.Perfect Fantasy. |H.S.|

Chapter 39. Interlude.

.Natalia.

I sat at the kitchen island and watched Harry wash dinner dishes in the sink. He cooked and he washed dishes, gently rubbing the sponge on the salad plate followed by the saucepan and pieces of cutlery. Worked for him somehow—the view was very enjoyable from my stool as his soft voice was singing a song about some road to freedom and honey, occasionally wiggling his bum as he overhyped the stacking of plates into a whole night show.

Harry kept singing the quiet melody, winking at Sean as he dipped the sponge into the soap and scrubbed away. "You can't stop us 'cause our eyes can see..." That voice. It still dug in, sharp and hot inside no matter how many times I've heard it. It was the first thing I wanted to hear in the morning and the last thing I wanted to hear before we went to sleep. Everything felt familiar, something I wasn't really used to but somehow fitted as the three of us comfortably enjoyed the rain sounds and the after-dinner fullness, an interlude of happiness as we found ourselves lucky enough to be in full warmth and safety.

Sean was the first one to call it a night, standing up abruptly from his own seat by the window, taking his phone with him as he hinted a move like he was running away from us. Harry turned to the side, leaning against the counter, his socked feet loosely crossed at the ankles, "It's way too early for bed."

"I guess I just don't want to third wheel tonight," Sean pressed, his lips tight to avoid giving up on his very evident teasing; there was something warm in his eyes that suddenly made me acutely aware of how close we'd become in the past few weeks. "The washing room is not sound proof, y'know?"

That close. Fuck. However hard we tried to hide it, it seeped out of us and we were obviously unaware of how amusing Sean found the situation. It was his freaking job to keep track of Harry at all times, so of course he knew, he heard us.

Harry laughed along, but my face was hopefully giving off an unaffected vibe, though everything behind it was the opposite as my cheeks felt warm with awareness—Harry making everything worse by leaning against the counter again—this time his arms stretching the black tee that matched his trail of tattoos, placing both of his hands on his hips, making me think how I'd never touched a chest that looked quite like that.

"I don't know what you're talking about... No idea." He replied cockily, the idiot probably feeling like it was easier to use it as a joke. Sean rolled his eyes and wished us a final goodnight, the sound of his boots crossing the foyer and up the stairs. Harry then looked from the entrance of the kitchen to where I was sitting. "I'm done here, come on." He wiggled the fingers on his right hand, making me move forward; my legs untangling from the sturdy high seat and walking softly where he was; all of his aura brightened by the warm kitchen lights, making me agree with whatever he had in mind.
Honestly, I felt like following him anywhere.

***

At some point of the night, we stayed huddled on the cats favorite couch; the lights dimmed as a fuzzy two-sided blanket was softly warming our limbs into a very fine after dinner rest. Beside us, two pink mugs of tea still steamed, scenting the air with a hazy combination of herbs and lemon.

I was trying to relax. Tea, a good stretch, then sacking out on the couch. Perfection.
I should have been totally chilled, but what I got was a face full of Harry Styles anxiety, his leg shaking up and down with zero patience and he couldn't stop moving around like one of those fuzzy toddlers I encountered on triage, with the difference that he was probably trying to find a nice spot to stay on.

"Would you stop that?"

"I'm not comfortable."

"You're getting on my nerves —" I said, jokingly pointing it out. We were both on our sides, him practically hovering over me and Harry's legs were so long we were tangled up together in the middle of everything. Pillows, blanket, pants, socks. I caught a whiff of his shirt that smelled of soap and baby powder, or maybe it was his hair. I frowned at how heavy he felt on my side, as I tried to save my injured hand away from him. "Just move to another sofa, this one is obviously too small for the both of us."