Peach // H.S.

Twelve.

✣ ✣ ✣

"Stupid fuckin'— ah! Swear to God, these buttons are rattling my cage. Can't even ask you to help out, gonna mess up your pretty nail polish, and we wouldn't want that, Peach! Just tune me out, I'm being a real punk right now. C'mere, gonna need a smooch to get me to cool my jets."

Harry's dramatically puckering his lips to plead for your own, leaning forward so they can meet together in a quick peck. He sneaks in a few more, and you can feel his lips periodically curling into a massive smile with each one. Once he feels as if he's had enough for the moment, he's backing up, eyes narrowing as he keeps a burning gaze on you.

When the two of you got back to his temporary home, he perched you up on the short chest of drawers just across from his bedroom door with instructions to just sit still, which you've obviously still listened to.

"Beauty queen. Would give you the world if I could. Swear to God, if some fuckin' dipshit tries to cop a feel later, I'll have his head on a platter. You listenin' to me? Or just staring?"

"Hmm?"

It's a teasing response, as you've obviously been listening the whole time. In fact, you could be insulted by this! In comparison to Harry, you're the best listener to exist on the planet. You deserve an award for it, actually.

"God, I'm gettin' pissed! Gah, fuck it."

Harry's ranting is cut short by a loud RIIIIIIP, his shirt being torn off from absolute frustration. Buttons fly everywhere and scatter once they've hit the ground, and your lips are quickly curling into your mouth to stifle a laugh and grin from the comical tantrum. He's sweaty, chest wet along with the beginnings of his hairline. You can't exactly blame him, it's already a relatively hot day, and his frantic shimmying over a shirt probably didn't help with the temperature issue. His pants are next to follow, but they aren't destroyed like his top.

Then, it hits you.

"Shit!"

The loud profanity you've uttered shocks you and Harry both, as it's not a common part of your vocabulary. Flinging yourself off of the wooden furniture, you're quickly scooping up all the buttons you can find along with the stray piece of fabric. Now you've worked up a sweat as well.

"Harry, you dunce! This is Tawny's stepdad's shirt! Oh my God, what do we do?"

"Relax, baby doll! I'll use the money from tonight's show to get a new one. It'll be fine, 'kay? Look at me."

Cold hands are being squished against your cheeks to tilt your head up, and Harry's wearing a sympathetic expression. You're not sure if he's offering it to you to calm you down, or if he's begging for sympathy, but you're gonna pretend it's the first one.

"I don't lie! It'll be okay. Peach, baby, believe me. I got it."

A soft kiss is pecked against your lips, but like usual, Harry decides it's not enough. He's grabbing your arms to lift you from the ground, kisses still being peppered all over your face as he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you tight against his body.

"Pre-show quickie?"

He quips, but you're quick to shove him away from you. It's clear he's not serious, just a few kisses will suffice, but he's having a fun time pissing you off. A blaring cackle fills the room as you glare over at him with arms crossed firmly over your chest, trying your absolute hardest not to let your expression crack into even the smallest smile. It's hard, Harry's laugh is funnier than the event that happened.

"Go put some clothes on! Stop being ridiculous."

"Anything for you, Peach."

An overdramatic wink is tossed your way as Harry's yanking open a wooden drawer and digging through it for an outfit. He's shoving clothes onto the floor with a discouraged sigh, nibbling gently on his bottom lip before he's looking over at you with a blank expression. You raise a brow, tilting your head in confusion, before Harry opens his mouth to elaborate.