Adonis | H.S

chapter thirty-four: aquarelle

c.w: sexual content.

"Why are you up so late?"

Her eyes rose to find Harry's, who was standing in the doorway, his shoulders broad. Scarlett had made herself comfortable in his home office, propped up in the leather chair, her papers and laptop sprawled messily over the old wood of the desk.

"Work," she supplied, smiling at his disapproving look. "What, so you can stay up late with work, but I can't?"

"Honey," he raised a finger, smirking, "what did we agree on? 'Don't bring work home."

She snorted. "Firstly... honey? Secondly—I have never heard you say that. All you do is work."

"Mm, but my full-time job is satisfying you."

She leaned back in the chair, "you've been slacking as of late."

His jaw dropped in faux offense, his large hand spreading over his shoulder. "I was stabbed."

"Excuses." She sighed, waving her hand. She watched as he rounded the desk, eyeing the bright screen of her laptop. He read through it all, seeing an abundance of bills and quotes on a spreadsheet.

"What can I do to help?"

"You've done enough. Thank you."

"Anything that your insurance doesn't cover, I'll take care of it, okay?"

"Harry... no."

"Scarlett. I'll take care of it."

She opened her mouth to protest but he shot her a stern look. "Fine," she sighed. "Okay. You'll take care of it, you persistent, annoying little fucker."

"People usually just say thank you, but that works, too."

"Shut up."

"At least I know you're not after my millions."

She smirked, "I never said that."

He pinched her hip. "Cheeky girl. Get some sleep, hm? Back to work tomorrow."

"Will you be joining me?" She hated sleeping without him.

"...I have work to do."

She straightened, holding a finger up and quoting him, "honey, what did we—" She squealed as he growled, lifting her up and carrying her to the bedroom, carelessly throwing her onto the bed. He supplied her with one of his t-shirts and her favourite pair of silk shorts to sleep in, eyeing her as they brushed their teeth together and did their skincare, his regain patterned down no thanks to her.

"You're going to be a handsome old man." She said dreamily as he squirted some serum into his hands. "Especially now that I've shown you the importance of moisturiser. You'll probably never age."

He flexed a dimple, "you'll still like me when I'm old and grey?"

The idea of them still being together at an old age had her eyes stinging with tears. She looked down, toying with the tube of toothpaste. Did he see them that way? More than a temporary mirage on the horizon of life? Did she?

She didn't realise how hard he had fallen. And neither did he. They went to bed, not talking any more of being old and grey and aging well.

He held her tight, his chest pressed against her back, her coconut-scented hair lulling him to sleep. He wanted to take her like he did most nights, but he felt too vulnerable in the wake of his question, moreover, the weighted meaning behind it.

The one thing that kept Scarlett going was a routine. She liked surprises and change, but ultimately, her everyday life had to have some sense of schedule and order. Much had changed for her in the past few years, and the last thing she needed was something to uproot what was normal for her.