skinny || h.s. au [Rewrite Now Up!]

fortyeight

Marley wakes up with her heart fluttering in her chest like a hummingbird. Her lashes flutter open. But every time she blinks, the image of a certain pair of green eyes seems to be burned into her eyelids.

She was dreaming about him. Again. But not just any dream. A memory of hot breath on her neck and fire conducting through his body and to hers. A memory of electric touch and sloppy movements.

Yeah. That memory.

She rolls over and groans into her pillow. This isn't the first time she's woken up like this. And it's become somewhat of a problem.

A lip biting, mind reeling, unnecessary staring in class kind of problem.

But she's only attracted to his body. That's her argument whenever Maria taunts her.

Just his body. Nothing more.

Right?

Seriously still having wet dreams? For fuck's sake, pull yourself together.

But that's something Marley may never truly be able to do.

So instead she gets up and walks into her cold bathroom. The battery powered clock by her sink tells her she's running late. And she curses under her breath.

She barely tastes the mint of her toothpaste in her haste. Her hair is hopeless and a bit dirty, so she ties it back into a bun haphazardly.

Screw it, she thinks.

It's only been a few weeks without power and yet Marley feels like it's been forever since she's had a real shower. A hot shower.

She'll have enough money for the electric bill by the end of next week, when she babysits for the Tomlinsons again. And she can't wait.

Marley pulls on random clothes before grabbing her bag and running toward the door. But she stops and turns back when her cigarettes fall out of the front pocket.

It's become quite an expensive habit. Marley thinks she should quit. But she just can't help craving the taste of self-destruction on her lips.

When she finally makes it out her front door, he's there. Green eyes that remind her of summer grass and warm breezes and all. She breathes a sigh of relief.

Until this moment she didn't realize she was rushing in fear he would leave if she took too long. But there he is.

And with minimal instruction, her feet carry her across the lawn until she's in his arms and his lips are fire against her cold ones and her back is pressed against his Range Rover.

Her dreams are nothing compared to the real thing. In her mind she can't quite capture the taste of his mouth or the slight scent of pine that seems to linger in his clothes.

"Well, good morning." Harry smirks against her lips.

She smiles. "Shut up."

So he does. And kisses her again. Because he just can't resist. He loves that she doesn't wear makeup and no mater where he places wet, sloppy kisses nothing will smear off on his face. He also loves it just because he adores her freckled nose. And the little blue veins in her eyelids. And the natural rosiness of her cheeks.