Harry meets you at the laundromat in about an hour flat, your smile contagious as you skip outside and jump straight into his arms. He had boarded The Excel train with his hair still wet and his clothes sticking to his damp skin, the burden of his dream stretching thinner and thinner as he repeated each one of your reassuring affirmations to himself; this is not my fault, dreams are out of my control, the images will soon fade, my day will go on, my body is calm and relaxed, my mind is at peace, I will overcome my nightmares. He can't remember a time when he's been so happy to do laundry, even though he only had about one change of clothes and his hoodie on his person. Any excuse to see you is one that he is glad to make.
The greeting that he receives is enough to make his insides twist and turn, let alone the sight of your outfit of which appears to be faux leather high-waisted leggings and a skin tight sweater, black boots to combat the rain and that addicting smell of smoked honey oozing from your hair that he would dream about if he ever slept. "Don't mind my laundry day outfit," your nails scratch into the back of his neck as you twist one of his curls around your middle finger, "hi sweetie. Can I have a kiss?"
His arms slip easily around your waist and he would have assumed that he'd be too embarrassed to kiss you in public in the middle of the sidewalk, but he could care less who sees when the girl of his dreams is dressed like a cat burglar and asking for a seemingly simple regard. He nods and accepts the racing of his heart as he inches closer, your lips brushing together first before he mutters a soft hello and closes his mouth around your bottom lip to suck gently, his breath trembling out when he puckers and kisses your top lip two more times.
He doesn't notice how many people have to walk around your joined figures or concern himself with strangers either staring or averting their eyes. This is the most guiltless and normal thing he has done in years upon years, the only thing that has made him happy aside from his kitten and a handful of glorious sunrises and he decides that he won't allow anyone to ruin it for him.
"Mmm," your grin illuminates your eyes and your cheeks before you sponge one more kiss on his mouth and draw back, "can't believe you took the train all the way here for me and some silly laundry. I'm so glad you did though. They have coffee and beer and stuff inside. I've hit my caffeine limit for the day, but can I buy you a cup? Are you okay, by the way? From what I saw, it looked really gnarly."
He nods in response to all of your statements and questions, his mind losing track of the different topics as he slowly processes before he registers your final inquiry, "um..." He glances over his shoulder to see if anyone is listening but then takes into consideration that your language was vague enough that no one could know what you were talking about if they happened to hear. It takes him a moment but then he does simple calculations in his head, concluding that you've spoken that way on purpose and he can breathe deeply trusting how knowledgeable you are on the subject of oppressive psychic ability without any requests on his end, "the affirmations helped a little. I'm okay I think."
You kiss him again and whisper against his lips, his stomach tingling at the sensation of your mouths continuously skimming together, "I asked the manager to turn off the television. I said it was too hard for me to watch. What's done is done. You can't change the past." You draw back and take a step away after lacing your fingers together and smiling at him again, your features light and natural in the hazy, cloudy sunlight, "need any detergent? I have tons."
He's already excited at the prospect of his clothes smelling like yours, an expression of subdued delight washing over his face after you spin around and tug him into the quiet business space. There is one other patron sitting at a table in the opposite corner, their nose buried in their phone and headphones planted firmly inside of their ears, two or three washing machines spinning by their head at high speed to rinse the articles of clothing within them.
YOU ARE READING
MATURE CONTENT WARNING // You bring your gaze back to his face and discover that he's already watching you, his chest heaving with hunger and his eyes drilling luscious holes into your skin. He leans close and breathes against your mouth, the single...