to have to know those people.” Her confused frown finally reformed into a proud grin, as she nodded enthusiastically, settling back into her seat. He almost smiled, but he caught himself, biting down upon his cigarette.

“ Mr. Styles?”

“ Hmm.”

“ If you don’t smoke, then why do you have an unlit cigarette in your mouth?”

“ Since I don’t smoke, therefore, I don’t have a lighter, so I can’t exactly have a lit cigarette in my mouth, or else, I wouldn’t have been a non-smoker.” She threw her hands up in surrender, concentrated frown resurfacing on her features, and this time, he couldn’t help but laugh weakly at her frustration.

“ Keep trying, Miss Montgomery.” He urged, and so she did.

“ Why do you need a cigarette if you have no intention of smoking it?” She tried again, as he guided her towards where his friends were seated.

“ Need is not properly used here, Miss Montgomery. There was no mention of me ever needing a cigarette, nor were there any implications upon which you could base your assumption, therefore, this is a false accusation. Now, this is Liam Payne; future member of the parliament, famous business man, and whatnot. This is Niall Horan; radio presenter extraordinaire. Louis Tomlinson; lead photographer for the competing journal. And finally, Zayn Malik; famous writer and publisher. Gentlemen, this is Miss Montgomery, a trainee in our paper.” He introduced, pointing between each of them, then at her, before sitting down, leaving them to fully welcome one another.

She was shy, highly intimidated by their overwhelming presence, and great value. She felt like a small fish in an ocean of whales; so little, and insignificant. They were warm though, paying no mind to the fact that she was practically a stranger, as they teased him, for almost every single action he dared to make. They had been friends since college, she learned, but then each took a different career path, although, they couldn’t possibly allow their friendship to slip away, since they all needed one another, in a way or the other.

Harry smiled a lot around them, she noted, and she desperately tried not to stare for too long. But he had dimples, and the green in his eyes significantly sparkled, and he looked at least ten years younger whenever he laughed, and it was almost impossible for her not to linger upon.

“ So, love, how is working under this self-conceited dickhead?” Niall asked, casually laying an arm over her shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes, but took a sip from his drink, putting the cigarette back between his teeth soon after.

“ It’s- it’s good, yeah. Learning lots.”

“ You’re such a liar. You two will get along great actually.” Niall laughed, and she stared at Harry, waiting for him to grow offended and shut down, but he didn’t. Liam leaned towards him, whispering something into his ears, earning a curt nod, before they both rose, excusing themselves from the table, leaving her alone, with three, extremely nosy, extremely overwhelming, strange men.

She watched him walking away, eyes pleading for him to remember her presence, but he never did, as he disappeared out of the restaurant, followed by Liam.

“ He seems to be doing better, talking more, not as closed off as he normally is.” Louis spoke, earning nods of agreement from the two men ahead. She supposed his words weren’t directed towards her, so she remained silent.

“ Yeah, but that cigarette, didn’t think he’d be back at it so soon.” Niall spoke, his smile momentarily disappearing, for a prominent frown to replace it.

“ He- he doesn’t. He told me he doesn’t smoke.” She whispered, staring down upon her sweaty hands.

“ Interesting. Harry doesn’t normally tell anyone, anything.” Zayn spoke, for the first time. His accent was thick, voice low, and confident, as she simply shrugged her shoulders, not knowing enough about Harry, to agree or object.

“ Weird.” Louis noted, while Niall nodded in confirmation.

“ Either ways, he seems well, or at least, as well as Harry can be, so that’s good.” Zayn said, earning hums from his friends, before they changed the subject, speaking of some kind of match, that she blocked out, uninterested, as her eyes fell upon his frame, barely obvious in the night’s dimmed light, but absolutely intriguing nevertheless.

He always focused upon whomever was speaking to him, giving them his complete and full attention, but never so when it came to her. He never allowed himself to look at her for more than a few seconds. He never paid her any mind, and she thought, that maybe she was duller than most. She wasn’t worthy of his attention, undeserving. It weighed her down a bit, that all through the drive there, his eyes were fixed upon the outside world, while hers, were fixed on him. And he never felt it at all.

A sigh went past her lips, looking down for a moment, and when she looked back up, all eyes were on her. Some amused, others mainly curious, but all absolutely intimidating. She felt heat rising in her cheeks, as she imprisoned a hair lock behind her ear. Before she could dwell upon it any further, Harry was sitting down, next to Louis, with Liam, right beside him. They seemed unsettled, anxious, heavier than they had been, before they had gone out. She looked at him, attempting to analyze what exactly had caused that frown to deepen so stubbornly, but he was always so secretive, so silent, that she could never tell.

