killer instinct - || h.s. ||

51

" livin' in a movie i've watched"

---

aurora astor.

The comfort of Harry's bed has been a place of sanctuary these past few days.

It has been this endless cycle of sleep-deprived days consisting of the same routine of things: eating with him in his kitchen, scorching showers in an attempt to feel something, curling up into his couch under the gloomy sunlight, and right back into the same bed.

After the first night, I welcomed the touch I craved so bad. I invited his arms wrapped around me, keeping me safe until I couldn't breathe under the weight of the pain seeping through my mind.

And I'm fine, snuggled under the warm covers laced in his cologne while his shirt and boxers stay drape over my body.

I'm fucking tired. I don't want to move from this quiet peace with my eyes shut in recollection of this incessant loop in my mind.

Until a gentle caress sparks my body back to life, and I softly inhale while bracing for reality again. "Rory," he whispers, stroking the strands of my hair stuck to my cheek out of my face.

His accented voice coaxes me back to life, and I blink my eyes open to his angel face glowing in sunlight as he sits beside me – absolutely shirtless in just a pair of cotton gray shorts.

His puffy eyes sparkle green, and his plush pink lips twitch up into that infamous, gut-wrenching smile. It warms the entirety of my body in a heartbeat as I stare up at him under the blinding light.

"Hey, sleepy," he murmurs with a subtle smile spread across his face. I hum softly as I nuzzle my cheek into his palm while shutting my eyes again.

"Hey, hey, come on–" he instantly shakes me to this reality again, and I huff at him.

"Harry–" I grumble at the fatigue, rolling toward him to bury my face into the plush pillow. His soft laughter echoes through my ears like a simple melody in contrast to the havoc in my head.

His fingers run through my hair to run his fingernails across my scalp, gently stroking me back into the arms of sleep like a lullaby.

I perceive the bed shift, and his body heat radiates across my body. I instantly hum the second his lips press against the side of my head, "Come eat breakfast with me," he softly requests.

I turn my head, allowing oxygen back into my nose. I blink my tired eyes open to his stupid smile inches from my face with his shirtless body propped up on his forearm.

I simply blink at him laying next to me on his side, wondering how he was real sometimes.

His ink on full display, trailing over the ripples of muscles on his olive skin. The beauty of his structured face with those fading bruises and white butterfly bandages still held on his face. To his emerald eyes twinkling hues of green within them. His floppy hair falls in warm chestnut curls of his forehead, and those pink lips hold a boyish smile carving a dimple into his cheek.

God, he was art in every way.

"For fuck's sake, Ace, you want me to beg for it?" He amusingly murmurs.

My lips finally curve upward with my cheek squished against the pillow – capturing his adoration with a brighter smile deepening that dimple wrinkled in his cheek.

"Please?" He laughs at himself while he whispers, and I snicker softly.

He leans closer, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Please," he chuckles, and I pinch my eyes shut as he begins to attack my face in playful kisses. "Please, baby," he kisses the tip of my nose, then my cheek, and then my jaw.