Dealing With Absence » h. styles au

29ᵀᴴ CHAPTER

But it's missing a picture. She needs his picture.

And if so happens to be one of a silly boy sticking out his tongue with tightly squeezed eyes along with her crap on the first drawer no one ever (despite herself) looks into, it's just a mere coincidence.

It is.

--

Consciousness comes back in slow waves.

It's like she keeps drifting back and forth with the movement of a sea full of warmth, the shore just mere metres away. She reaches it eventually, completely loose and breath even, body light with satisfaction and the feeling of being held close still embracing her.

It's when she realises the feeling comes from the quilt she keeps dearly bundled to her fists, covering her completely until it touches her chin. The bridge of her nose is freezing, unlike the entirety of her body, and she does not feel like standing up right now. It's not like she would bear the cold if she dared a move, anyway.

"Leesh?" she finally acknowledges the whisper coming through the door; can almost hear the way his teeth are gritting with cold. In reply, she hums something that should sound like words, but don't at all.

She tries again. "C'm'in."

The wood creaks open hesitantly, an even more hesitant man carefully tiptoeing in. She's not looking at him to see what he's up to, but she hears it distantly when he shuts the door with extreme care to be as silent as humanly possible, but ends up bumping against the edge of the bed and cursing aloud to cut through the night.

What a bastard.

Elisha is smiling when he slides under the covers next to her, his body bringing freezing touch to all places. She shrinks involuntarily, slightly curling into herself.

"Sorry," he mumbles, humming in contentment a moment after. "Hmm, so warm," is what he says against her ear, pulling her closer by the waist to press his chest to her back. It feels nice like this, she reasons, engulfed by giant arms and broad chest, desperate for heat.

"Been working on it for hours," she half-states, mouth feeling not like her own when she tries to speak. Her brain is on full rest, at the moment.

"Been working on what?" Harry sounds slightly confused, but extremely tired. His voice has claimed an ever rougher tone to it, syllables sliding past through his lips with a slow, ever so slow pace. It sounds like a lullaby, and she can seriously fall asleep to just this.

"Warming up," is Leesha's final answer, taking all of her efforts to drag it out.

Harry stays silent then, nuzzles against her neck only to startle her with the freezing ice his nose has become. Slowly, just on Harry's exact rhythm, it warms up to the touch, becomes bearable, and, finally, comforting. Their proximity is such that she feels the moment his lips part unconsciously, hovering briefly over her skin before stopping on air and exhaling the content in his lungs.

She tosses and turns until she's face-to-chest, smoothing out the wrinkles on his jumper with gentle fingers that keep sliding down seeking for longer ones. Elisha has to twist her arm only slightly to keep sliding the digits through his arm until they meet his palm sprawled over her hip, almost protectively. He doesn't protest when she fills the space between his fingers with hers.

"Too tired to talk?" she wonders against his chest, eyes closed, ears pressed to the broad surface moving barely with the inhale and exhale. He feels soft like this, vulnerable.

His brain seems to take decades to catch up, the quietness between them thickening as seconds go by. When he finally answers, she's already lost track of what even was the question in the first place.