Four hours. He was four hours late. Four hours late on your six year anniversary.
You stood there, admiring everything you had prepared to celebrate the last six years of your life with him. The most beautiful six years of your life.
You felt stupid, standing there in that baby pink silk dress that he had gotten you two years prior, claiming that he couldn't stop picturing you in it when it caught his eye, that he couldn't get it out of his head, how elegant it would look embracing your golden skin.
No tears fell though. The disappointment was rooted way too deep for you to even register it properly. You went through every possible scenario, trying desperately to take a guess at what words would fall from his mouth to explain himself. It better be good, you thought to yourself, chuckling sadly.
You decided to stop drowning in your disappointment just as the clock hit 23:05. You took a deep breath, gathering your curls up in a bun, a few strands sticking out.
You walk to the panel and press the button, closing up all the huge glass doors that opened up to your front yard, admiring Los Angeles in all its glory before turning around to clean up your kitchen.
You picked up your empty, dirty plate and your half filled glass of water, downing it in 10 seconds. You placed both items in the sink. He's late, he can do the dishes. You thought.
You walked back to the island, grabbing his untouched plate full of food and covered it with aluminium foil, placing it on the other island behind you. You did the same with the wine bottle, our favorite.
You put the coasters away along with the place mats. You decided to leave the vase of flowers where they were, you like them.
When the kitchen was cleared, you didn't know what to do. Do I wait up for him? Do I just go to bed? What the fuck do I do? You decided to start with something simple, you kicked off your heels, letting out a little frustration.
You took a deep breath for what seemed to be the fiftieth time tonight. You gripped the edge of your marble counter, trying to collect yourself, just as you heard your front door open. You glanced at the clock behind you. At least he made it before midnight. Even if it was literally just five minutes before.
You watched him walk up to your kitchen, noticing the petals you had scattered on the floor, a hint of confusion flashing through his green orbs, as the same look flashed in your brown orbs. Why was he confused?
That's not all you noticed though. You noticed how he didn't have flowers in his hands, or remorse on his face, he looked sorry though. You pursed your lips and raised your eyebrows, unsure of what to do.
When he realized you were in the kitchen, his eyes settled on you, he was wearing an 'i know i fucked up but don't get mad' smile on his face. Oh dearest Harry.
You held his gaze. He was confused. He was trying not to show you, but you knew him too well for that.
"Baby." He spoke. "I know, i'm home late, I didn't really give you much of an explanation through my text but please just, before you get mad and have my head, let me explain?" He requested.
You couldn't speak, so you just leaned forward on the counter and put your hand under your chin, signaling for him to begin with a raise of your eyebrows.
