It's You [H.S.]

11.10 | You're it

4th April 2019

Some good news had Harry heading home to Hampstead a couple of days early.

Now tinkering with layers and mixes, in the deep end of mastery and production, they've recorded almost everything - barring a final few sessions coming up in London next week, to replace some synths with horns, strings and choral sections.

So, for now, and sensing his excitement, the guys insisted they could get by without him for a few days and happily shooed him off.

>

Having waited to set off until after the rush hour, it's after 10pm when he finally arrives home.

Stepping through the front door to a surprisingly dark and quiet house, he peeks his head into the living room and gym but comes up empty.

Hastily downing a banana and bottle of water in place of dinner, he locks up and sets the alarm.

Hefting his bags back over his shoulder, he takes the stairs two by two, keeping light on his feet to try to maintain the element of surprise.

But, peering around their bedroom door, he's surprised to find it dark and empty as well. Hmm?

He's just about to call out, when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and clams up. Not entirely sure if it's out of concern or just the anticipation of her being close by - well, somewhere - he piles his bags by the mirror in the corner of the room, before skirting quietly around the bed.

Dropping a hand to the ensuite door, just slightly ajar, he stills to listen out before pushing it slowly open.

Leaning silently against the doorjamb, he has to pinch his lips between his teeth to stop from making a sound. Shit, she's cute.

Eloise is in the deep tub - almost overflowing with towering bubbles, and surrounded by flickering candles. He can't help but smirk when he clocks the scent - similar to the spicy tobacco and vanilla of his Tom Ford cologne. With a calf resting over her bent knee, she distractedly flexes her foot, dipping in and out of the water. A frown mars her brow as she gnaws on her bottom lip, eyes flitting across the page of a script in rapt attention.

Just catching him in her peripheral vision as she folds over a page, her reaction is dramatic, to say the least.

With a shriek of surprise and a double-take cricking her neck, her flailing arms toss the script into the air just as her foot slips and she slides down, submerging beneath the bubbles. The resulting splash douses the candles around the edge of the bath, extinguishing the only light in the room, to suddenly engulf them in pitch black.

She re-emerges spluttering. "Fucking hell! Please... Turn the lights on, quick!", she whimpers.

The strained tone of her voice suppresses his automatic bark of laughter at her dramatics. Quickly finding the light switch, he ups the dimmer to low before striding closer "Sorry, baby! It's just me".

Dropping to his knees in front of her, he swats away her sudsy hands to gently swipe the bubbles from her eyes and face whilst raking her hair back. Clocking the heaving of her chest and still-startled expression, he frowns before leaning forward to drop a kiss to her forehead. "Fuck, I really scared you, didn't I? I'm sorry".

Plucking the soggy script out the bathwater to drop it on the floor with a splat, she shudders. "Don't be, it was a grisly fucking horror anyway". The distaste is writ clear across her expressive features.

"Oh, God, now I feel even worse!", he grimaces, chuckling flatly.

Intent on making it up to her, he's already popping back up and reaching to pull his shirt over his head, before getting to work on his fly and toeing off his socks.