XX // h.s au

2. "No fucking way."

“ You didn’t show up.” His voice held no judgment, no disappointment, it was amused as it always had been.

“ Sick. No.” She coughed out, walking away from her door, collapsing onto her couch. She didn’t expect him to go away, and he didn’t, following her into her living room, closing the door behind him.

“ Who’s taking care of you?”

“ No one.”

“ No fucking way.” He sat himself down on the coffee table, his famous smirk replacing his previously shocked expression. He wore a purple shirt that highly complimented his eyes, his hair was relaxed against his shoulder, his famous torn, dark blue, jeans clinging onto his legs.

“ You could have called, you know, I would have brought you some soup, or something.” He tilted his head to the side, almost as if he was taking her sickened features in, that smirk of his still prominent. She didn’t know what could possibly be amusing about the situation, but that was Harry, and Harry was amused by practically anything.

“ Go home. You’ll get sick too.” She coughed into her cushion, staying there till she made sure that she wouldn’t spread her germs all over him.

“ I’m germs-proof, don’t worry about me. I’m going to have my date with you, one way or another.” He stood to his feet, his eyes scanning the surroundings, before falling upon the small kitchen.

“ Ah, cooking dinner for the first date is always a charmer.” He mused.

“ How did you even know where I live?” She forced herself to sit up, feeling slightly uncomfortable laying down with the man she barely knew, but surprisingly, trusted.

“ It’s a small town, people talk. You shouldn’t underestimate my skills.” She watched his back flexing with the small movements he made in front of the stove, seemingly focused.  His eyebrows were furrowed, his tongue sticking out of his mouth, almost as if he was working on something that mattered. Perhaps, it did to him. She couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips at the warmness of the sight; him, wearing her apron, cooking in her kitchen, taking care of her through her illness. It was nice. He was nice. It was almost as if he could sense her eyes on him, because his green emeralds held her own, all traces of the previous frown fading away, as a captivating smile took over his features.

“ It should be ready in about 20 minutes.” He announced, putting in a hint of salt, closing the lid, before walking back to where she was seated.

“ So, what do you want to do till it’s ready?” She shrugged her shoulders tiredly, sinking further into the blanket that surrounded her figure.

“ Lets talk. You need to get to know your future boyfriend you know.” She coughed again, but this time, not due to her cold, but due to his blunt promise. And again, she was reminded with the confidence and sureness that he carried himself with.

“ You’re not my boyfriend, Harry.”

“ Yet, love. I’m not your boyfriend yet.” 

With that, he walked into the kitchen again, stirring the soup he was making, humming a silent tone to himself. And she didn’t feel like she had to correct him again, because with Harry, what was the point really?