Sweet Creature * {h.s | AU}

TWO.

"Everything?" you giggled, "Like, really? Style-ish?" Taking in a sip of the Macchiato, you could've sworn your eyes rolled all the way back to your head. Damn, this is good. He is good.

"Does the Macchiato tastes good?"

"Yeah." You took another sip and let the taste linger in your tongue before letting it slowly sliding down your esophagus. "It's real good."

"Exactly, and it doesn't taste nice because my café name is Style-ish, does it?"

You look up from your cup, and stare at him, "yeah, but it might get me addicted."

He shook his head and started to chuckle lightly to himself. The dimples, God. "I believe that you didn't come all the way here for coffee."

"Sure I did. You made your café sounds like it's on the Must Go Cafés Before You Die article," you said.

"So, you're leaving?" he asked, "after the coffee?" he nodded at your cup.

"Jesus, Harry, if you don't want me here that much you can just tell me. I'll be out the door before you even know it."

He looks up frantically and steps out from the counter, "no! No, don't go. I want you to stay." Harry reached out and touch your elbow gently, leaving your nerve endings sparkling like fireworks on Fourth of July. "You want to talk? Like a small talk?"

"About what?"

"About each other. Get to know each other a bit. I want to know you more."

Not as much as I want to know you.

"Sure. Why not." If the chatters in the background went silent, he could hear your heart beating against your ribcage, thump-thump, like it's demanding to be set free. Thump-thump.

He walked you to a small bay window, small enough that when you both sit down, your knees could brush over each other's. It's the brightest spot in this café, he said, I like to procrastinate here. And by sitting so close to him, you couldn't breathe without the cinnamon and vanilla scent of him travelling along through your nose. So that's what he smells like, you thought.

"So, are you still going to school?" he asked, "you look like a college student."

"No, but I did took a few Fiction-Writing class back then."

"Fiction-Writing, eh? That is so romantic." He threw one arm across his forehead and leaned back a little in a dramatic way, which got you laughing again. "Do you work or something?"

"Yeah, I work at a book shop near Marie's."

"Book shop, classic." His shoulders bumped yours in a teasing manner, making your face blush.

"Tell me about our family," you said, fingertips running along his hand and tracing his tattoos – which you just notice – ghostly.

"I have a mom named Anne, a sister – Gemma, you should meet her, she's really smart – and a stepdad, Robin."

"Aw, lucky you. You have a sibling." Your eyes lifted up from his hand and looked into his eyes. "I'm the only child." You hadn't notice how fascinating his eyes were, green with a mixture of blue, it was like the trees and ocean had conflate in his eyes.

"That must been lonely," he said. "But lucky you, you met me. I must've been the best thing that has happened in your life."

"You are perhaps the most arrogant and self-centered asshole I've ever met."

"But still, the best."

You both stayed silent for a while, him observing the pedestrians on the busy streets that would pass by the window you two were sitting next to every so often; you examining all the tattoos on his arm. You found out that he had two swallows tattooed somewhere below his collarbones.

"Why do you have so many tattoos? Does all of them have a special meaning?" Your curiosity had gotten the best of you.

He looked down at his tattoos and examined it the way you did, like he's never seen any of it before. "Well, some meant something to me, some are just there because I like it."

"How many tattoos you've got?"

"Overall, about 60 something."

"Are you addicted to it?" you asked.

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

You were so caught up in looking at his tattoos you didn't know he was staring at you, waiting for you to know him more. "Um, so, why do you always wear button down shirts?"

"Why do you wear a shirt?" he smirked, his dimples deeply carved in his cheeks.

"To cover my naked body. What do you think?"

"What do you think?"

"Yeah, but look at you, you've only got two buttons in the middle fastened, it's barely covering anything. You might as well not wear one."

He laughed with his eyes squinting and shoulders shaking lightly, "I'm sorry, bunny, but I don't think it's legal to walk around the streets without a shirt on."

There's that word again, bunny.

"But you're barely wearing a shirt!" you continued to argue, trying to make your point by repeating the same words.

"At least I am wearing one, just barely."

"God, you're unbelievable." Both of your hands flew up in the air in frustration as he looked at you in amusement.

Your eyes wander to a blank wall, near the counter, across where you were sitting. "Why is that place blank?" you asked, pointing to the direction.

His head shot to where you were pointing at and both of your eyes never left, but just staring blankly ahead, "I didn't know what to do with it. I did thought of hanging a self-portrait but that would be a good steal for the customers."

"Oh wow, you really are the most arrogant and self-centered asshole I've ever met."

He nudged you in the knees with his gently, "but I'm hot."

You rolled your eyes at him and pretended to gag. "You could put up a bookshelf? Put some good books in it."

"You mean comics?" His face lightened up only to tease you more.

"No, I mean good books. Fictions."

"Ew, I'm allergic to fictions."

You gasped with your eyes widened in fake horror, "you've insulted me!"

He laughed again, sending great ecstasy sounds into your ears.

"I mean it. Good books, good fictions. And perhaps I'll drop by even more." Which meant you would be here even longer because you already knew you'd be here every day for a lovely cup of Macchiato and a dreamy sight of Harry.

"Really?" Harry beamed, "alright, I'm off to get me a good bookshelf."

"And until then – when you get a bookshelf – you can tell me all about your tattoos."