Pack yourself a toothbrush, dear

chapter seven

"Harry, where's the-" I swung open the door to his room, only to see him sprawled on the floor, his eyes widened at the sight of me, or the door opening or I don't know what, but he immediately bent in half ashamedly, blushing furiously. Shit. What the fuck did I just walk in on. Please don't let it be what I think it is. I glanced behind him where his laptop was glowing dimly. Fuck. 

A blush crept across my face. "Shit, sorry !" I shrieked hurriedly, pulling at the door, "I should have knocked, I'm sorry I swear I didn't plan on walking in on you-"  uh whatever the fuck he was doing, that I never need to talk or think about. fuck. fuck. 

"It's not what you think." He meekly whispered, getting up reluctantly. I sure hope it isn't. But, I was already flustered up. Privacy is an obnoxiously big deal for me, and I just- never mind. 

"Huh ?" I walked into the room, each step heavy and agitated and I walked up to him. He was fully clothed. okay, weird. What was he actually even doing so secretly ? Drugs ? Doesn't look like it either. "What's up, Harry ?" I spoke, smiling slightly. It felt like I was approaching a stray puppy hesitantly, careful to not scare it away. 

He looked ashamed as he held up a hand, crimson racing to his cheeks, and it's shaking ever so slightly. I glanced up at two of fingers, the pointer and the middle one, which are smudged with artlessly applied nail paint. It was a sparkly black shade, like black with golden glitter on it. His tiny, square nails looked so delicate. His entire face was red and flushed and his withdrew his hand guiltily. What. 

At least he wasn't having a wank. 

"I'm- uh, please don't think I'm weird." He whispered quietly, "I swear I'm not into cross dressing or anything like that. I just saw this shade in the store and it caught my eyes and oh well-" Oh hell, no. My heart felt stretched in my chest cavity. He seemed so ashamed and unabashedly guilty, like a stray cat caught with a fish in it's mouth. I felt a wallowing sense of sorrow. I sat down in front of him and looked at him as I spoke, showing him that I meant every word I'm about to speak. 

"Harry, it looks beautiful on you." I said truthfully, "It's such a shame that they got smudged. You should use a hair dryer, It dries before you blink.  Mind if I put on a new coat ? I've done it for my sisters, you know, and one or twice for Eleanor too." 

Or Eleanor made me do it when I, apparently, caused her to miss her nail appointment in the salon because I took too long to reach home to drive her there.  I tried to tell her that my boss isn't particularly interested in letting go off me early because my girlfriend wanted mint green nails to match her new jumpsuit, but for Eleanor's ears, my work commitments might as well be  gibberish nonsense crawling out of a buffoon's asscrack. 

"You don't think it's feminine of me to paint my nails ?" His voice faltered. Amusement splattered across his face like paint on a Bob Ross canvas. 

"What, no, never." I took up his hand and grabbed the nail paint remover from the drawer beside him, "No products, make up or accessories or clothes are masculine or feminine. They're made for all of us, Harry. It all depends on what suits you, what looks good on you. And this nail paint, it's gorgeous on you. Look, it brings out how slender your fingers are." I smiled at him and a slow, hesitant one grew on his face as well, "I love your rings as well !" 

He wore three of them, which I would say is quite a handful, pun intended. There's a huge blue gemstone on some sort of oxidized metal band, a simple ring with peace engraved on it  and a raging lion motif. 

"You think it's nice ?" he pondered softly. God, He's so fucking beautiful and so oblivious, unaware of it. Makes me want to kiss him whole lot more just so I could whisper them into his lips as I do so. Gorgeous, unearthly angel.