under the covers [hs au]

chapter sixty-six.

 how late i am getting this to y'all is so embarrassing I am looking away now but the story is ending soon and everything is wrapped up i am not letting you down this summer

...i think

-

The city breeze sang. The moon and stars looked down at them. Suddenly, Samira could hear the serene sound of the River Mersey, those old gushes of water rushing toward the dock with a low swoosh. Her palms tingled, remembering the warm hand intertwined with hers, eyes envisioning the midnight horizon.

The air was cold, and tiny droplets hit her skin.

Her soul stepped into Liverpool, a city she initially loved but left resenting. Beside Samira was that other soul, her preceding lover. Tall, kind, but mysterious, who couldn't have her heart.

As the old memory meandered around her mind, Samira pulled her pashmina scarf around her body. Her smile seemed glued to her face; her lips didn't frown. Inhaling a shaky breath, she stared at the twinkly smaragdine eyes that looked back at her, almost in adoration.

Harry's eyes widened, and he raised his eyebrows, turning away with a chuckle. A soft laugh of his filled the space between them.

"Oh God," he giggled wholeheartedly now, his deep cratered dimples dipping into his cheeks, the shape of his face sharper. A tingly yet pleasant chill swirled Samira's chest, and she simpered, watching Harry laugh.

"I almost forgot your humor," Harry added, holding his stomach as he cackled. "Jesus, Sam."

"Well?" Samira questioned, raising a brow facetiously, eyes wandering around his cheeks and chin. "What's the answer?"

Harry had come all the way to her hometown, not only bringing himself and his big heart but a patch of scruff, spreading from above his lips down to his jaw. Samira never thought she'd ever see this day coming, where he'd actually let himself grow it out.

"Always been Harry." He shook his head, looking away. "Not Haroon."

"It looks good."

"It's been growing a lot faster lately. I am going to get rid of it tonight, though."

"It hasn't grown on you?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure I like it. I look old."

Laughing, Samira took a step closer, holding her arms out. Staring at her open arms dubiously, Harry blinked.

"Am I allowed?"

Snorting, Samira rolled her eyes.

"Of course."

Harry moved his muscles slowly, almost bewilderedly; hesitation glistened in his gaze. But Samira rolled her eyes—the moment she wrapped her arms around Harry's waist and rested her chin on his shoulder, he loosened up. That crisp redolence lingered on his skin like dust from an old book.

And Harry pulled her into him as if he were a child finding his long-lost teddy bear after thousands of nights without it. The way he sank his face into her neck, how tight his arms were around her. She could feel each of his breaths fanning her skin.

The longer Samira waited to unhand Harry, the tighter the hug, and she could swear a bone in her body cracked.

"I missed you," he mumbled.

A low sigh.

"I missed you too."

As her hands unclutched, the embrace got even warmer. Finally, Samira cleared her throat, holding in a stupid laugh.