killer instinct - || h.s. ||

57

" but goddamn, you got me into love again "

---

aurora astor.

I finally wander down the stairs in my outfit for the rest of the night, following the dwindling daylight spilling into his loft to the sound of clutter in his kitchen.

This morning's been deliberately unrushed. After layering each other in pleasure, we spent the rest of the daylit hours tangled in bed tracing each other's tattoos while making random small conversation through the fatigue.

Eventually, he managed to roll me out of bed with him for the two us of to conserve water by showering the evident sex off our skin. His wandering fingers massaged out my skin, only to hear the soft sounds he wanted to escape my lips in doing so.

Then we brushed our teeth, and he made me wrap myself up in his clothes before we descended the stairs to him and his incessant need to always be cooking for me. Finally, sunset cascaded over his loft after the lazy day and I headed upstairs to get ready to go.

I managed to layer my skin in typical, everyday makeup to add some more life to my dull skin while making sure to cover up every bit of evidence from my neck with concealer.

I set little braids into my raven hair spilling over my shoulders to cover my neck further as my few bangs fall into place over my forehead.

I sadly traded out his comfortable clothes for a typical pair of black, faded straight-leg jeans. I add this tight intricate, purple striped cardigan that I strain to button up and it only displays keyholes of my bare skin descending my torso.

And as I begin to descend the wooden stairs, my body simply cries out for a smoke since I haven't had one all day – it's pathetic at this point.

I trek into his living room under the light from the fixtures above. Harry leans his forearms into the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone as he awaits me to head out for the night.

His eyes lift to the soft sound of my footsteps along the hardwood, and I lift up my pack of bad habits to him. His eyebrows knit together from across the open-concept space.

"Wanna smoke with me?" I question across the meters between us, turning to head for the door that leads into the hollow room with the fire escape.

But I've never seen the fucker move faster.

His green flash in panic as he notices where I'm headed, "fuck, no–" he quickly slips to barricade in front of the door to the barren room.

I finally catch the entirety of his outfit for the night on his lean figure towering over me in the heat of this seemingly odd moment.

He dons faded, loosely fit blue jeans with a white shirt that falls just to the low waistband of his denim, embroidered with red lips etching the words: 'save the drama for your mama' written within them. And of course, his pink carabiner clipped with his keys to one of the belt loops which only tugs at the denim of his jeans to just barely expose the black, calvin klein logo of his boxers.

A bewildered scoff leaves my lips as I blink up at him in shock, "what?" I question, knitting my eyebrows together at this ridiculousness.

He just nervously rubs the back of his neck, watching his delicate throat bob as he thickly swallows. His curls fall into their mess place, parted down the middle but that weary expression remains set on his face to only crescendo my own confusion.

"Uhm- actually, I would love that smoke," he awkwardly smiles, showcasing his straight, white bunny-toothed grin in full.

I just stare at him in uncertainty, attempting to put pieces together that don't even fit at the moment. And honestly, I just didn't have the energy after a night like the last to this morning, I think I'm near tapping out for a few days.