Evie | H.S |

71. Hot wax

As I stirred, I felt two weights. One weight was felt in my head, like a bunch of rocks tumbling inside my skull as I slightly lifted my head off the lavender pillow case. It was an expected weight, given the copious glasses of wine I'd consumed the night before.

The weight that I hadn't expected however, was an arm draped over my side. As I painfully craned my neck around, my gaze was met with Harry's soft face squished against the pillow. His eyes were gently shut, long lashes fanning out onto the heights of his tanned cheeks. With his hair messily draping down his forehead, he was laid on top of the covers in a deep slumber. I had no recollection of when he'd joined me.

You were drunk, but not that drunk, Evie.

Annoyed and somewhat hurt, I'd thrown myself into bed after ending our conversation the previous night, taking my notebook and and pen with me, just to get some of my thoughts out in a constructive way. Before I knew it, I'd scrawled a few verses.

I know I should have been more vigilant in responding to him, I was his house guest after all and that was the polite thing to do. I did apologise for that, and would do so more sincerely today.

But what I was annoyed about was the bitterness in his voice. He had every reason not to trust me, but he'd told me honestly that he didn't not trust me. So, what had frustrated me was his decision to pull the 'history' card out of indulgent jealousy. As long as he wanted to work on a friendship or more, he couldn't pull that card when it suited him because it was only going to hinder any progress.

"You're awake" his gravelly voice sounded from my side. His voice was sleepy and hoarse; usually a heady combination. His arm moved and dropped down between us as he rolled flat onto his back, arms outstretched as he stretched his entire body. I could feel the heat radiating from his naked top half, even though he'd slept above the blankets. He always ran hot. I'd missed being against his heat.

I rolled onto my side, propping my head up on a fisted hand and spoke quietly. "When did you sneak in?"

"When I realised I was acting like an arse" he confirmed, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands.

"You said it" I murmured dryly, pushing my hair back from my face. He'd told me in the past he could be petty. I'm glad he was at least self aware about it. "I'm sorry" I continued in a whisper.

"So am I" he spoke before yawning as he outstretched once more, his toned body arching off the mattress before he rolled back towards me. "Let's see this tattoo" he sighed, pulling my wrist towards himself.

"I haven't washed it yet" I imparted, watching as he carefully unwrapped the plastic cling-film from around my arm. The room-temperature air hit the raw skin and I observed the inky smudges on and surrounding the tattooed area that was dying to be ran under soapy water. I looked to Harry, reading his expression as he examined the new tattoo. His lips were curled into a very slight, almost undetectable smile. It was those damn dimples that gave it away.

This wasn't just a spur of the moment tattoo, or just a coverup of something I regretted. This was my commitment to moving forward. My grandest gesture. Selecting a rose felt fitting, considering their significance between us over a short while. I couldn't erase my past but I could plant seeds in its ashes, and from those ashes could bloom hope. I hoped he would see it as such.

"A rose" he murmured, now committing fully to the threatening smile. His large hand had gently grasped my arm, his thumb grazing my skin softly. He looked up at me with a soft gaze, wordlessly telling me he understood the significance.

"A very smudged rose" I added. "I should go shower and clean it, actually".

"Yeah, of course," Harry sat upright as I pushed the covers back off of myself. "Are you hungry?"