His green eyes accidently met her own, and she would have looked away. In fact, she should have. Only, she couldn’t. She found herself mouthing “alright?”, as he tilted his head to the side, confused by her concern, before giving her a weak nod, refocusing upon his friends.

“ So, rumor has it, he didn’t kill her, and it was all a set-up, to harm him in the next elections.”

“ Set-up? The guy is screwed. This is something bigger than just that. Whoever did this to him, if he really is innocent, wanted to bury the guy, not just keep him away till the elections were over.”

“ You never know, some people like to take it to the extremes, maybe it just got out of hand.”

“ Out of hand my ass. The woman was beaten and shot ten goddamn times in different spots. They wanted to make it look like a passionate murder, and they succeeded if I’m honest.”

“ He wouldn’t kill her though. I know Ian, he’s a lot of things, but he is no cold bloodied murderer, especially not when it comes to her. He loved the woman.”

“ Love can kill more than hate ever will.” Harry spoke, eyebrows itched into that deep frown, lips formed into a scowl, through holding that cigarette, eyes focused upon something he seemed to draw in his notebook. The whole table fell silent under his voice, and she was grateful, that he didn’t hold that effect on her only.

“ So you really think he did it?”

“ Stop trying to find some hidden message behind my every word, smartass, I simply said that just because he loved her, doesn’t mean he couldn’t have killed her.” Harry spoke, jokingly rolling his eyes at his friend, who playfully shoved him away, before laughing in amusement.

“ Always a journalist first, Harry.” Louis spoke, receiving a shrug from Harry, who stood to his full height, preparing to leave.

“ You’re just trying to get a scoop to save your lameass paper, which I’m not giving you, Tomlinson.” Harry ruffled Louis’ hair on his way out, as he shoved his hand away, laughing again.

“ One day, I’m going to be chief editor, and you’ll come begging for a job, and I’ll call security on you.”

“ Yeah, and Liam is going to be the goal keeper of the national team and take us to the world cup.” Harry mocked.

“ It’s called poor eye-foot coordination. Look it up, Styles.” Liam immediately defended, although the humor was saturated in his tone and body language.

“ Yeah, yeah. Coming?” He put on his coat, his eyes falling on Aimee’s petite figure. It still caught her off guard, whenever he spoke to her, without it being absolutely necessary. She nodded, standing up. She shook all their hands, while he put his hand in the air in a waving manner, before walking away. She quickly followed, getting in her seat, ignoring his brief stare upon the seatbelt, as if asking her to fasten it.

“ I think I got it now; why do you have a cigarette that you don’t intend on smoking or throwing away?” His laughter filled the air of the small car, and she felt a sense of pride coursing through her, a smile of her own, taking over her features.

“ I could find a loop around this one too, Miss Montgomery, but I won’t. It’s because I dropped my toothpick.” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as she bit down on her bottom lip.

“ That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“ And that’s another uncalled for, useless statement, Miss Montgomery.”

“ I’m an awful journalist.” She dramatically breathed, burying her face into her hands. He surprised her by laughing again, and all frustration dissolved into that.

“ Let me try again, yeah?”

“ Yeah, Miss Montgomery. Yeah.”

Chapter Text

He was seated on the conference table in Katherine’s office, all papers, pictures, and clues spread in front of him. His glasses rested between his hair, and he had thrown the cigarette away, replacing it with a toothpick that he found in his own desk. He seemed so focused, that he almost forgot about her presence.

“ Mr. Styles?”

“ Hmm.”

“ What did Mr. Payne tell you when you were outside?” A frown creased his forehead, as he lifted his eyes off the sprawled papers, to meet her own.

“ I just thought- I- since you told me to work on this case with you, then I should- know, and I- I didn’t mean to-“

“ Alright. Listen, Miss Montgomery. I don’t normally work on my cases with anyone. I am not used to having partners or colleagues or anything that falls under that category. So sometimes, I will forget to share what I have with you, and I’ll need you to remind me. Whenever you sense that I’m keeping something to myself that you have the right to know, ask me, remind me that you are in this as well, alright?” She hadn’t expected the calmness with which he spoke. It was odd, how he willingly let her in. He held her gaze, and she realized that he was waiting for a response. So, she nodded, slightly out of breath.

