Kismet

Sixteen [The Meeting]

You and Harry made a plan to meet in the alleyway behind Lily when you get off of work so that he could show you around a bit before watching the sunrise together. You found it adorable that he was enthusiastic about his dishwashing job, his musings of it one in which he described as a 'place to escape' where he 'is around people but not social' and can zone out to hours of music without interruption. Most people would look down on this type of career because it's something a machine could do, but to you it seemed like a perfect fit for Harry. Strict, thorough, orderly, reliable. A structure that he isn't rewarded in many other facets of his life.

When Harry feels the buzz of his cell phone in his back pocket, he dries his hands and tosses the cloth aside before skulking across the room towards the exit. He doesn't bother to look at his device because he knows that it's you without even checking, convinced that there would be no one else contacting him especially at this hour. You're later than you said you would be by at least fifteen or twenty minutes, but then he remembers the comment you made outside of the art museum about how you're always running late and it's never for good reason.

He swings the heavy metal door open at the same moment that you're removing your helmet and shaking your hair out, an elated grin etching into your cheeks before you hop forward and meet him in a kiss. His mouth folds over yours as he revels in your tingly, cold lips, the tip of your nose pressing a chilly spot into his cheek.

Harry murmurs into the embrace, "mmm... cold," before cupping the back of your neck and dragging his nose up your cheek to paint a lush kiss into your temple, "smell different."

You brush errant hairs from your face and smile at him, not ignorant to or ungrateful of the outward affection he is granting you, "oh yeah?" You tuck your helmet under your arm and reach down to weave your fingers together, "like what?"

He buries his nose into your hairline and breathes deeply, taking a moment to consider what exactly is different before he falls short and gives up, "dunno. Just different." His stomach knots a little in unfounded anxiety but he just allows the feeling to pass by, trying instead to focus on your divine presence, "ready then?"

Harry guides you inside of the large, professional kitchen. It's surprisingly clean and tidy, all of the produce packed away into sizable plastic containers and stacked neatly in preparation areas. It's dimly lit because of the time of night and only three other staff members linger as they drink fernet and wipe down their stations, two chefs passing loud jokes back and forth to each other and talking shit about ruthless customers from that evening. The kitchen manager stands by with a cloth draped over his shoulder as he polishes glasses, his eyes trained on you from the instant Harry walks you through the door.

You take it upon yourself to introduce yourself to his coworkers and Harry can tell that they instantly like you. They offer you drinks and smile at your radiance, just as Harry had witnessed both in his coffee shop premonition as well as in waking life, as if you have an internal glitter that constantly exudes from your pores and reflects off of other people's skin.

Harry shows you the isolated nook where he spends eight hours a day, his sink set up and explains his routine with the familiar abbreviated language you've come to treasure. He remembers something that he asked the head chef to make for you, popping his index finger up into the air as if asking you to wait before running off to grab it from the prep area. He returns with his hands hidden behind his back, his face blushing a slight strawberry pink before he slowly reveals a brown box sealed shut with a piece of baker's twine.

"Aww, honey! For me?" He nods and shrugs, slipping it into your hands before stepping back to watch you unwrap it on the countertop, "your famous sandwich! With a million shoestring fries." Your heart and stomach are fluttering so much it feels like they could take flight, "you remembered that I love french fries. I don't know how you're still single. You know exactly how to make a girl happy. C'mere, dreamboat."