CHRYSALIS

46.

"Ow, Fuck!" I quickly pull my foot up to hold my poor toes that I jammed into the dresser on my 14th trip into the bedroom. Eventually, I'll remember that it's fucking there.

When they stop throbbing I gently place my foot on the rug and try to wiggle my toes, happy to find that they're still functioning, albeit very sore.

The curtains are open, the sunlight is pouring into the bedroom, it's that stunning kind where you can see the dust floating in the air but you don't even care because it's so pretty. I'm bringing the last load of my clothing in here so that I can get it hung up but I'm losing energy fast.

The closet is a bit ridiculous in this apartment and yet we have somehow managed to fill it. The sad thing is that it's not even full of like Gucci and Dior and designers...his side is full of shit he's owned forever. Seriously, some of it is from like 2015. The man does not let things go, but he also buys new shit every day like he has unlimited space.

It's insane to me that this is his "city" wardrobe. He only brought a suitcase worth of stuff from LA to London to my hometown, and then to here. This is like a third of the man's wardrobe and it fills a giant walk-in closet. There's a bench in here for christ's sake, it's fucking huge.

My side however is full of new things, but that's because Santana burned a large portion of my wardrobe, so. It's been fun to shop for new things though now that I'm feeling better, it's nice to feel like myself again and clothes are one of the most important tools for doing that.

The last armful of clothes fits just perfectly into the closet and now that I have thoroughly exhausted myself, I lay on the plushy bench in the middle of the space and wait for Harry to find me.

This morning I woke up to the sounds of him trying to "gently" move some of my things in here. My laundry basket, some of the things from my bookcase, some of my framed pieces were on the floor waiting to be hung up, he'd managed to get my reading chair in without waking me up with all my throw blankets and pillows.

When I opened my eyes he was standing in the doorway with his arms full of books stacked against his bare torso.

He smiled sweetly at me and set them in the chair before jumping on the bed and landing with his chin in his palms.

"Good morning, Jojo." He said.

"Good morning, H...whatcha doin?" I asked.

"Moving you in. You ready to get up and help me decorate our room?" His eyes sparkled as he spoke, he was so excited.

"I can do that."

And boy did I do that.

We hung posters, artwork, sconces, curtains, and shelves. We put more holes in the walls than a white 16-year old boy named Kyle.

We moved my chair to the corner by the window by his floor lamp and we laid my favorite faux fur rug underneath it. We swapped his throw pillows for mine but left his bed set and just added a throw blanket. We filled his bookshelves to the absolute brim with books of course, but also photos and knick-knacks and his cameras.

Harry went down for a meeting and I decided to tackle the closet while I had time.

I'm currently regretting that as I am absolutely exhausted. My arms are stretched behind me, the camisole I'm wearing is pulled tight against my torso as it comes untucked from the loose sweat shorts I had it tucked into. There's a thin sheen of sweat on my skin and I can hear my pulse in my ears.

I can hear something else too but I haven't placed it yet...ah, Beast of Burden by The Rolling Stones.

Excellent choice, H.