Precious [h.s.]

Chapter 35

Surely my sins have found me out
God rest my soul, but show me out
Surely my sins have found me out
Spit on my grave, but kiss my mouth

Quietness is something that I've always relished and craved.

I love the quiet days when the phone's not ringing, no one is bothering me, I can enjoy my own company, withdraw from everyone, and use my time for myself.

Some playlist that Harry made for me with songs that I have to listen to before I die - morbid way to put it, but he said it - is playing in the background. He has this amazing collection of vinyl, a few of them even playing as decorations by being hung up on one of his walls. Music is always being played in his house, the atmosphere of his apartment making me want to spend more time there than at my own house.

Mine is always so cold, and it never got to the point of having the feeling of a home. A place where I live. A place where I keep my things. A place where I sleep, even if in the last month I woke up in Harry's sheets quite a handful of times.

There's nothing as waking up in his scent, with his arms around me, and his head on my shoulder. Sleeping late, and being woken up with neck kisses and breakfast in bed is all I could ever want. He cooks for me every time, and once I tried to help him, but almost ruined what he was making. He told me to get out of his kitchen and sent me to the living room, giving me a random book from his bookshelf and a big kiss on my cheek, going back to his kitchen after.

We've unintentionally started this habit of swapping books. He gives me one of his, I give him one of mine, and we have long conversations about them, finishing when one of us falls asleep on the shoulder of the other.

I started talking to him, like the fool that I am, about my library at home which of course, mesmerized him. Not for the first time, he said that maybe I could show it to him one day. In moments like this, my brain just freezes and I go along with what he is saying. That's why I've told him that I will bring him around my house sometime.

I would love to show him my studio, the place where I keep all of my books, my greenhouse, and my garden; the only interesting parts about the house, even if I know he would also adore the pool.

I know that if I brought him to my studio I could not stop admiring him and try to reproduce his beauty on the canvas. My paint would run out, and I probably wouldn't get my work done, repeatedly getting distracted by him.

We would spend hours inside the library, in silence, but together, and we would enjoy every moment of it. We would stay on the couch, our legs crossed, his head in my lap and my hand in his hair. I imagine him looking up at me, smiling, and me bending over him and kissing his lips.

In the garden, I am sure he would help me with everything. He would ask a lot of questions and I would try to answer each one of them as best as I could, knowing that he is actually interested in what I'm saying.