His hands roamed every inch of her body, memorising her piece by piece. He saw sparks as they kissed, his skin going up in flames, growing hotter by the minute. Her delicate fingers trailed up his chest, all the way to his neck, resting there and pulling the two of them closer.
She trembled as his dark curls brushed her skin, sending shivers up her spine. A slight chuckle escaped his lips; he loved her reactions to his every touch. Gradually his hand worked lower, each one settling either side of her hips.
"Harry," even though she spoke with uneasiness, her body betrayed her. She rocked and moved against him like she couldn't get enough. Which deep down he knew to be true.
"Harry," she whispered again, but this time her voice deepened, and sounded out of place.
"Harry!" That definitely wasn't her voice. It belonged to someone else.
"Harry, and you hear me? It's Zayn," bright white light flashed for a moment, and the a raven-haired man materialised in front of him.
"Zayn? What are you-" he looked about for her, but saw only his friends and the brown suede couch he had been sitting on. Slowly the other boys came into focus, and Harry cursed under his breath.
He had been daydreaming about that night again. He ways did when the conversation got boring; drifted into another place.
"...Why we're up at four a.m, I will never understand," Niall's boisterous voice woke Harry up from his stupor.
"It wouldn't normally be this late, well, early, if it weren't for Harry zoning out all the..."
Harry began to think about her again. He pictured her dainty hands in his, her beautiful hair tossing in the breeze.
Somehow he knew. He knew that she was with him. They were probably sleeping together. His hands curled into fists as envy fought with anger for dominance over his heart.
It should be him, holding her, not that other guy. Instead of letting jealousy rule his actions, Harry used that night when they had kissed as an anchor. The anchor that he held onto, that gave him hope that she would happily be with him.