Five [The Appointment]

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Day 3,627

It's Harry's only day off for the week and he is choosing to spend his entire morning with his fingers and wrists caked in clay, his headphones buzzing in his ears and his bare foot depressing the pedal on his pottery wheel. His torso is tucked into a fatigued modest t-shirt, the one that he usually wears when he sits hunched over his machine throwing pots. His black jeans are covered in splotches of dried brittle marks, his forehead and cheeks showing signs of deep concentration with every swipe of his wrist against his face.

The studio is empty on an early Wednesday morning, Harry having arrived here before dawn because he chose to watch the sunrise from his elevated sacred spot. The weather was uncooperative, the sky filled with an annoying light mist that made him feel uncomfortable and damp all over, his hoodie developing a film from the vapor lingering in the atmosphere. The sun looked exceptionally brilliant though as it fought with the foreground of cloud cover with bursts of light making the gloom appear extra distinguished - or perhaps that was just his perspective due to his incurable giddy spirit.

He was in a bashfully gratified mood after his most recent colorful dream that spotlighted you and your explicit red coat, rushing into work an uncharacteristic two whole minutes late on Tuesday afternoon and stuttering over an apology to the kitchen manager. Unlike Harry, he hardly recognized it as an inconvenience. He took one look at him before scanning his frazzled body up and down and slapping his shoulder a bit too hard, bursting into a chuckle when he asked Harry if he had finally gotten laid.

His cheeks flamed an embarrassing crimson, his gaze dropping to the ground as he shrugged and pried his headphones from around his neck to replace on his ears. The kitchen manager recognized his insensitive mishap right away, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in shame and extending his hand towards him but Harry recoiled and interrupted with another muttered apology for being late before slinking into his dishwashing nook in the corner.

He shook his head at his stupidity; for wearing his emotions on his face and in his muscles that way and for being so shamefully unloved and lonely that an imaginary person can perk his mood a visible amount to strangers. He hiked his sleeves up beyond his elbows and plugged the sinks to begin filling with soap and water, swallowing a lump in his throat and clicking the volume up on his headphones as he counted the seconds until the timer automatically clicked the water off.

He had no idea that his kitchen manager stood behind him with his hip perched upon the sterile metal counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head with an exaggerated frown on his face. He was almost certain that Harry was an Adroit because he has known exactly one other in his lifetime and their tendency towards seclusion and reticence was almost identical, but he wasn't a snitch and he just liked him too damn much to do anything about it, so he decided to just keep that information to himself.

The population seems to be pretty in favor of turning Adroits in, a hive mindset that is extremely hateful and pandemic but there are a few that turn a blind eye to the entire decrepit situation, choosing the mantra of 'live and let live' for the sake of some semblance of peace. He happened to be someone who empathized with Harry's situation, but if Harry had known about his higher up's assumption he would have quit his job faster than immediately.

Harry's vision of you had been so pleasant that he's felt like he has been walking on air ever since he woke up over thirty hours ago. The way your lips parted in joy when you noticed the photograph on the coffee shop wall and how you stepped closer to it to absorb more detail, your confident strut towards the espresso machine when your order was called and your subsequent spill that he admittedly found endearing. Even without hearing you speak he could tell that you were a thousand licks of the sweetest ice cream, your presence so polished and radiant that he could see it reflecting off of everyone's faces in the coffee shop.

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