Eucalyptus & Honey |H.S.|

Chapter 42 - We Don't See What We Used to See

"Darling!" Anne called as Harry, Jeff, the rest of the band, and I stepped into Harry's London home. Since most of the band already had homes in London, we were all staying separately, but decided to hang out at Harry's place for a bit first after the long plane ride. Apparently Anne had heard of these plans as well, and I was excited to see her again.

Harry placed his Mickey Mouse covered suitcase on the ground of the entryway as we all piled into the house, and he leaned down to give his mother a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

When I had first saw the suitcase Harry planned on bringing, I briefly teased him about the somewhat childish design, but when he immediately got defensive and subconsciously jutted out his lower lip at my teasing, I let it go quickly. I chose not to bring up the fact that a suitcase that doesn't even roll wasn't all that practical when I realized how much he truly loved it. And I couldn't say that it wasn't adorable to see him proudly walking around the airport with the Mickey Mouse print covering the brown leather.

"Did you get some sleep on the plane? You all must be exhausted. I've already put on the tea," Anne said, already fussing over each one of us as though we were her own adopted children.

Mitch cleared his throat, and I would've missed the slight glint of amusement in his eyes if I didn't know exactly what he was referring to when he said, "I think Harry and Stevie had too much energy to sleep, but the rest of us were out most of the flight."

My eyes widened fractionally just as Anne made her way to me to offer a hug and kiss in greeting. Her own face held a small frown at mine and Harry's lack of sleep, and it took all of my restraint not to offer Mitch a glare for that intentional comment. He was good at playing innocent because he usually was innocent. That's what makes his rare sly comments so shocking.

Thankfully, only Mitch, Harry, and I understood the hidden meaning behind his words. I returned Anne's hug and kiss with a soft, genuine smile, and when her arms were wrapped around my shoulders in a tight squeeze, she whispered, "You've no idea how happy I am to see that you and H have worked things out."

The words were quiet and quick, and she had already began leading us towards Harry's living room by the time I processed them. My smile turned shy, and I attempted to hide it by pulling my bottom lip between my teeth and interlocking my fingers with Harry's as we followed behind Anne, and I was grateful when no one asked what I was smiling about.

Mitch was a step ahead, and Harry playfully shoved his shoulder and whispered a quiet, "Fuckin' wanker," with a chuckle. Mitch turned his head to give us a small, barely-there smirk, before turning his attention forward again as we stepped into the spacious living room.

It was the first time I was seeing Harry's London home, and I was oddly nervous. I wasn't entirely sure what the nerves stemmed from, but Harry seemed to share them. He lowered his voice so only I could hear as he squeezed my hand and said, "You like it? Be honest. You're allowed to fuckin' hate it. I don't spend as much time here as I'd like, so it's a little less...personal."

He was right. It was less personal in the way that it didn't really feel lived in. The interior design was very mid-century modern with dark woods and dreamsicle oranges and velvet greens. The walls were covered in framed vintage looking magazine and album covers, and an oak bookshelf with plants that must've been fake, as well as various awards and warn-in books. One wall was entirely covered in guitars, acoustic and electric alike. There were even a few basses in the mix, which brought my brows up to my hairline. I had no idea he even played the bass. There were limited windows in the space—likely for privacy—and yet, there seemed to be natural light coming in from every corner.

The entire room felt very Harry to me, but there were the everyday things missing. The coffee table was free of his discarded rings and any loose guitar picks. The couch looked soft, but hardly sat in with the throw blanket perfectly folded over the back. Every nook and cranny looked pristine—free of clutter. However, every inch of the space looked as though Harry had thought over and picked every last detail. This was his home. I could see that in his eyes the moment we stepped into the house. And maybe that was what had made both of us so nervous. This was the first time I was seeing a place that he felt was truly his. Not a place to vacation or stay at while working. Home.