And Then There Was You [h.s]

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Holmes Chapel," Harry answered from the kitchen. His exposed back faced me while he made us some coffee. I bit my lip, finding it hard to look away. "Am I supposed to know where that is?" I derided. "Well, no," he joined me on the couch, handing me a mug, "It's a town in Cheshire."

"How is that any more helpful?"

"You were the one who asked where I was from, so..." His voice fell into his mug as he took a sip. I held the cup to my lips, about to drink until I looked inside. A small tea bag sailed in the warm water, turning the liquid a light orange. "Harold, I fucking asked for coffee," I groaned. "You know I don't have coffee here," he grinned, finding my irritability amusing.

 I was not a morning person, and the only thing that could possibly turn down my morning bitchiness by about ten notches was coffee. "This is just your everyday, standard british household. Pip pip, cheerio, my good sir!" He mused, purposely strengthening his accent. I crinkled my nose and smiled, finding it hard to enclose my laughter. 

"Why is it you can make a bunch of stereotypical jokes about brits, but the moment I ask you if you're hiding any crumpets in your nightstand drawer you get all pissy? That's got to be some sort of double-standard,"

"Hey, I don't make the rules," he chuckled, continuing, "If I made some joke about America, wouldn't you get a little offended?"

"You live in America too, jack ass. So whatever offensive joke you make about this country affects you, too,"

"That's right, I forgot about that." he smiled, "When I'm with you I forget where we are,"

"You know you don't have to try and flatter me anymore, right?" I told him, even though I loved his adulations. I would never tire of hearing him say things like that to me, because they were exactly what I was thinking, but never had the courage to say. "You're right," he grinned, dimples carving into his boyish cheeks. He pulled me in roughly for a kiss, just before getting up from the couch and stretching. "Where the hell do you think you're going, Harold?" I shouted, watching his silhouette trail down the hallway. "To take a shower," he called out, "Feel free to join me if you want."

"Tempting offer, but it needs some revising," I said.

"Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"You should've said, 'Logan, I'm going to be good, americanized boyfriend and go get you some coffee from Starbucks'."

I heard a groan echo from the hallway, feet stomping around. "You're so goddamn stubborn, woman." "Damn straight," I said, my smirk never faltering, "don't expect anything less."

He returned to the living room a few minutes later wearing a red plaid shirt, paired with black jeans and a beanie. He slid his Doc Martens on and stood by the door. "C'mon now, love. You don't expect me to go and get you coffee all by myself, do you?"

"Actually, that's exactly what I expected you to do. Don't worry, Harry. You're a big boy, you can do it,"

"Logan," he said strictly. "Get off your ass and come with me to get you some fucking coffee,"

"You want me to leave the apartment in this?" I gasped and point to my attire, which consisted of one of Harry's many button ups and boxers. "I like seeing you in my clothes," he remarked, continuing, "But I like it even better when you're not wearing any,"

My cheeks flushed under his seducing glare. I watched how his pupils dilated when he examined me thoroughly, doing my best to disregard the aching in my core. "Stop it, you perv," I hissed playfully. "Just bein' honest," he smirked, realizing how easily he can have me flustered. I cupped my cheeks in my hands, attempting to hide their evident warmth.