“ Good. Now, come here, I need to show you something.” He refocused upon a single paper, that seemed to have his handwriting on it. She hesitantly approached, but no proximity was close enough. Not until their shoulders slightly brushed, and his lengthy hair tickled her cheeks, and he made no effort to flinch away.

“ Liam and I share a bit of history. We were in college together, as you probably know by now, and then he fell into the political sector because his entire family had always been into that. Then, one day, rumors began to spread of him sleeping around with someone. Said someone, happened to be my girlfriend at the time.” She gasped, her eyes leaving that paper, to fully take him in. He seemed completely unfazed by the information he had shared with her.

“ I cleaned up his mess, advised her to go public and deny all the rumors, had a conference and invited him to join me, and since then, we had been closer than ever. I think he thinks he owes me in a way, I don’t really know. So, that’s why he told me that Ian’s wife had recently lost a baby. They didn’t even have the time to announce it, before she had woken up, bleeding, and lost it. Liam told me that Ian blamed her, we don’t know the reason, but a few days before the murder, he had moved out.”

“ So that means that he couldn’t have been there to kill her?”

“ We don’t know that, Miss Montgomery. The security cameras shut down, for exactly 22 minutes, and when they started working again, she was dead, and Ian was sleeping in his bed.”

“ But I thought he moved out.”

“ He did.”

“ Then how was he in their bed?”

“ That’s what we need to find out. Did he forgive her and move back? Was he drugged and put there to complete the picture of the murder? Did they try to kill him too, and somehow, left him passed out?”

“ And who would do that to him?”

“ Ah, now, that’s a perfectly constructed question, Miss Montgomery.” He smiled briefly at her, but his smile had always been so demanding, so captivating, that she couldn’t help but smile back.

“ Can I ask you a question, Mr. Styles?”

“ As long as it’s as well put as your last.”

“ What happened between you and your girlfriend at the time?”

“ I went home one day, packed my things, and left. And she never tried contacting me since.”

“ So you believe that she slept with Lia- Mr. Payne?”

“ I believe that she slept with someone, whether it was Liam or not, doesn’t really matter. You see, as soon as you let the uncertainty in, there’s no way for a relationship to work. As simple as that. I didn’t trust her anymore.”

“ But you trust him.”

“ Is that a statement, or a question, Miss Montgomery?” He smiled knowingly at her.

“ I can never be certain of much when it involves you, Mr. Styles.”

“ I’m a journalist, I have to be ambiguous. I should read, but never be read. I should never allow myself to be completely understood, or I’ll lose the mystery to myself. And really, what else is there to someone, other than the mystery?”

She couldn’t help but think that he was the most unsolved mystery she had ever encountered. And maybe she’d never understand him, maybe he’d never make sense to her, or even to himself, but God, would she love to spend her time trying to piece him together.

“ Is that a rhetorical question, or a real question?” She chose to question, earning an amused chuckle from his side.

“ Think about it, Miss Montgomery.”

And she would. About it. And him. And all that was in between.

Hours went by, but he revealed no signs of tiredness, so naturally, neither did she. She always felt that need, that urge, to keep up with him. She knew she never could, after all, he seemed to always keep himself in check, always calculating his every move, and how it would affect his next. And she was nothing like that. She was oblivious, inexperienced, and simply, small, in both value and effect.

It must have been at least three in the morning, when he shifted his position, bringing his feet firmly to the ground, standing, but remaining hunched over the pictures ahead.

“ There’s a house right across the Banks’. I can clearly see at least one camera pointed towards their house. Maybe we should check the tapes, see if it filmed anyone going in, or coming out of the Banks’ residence.” She rose to scan through the pictures he had previously examined, as he began putting on his jacket, and collecting his belongings.

“ We’re going now?”

“ We need every minute, Miss Montgomery. You can stay here, or go home, if you’d like.”

“ But it’s three in the morning, Mr. Styles. No one would be awake now, and we can’t alert them, or else it’d be too much of a fuss.”

“ Miss Montgomery, it’s-“ Before he could finish his sentence, his phone was ringing in his pocket, the ringtone completely unrecognizable to her. He rolled his eyes, retrieving it, before announcing that it was Katherine.

