The sound of glass shattering cuts right through the reverberating walls of the fiberglass shower and vibrates Harry's ear drums. A filtered curse comes next, followed by silence and then gentle shuffling as if you are backing away from the shards of a broken object in search of something to clean up your mishap. His head whips to the side and his eyes focus on nothing in particular as he listens, his gaze flitting left and right as he strains his ears to gather more evidence as to what's happened.
He spits a bit of water from his mouth before cutting the tap off, a few beads of moisture trickling down his neck and shoulders to perk goosebumps along his skin. The water plinks and drains until it's quiet in Harry's small bathroom, quiet enough that he is able to hear you opening and closing a handful of cabinet doors. A frustrated whine slips under the tight crack in the door that makes his heart rate lope and he clears his throat to awaken his voice before calling out, "Nova?"
"It's okay, honey!"
Harry can recognize your forced certainty anywhere; when the timbre of your voice is a mismatch to your words, a few drops of faux encouragement mixed in with a dash of fluster. He slides the shower door open and grabs a towel to dry his limbs off haphazardly, a clean pair of briefs slipping up his legs before poking his head out into his slight apartment space. He steps out of the bathroom at the exact moment that you squat down to gather a large piece of glass from his floor and just as he opens his mouth to tell you to back away and let him handle it, the glass slices your finger like a hot knife.
You hiss and squeeze your injured hand, a streak of blood oozing from between your fingertips as you jump to your feet and away from the mess. You're hit with a wave of dizziness from the abrupt sight of your abrasion and from standing too quickly, a cluster of darkness and electric stars clouding your vision as your stomach turns in nausea. Harry paces over and carefully side steps the glass on the ground while you spout your disagreement, "Harry, no, you're barefoot-"
He hushes you and collects the bloody, broken pieces from your hands before tossing them into the sink, his fingers gripping your waist as he props you up on his tiny kitchen counter. He crouches down to check the bottoms of your feet and ankles first, his warm palms smoothing up your legs as he examines the skin there before standing up to search your eyes, "are you okay? Can I see your hand?" Harry wraps his fingers around your wrist and tries to pull it towards him for a better look, his head leaning closer to yours as if he's powerless to the invisible magnets inside of your throats that constantly draw your mouths together.
He knows the cut on your hand is deep and that you're hiding it tightly between your fingers, he knows that you never want him to worry about you as if he were so burdened with the reality of his existence that he couldn't possibly handle a single cut and a few drops of blood. You pull your hands away and tuck them together between your thighs to conceal the slice along your middle finger, "I'm so sorry... I was trying to get a coffee mug out and I accidentally bumped one of your pretty water glasses."
He hums before rubbing the tip of his nose back and forth over yours to paint a smile on your lips and release a hundred butterflies in your stomach, "don't care about the glass. I care about you, baby. Lemme see your hands." A soft laugh breezes past his teeth when you mouth the pet name back to him, the novelty of how paradoxically sweet and sexy it sounds when it rolls off of his tongue will never come close to wearing off.
Harry tuts when you present him your hand, he notices the diligence you put forth to keep your fingers steady and free of trembling, "do you think I need stitches? It's a lot of blood." He pinches your palm and raises your arm into the air as you both watch the blood trickle down your wrist to your elbow - neither of you are squeamish about bodies, nudity or injuries and it's just another item on the list that Harry loves about you. Considering you were born from the same exact corner of the universe though, it's not very surprising.
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...