MAGNETIC [H.S.]

22. r u mine?

cw: violence, verbal abuse

I hadn't slept alone in a week. It had just been easier to sleep in each other's beds since we crawled into them so late each night. It's so...domestic.

I made a mental list of all of the things that happened this week that lead me to believe something is fucking happening here, despite our constant denial.

-Harry made dinner 4/6 days.
-Harry made breakfast 3/6 days and went to the cafe with me on the other 3 days.
-I did Harry's laundry. Washed, dried, folded, and put that shit away.
-We have toothbrushes at each other's apartments now.
-I went to his studio one night and we ended up getting drinks with Niall and G.

Harry and I had only reached this particular level of intimacy one other time in the years we've known each other and it was my senior year of college. It didn't end well, as you can imagine.

I'm not a person who thrives in the grey area, I like knowing what's going on. I like clear and concise lines, and right now it feels like a toddler is finger painting the lines between us. A month and a half of pleasant company, mind-melting orgasms, stolen glances, and tangled fingers.

We walked out of a bar one night and I ran forward to hold Harry's hand. I thought I'd embarrass myself, but he didn't let go. Liam was even there, and he didn't let go.

The mornings are the most blurred; watercolors bleeding over textured paper, taking a picture of a moving train, kind of blurred. His fingers would trace my skin like a secret, like he wanted to imprint the feel of me in his brain and never let anyone see it. He'd stare at me with a furrowed brow like it hurt him almost, but when I whispered his name his eyes would meet mine and the worry would melt from his tense muscles.

He'd lean forward and place his lips on my body, determined to kiss it before the morning sun could. His mouth would leave small marks on my soft skin, satisfied hums radiated from his lips and ran through me. Sometimes that's all we'd do, just wake each other up with the gentle electricity from our fingertips on each other.

Sometimes though, his fingers would spread my thighs open. We'd wake each other up with hot breath and raspy moans. We'd stretch our bodies in our favorite way, the best morning workout I could ask for. My morning mantra was his filthy mouth in my ear, I repeated it to myself all day long. "Look at you, fuck, I wish you could see yourself like this. I wish you could see how fucking pretty you look when you let me make you feel good. Such a good girl for me, you take me so well. You feel so fucking good, poppet. Perfect, fucking perfect. You're everything."

Either way, my mornings were flawless.

This particular morning started off the first way and ended like this.

"It's Tuesday right?" I asked while I leaned back to button a pair of jeans.

"Yeah, it's Tuesday." He raised a brow at me when I giggled. "What's funny about Tuesday?" I giggled harder.