“ Katherine, I think we might have someth- alright, slow down. What? Oh no. I’ll go to the morgue now. No, Kath, I can handle it. Don’t come down. Alright.” His entire demeanor dimmed, all his energy seemed to have been sucked out of him, after whatever he had heard. She watched him intently, as he put his phone away, his mouth opened agape, toothpick between his fingers, as he ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“ I- I have to go.” For the first time, she noted, his voice had lost its firmness. He didn’t sound as stable nor as confident.

“ Wait, where are we going?”

“ No, you can’t come. I have to do this alone. This is- fuck, this is on me.” His shoulders had hunched forward, an invisible weight seemingly resting upon them, taking him down.

“ Hey, Harry,” She didn’t know how she mastered the courage, but her hand held onto his arm, pulling him towards her. To her surprise, he relaxed under her touch, squeezing his eyes shut, and taking in a single, deep breath.

“ What happened?” She weakly spoke.

“ Owen; you know, our lead photographer, was run over. He- Katherine said he’s dead, but I have to see for myself, Aimee. I- I have to see what they’ve done to him.”

“ Oh God, I- I’m so sorry.”

“ So am I.” And every single bone in his body screamed that he indeed, was eternally sorry. He sighed, releasing himself from her grasp, to rub his face in exasperation.

“ I have to go, but I need you to stay here.”

“ No, but- we’re supposed to be in this together, H-“

“ I don’t give a fuck. The case can go to hell. Ian, and his wife, screw them. Screw it all, if it had to cost Owen his life. Stay here, Aimee. I mean it.”

His green eyes held her own, for a mere minute. She tried to ignore, how effortlessly he seemed to have called her name. How beautifully it had rolled off his tongue. He leaned in, and she thought he’d hold her, or hug her, or even kiss her. The anticipation built in the pit of her stomach, as she held her breath. But as quickly as it had happened, he pulled away, shaking his head to himself, his steps quick and determined, as he walked away from her.

His drive there was frantic, panicked. He thought of all those times when Owen used to tell him about his little daughter, and how he and his wife were trying to get her a brother, because she wished for it for Christmas. He remembered laughing with Owen, whenever he told him that someday, he’d win an award for his pictures, and he’d be famous, and have his own paper and shut them the fuck down. He remembered Owen stealing random pictures of him, and telling him that he’d keep them to use them against him when needed. The stubborn remorse grew within him, with every fleeting memory that ran through his mind.

This was all his fault. He was the one who was so keen on taking this case, knowing that it would take them all to hell. He never should have let anyone work on it, and now, Owen was dead, and everyone else was in danger. So much blood was on his hands, and he found himself staring down upon them, to see if it was visible.

Lengthy minutes passed by, before he was pulling over in front of the morgue. He ran through the hallways, down the stairs, until he got to the fridges. One of the doctors he knew well stood there, offering him a compassionate smile, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder, before letting him be. He opened a chamber in the fridge that had Owen’s name on it, and there he was. Pale as snow, purple bruises spotting his skin, head cracked open, but no blood seeping through. Other than that, his features held no emotion at all, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he had the time to feel any pain, or if it had just happened. The lump in his throat continued to grow, as he shakily took the report into his hands.

“ Cause of death: head trauma. Died on impact.”

It was all so suffocating, so draining. He ran a hand over his throat, willing his lungs to take any air in, and not give out on him, but it was of no use. He hung the report back in its previous place, walking towards the door. He couldn’t help but tilt his head backwards, taking Owen in one more time, knowing that he’d never forget that scarring scenery.

“ I’m sorry.” He whispered. He then opened the door, left, and closed it behind him. He felt utterly lost in his own head, his feet shaking under the weight of his increasing guilt, hands trembling with nerves, worry, and fear. But then, he heard her voice, calling his name, so weakly, so cautiously. He lifted his eyes off the ground, allowing them to fall upon her. Her arms were behind her back, chest heaving rapidly, features twisted in concern. He found himself resisting the urge to throw himself into the security of her arms. He cleared his throat, searching for his voice, or maybe even, his words.

“ He’s- um- he’s in there. I need to call his wife to inform her, then we need to talk to Katherine, and everyone else in the paper, and-“ Before he could finish his sentence, her arms were wrapped around his neck, as she stood on his feet, burying her face into his shoulders, and simply holding him to her. He couldn’t bring himself to hold her back, but his face fell into her own shoulder, taking in her scent, and her radiating warmth.

“ I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Something about the way she called his first name, instead of his last, stirred something within him. And he just stood there, letting her hold him, losing his train of thought to her, and being surprisingly okay with that.