S-s-stutter [Zarry]

dabs of white

+Harry

There's a thick accumulation of snow when I wake up. My eyes grow wide like a child as I spring out of bed and gaze out the window.

It's frigid without the warm envelop of my comforter, my feet padding across the cold tile. I shiver slightly, my eyes fixed upon the downy white blanket of snow.

My breath hitches at how beautiful it is, fogging up the window pane.

Today is Saturday. I'll trudge through ten inches if it means seeing honey colored eyes and tawny skin.

It isn't just the chill of the weather, but the thought of him that sends more shivers down my spine.

I'm a bit indecisive about what to wear but tug on a comfy pastel purple jumper and a beanie, my curls poking out of the sides. I chuckle as I hastily throw on some socks and slip into some boots.

I grab a puffy coat and brush my teeth until the toothpaste burns. My face is flushed, even paler than usual.

It's been an unbelievably harsh winter and I look washed out.

Almost like a piece of blank copy paper. I waste no time pinching my cheeks because a gust of cold air pricks at me when I step out the door.

It's bone chilling, the cold seems to seep through the layers of fabric on my body. My legs walk quickly down the sidewalks, my boiling blood pumping inside me.

And I come to a sudden halt, my hand trembling as I reach for the door handle.

It's peaceful and quaint, tucked away on a street corner. Worn, faded brick and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee billowing out when I open the door.

And he's nestled in a booth by a window, his fingers skimming over the menu, eyes darting and then flicking over to me.

Smiling brightly, like the freshly fallen snow.

"Hi," I squeak out and slip into the booth.

He just laughs and I freeze up as his warm hands cup my cheeks.

"Harry, why on earth would you walk here?"

I shrug, my tense body easing up. I relax, my body comforming to the plush booth cushions.

My reflection in the window shows a faint pink tint to my cheeks.

Rosy enough to make up for my pasty skin. And my lips are cherry red, a little bit cracked but nothing Chapstick can't fix.

"I think I'll just settle on hot chocolate. Extra whipped cream."

"I like that," he grins. "Tried to pin down your coffee order and couldn't do it."

I blush, my fingers fiddling with a napkin.

He was thinking of me.

"I didn't know it would be so bloody cold. M'sorry about that."

"It's alright," I beam. "This is nice."

He orders a flat white, an artisan leaf etched in creamer.

Yet he calls me the hipster. And he also orders two blueberry muffins.

Delicious freshly picked blueberries and melted butter.

I can feel my insides growing warmer as he wipes a dab of whipped cream from the tip of my nose.

There's a new round of snow, white flakes sticking to the window.

Pressing onto the glass, clinging before they melt away.

And his hand slips over mine, my insides fizzing.