This Was Home [h.s.]

| 6. S'MORES |

  My previous clothes laid to my side in a wet pile. I swung my arms around, attempting to fan my body of the dampness that still lingered. Now would have been a terrible time for Harry to accidentally turn around, so for the sake of saving face, I went ahead and pulled his clothes over my body. They partially clung to my skin, my fanning only helping subtly.

The shirt smelled of an oaky scent with the slightest hint of cigarettes. The shorts were a pair of grey sweatpants material that came up to me mid-thigh. I wasn't exactly sure how well shorts were supposed to keep me that much warmer than what I previously had on.

I turned my body back around, wringing out leftover rain that was slowly dripping from the ends of my hair. He had turned to the side, now in his own pair of shorts, but paired with a bare upper body.

I had only seen him in his thick jacket until now. I had no idea he had tattoos adorned all over him. They paired nicely with his build, moving along the muscles of his chest and arms. I hadn't seen anyone with tattoos in so long. Where could he have possibly got these done? Let alone this many?

My eyes immediately shot to the ground when he started to turn back around to face me. A silent prayer played in my head, hoping he didn't catch my glances.

The smirk on his lips let me know the answer to that one. I pretended to not notice his expression, acting as nonchalant as possible.

"I'm just air-drying," he said with a shrug, "Guess I could've swung my arms around too but I'd be scared someone would see me." The previous smirk had turned into a full-blown grin now, his eyes burning right into mine. My cheeks started to flush all over again, but not from the cold this time.

"Wait," my hands planted on my hips, "Who's the peeping tom now?" My head crooked to the side, eyeing him.

He raised his hands up in a fake surrender, "I was just trying to figure out what that noise was. I thought you had snuck in a whole ass helicopter at the speed you were going."

I waved him off, trying to console any kind of laugh that wanted to come out. The embarrassment that still laid heavy helped overcast the humor in my gesture.

He finally reached into his bag, pulling a shirt over his head. The black ink still peaked through the material. I had to stop myself from glaring too long again, I'd already slipped way too much.

Plus, since I seemed to need reminding, this guy was an ass. It was like I had completely forgotten the whole past 24 hours or so I'd had to spend with him. Or had I forgotten what I was here for? Definitely was not for him, if anything I couldn't wait to have all of this over with and back with my family.

"You stay here until I say," he pointed a finger where I already stood before continuing, "I'm going to find some material to use for a fire. These clothes aren't exactly the best of choices, but we'll make do."