The living room was silent and peaceful; outside, the snow had died out through the night and now the sun peaked from behind the clouds, bringing senses of hope and purity to the gloomy outskirts of London. Harry stared down at the girl in his arms, his chin against the palm of his hand, and his face wearing a pensive expression as he watched her slowly wake up from her slumber. He had been awake for maybe an hour already, and spent the time watching her skin bask in the morning rays of sun, making her appear even more beautiful than he assumed plausible.
Had he never looked at her properly? The last time Harry saw her in the morning was that first night together, in his bed, and she was practically naked as she slept curled into his sheets. He had been so distracted that morning by the fact that he had allowed for some girl to stay over, that he hadn't taken the chance to marvel in the beauty she possessed. Staring at her now, Harry saw a girl whose beauty was unrivaled; her dark locks framed her glowing face, her pink lips were parted just the slightest as she breathed shallowly, and the delicious skin of her neck trailed off under the fabric of her dress, where he could see the swells of her breasts rolling out due to the way she was laying down. Harry supposed it would be okay if he just... placed a kiss on the dip of her shoulder... she might not mind it...
But when Clara's eyes fully opened and she let out the quietest of yawns, Harry shut his eyes instead and leaned his head back against the couch pillow, pretending to be asleep.
Clara craned her neck to peer at the owner of the arm draped across her stomach. Her body ached from being curled onto the couch, so she stretched her legs out the best she could and groaned.
"Harry," she shook his shoulder gently and shifted in his arms. Harry's eyelids lifted open and he faked a yawn.
"Hm?" he hummed.
"We fell asleep on your couch," Clara whispered to him, eyes wide. Harry fought back a laugh; she did not know that he was already fully aware of their sleeping arrangements.
"Oh," he muttered. He looked around and scratched his hairline, scraping back a few strands of hair that had swept over his forehead. "It's okay. Doesn't look like my dad is up yet."
Clara nodded slowly, still unsure about the whole thing; why wasn't he kicking her out already? It seemed that Harry was nicest when sleep was running through his veins. She bit at her lip and faced him, laying on her side and running her fingers through her somewhat tangled hair. She felt a bit sore from being on the couch, and gross since her dress was still on, but other than that, Clara felt... good? She felt like her body had been refreshed and the lingering exhaust had been uplifted, replaced by a bit more color to her skin and a brighter gleam in her eyes. She felt surprisingly rejuvenated.
"I have work at two," Clara said, not looking away from the green irises staring back at her.
Harry squinted his eyes at the clock on the far wall. "It's ten. You have time." He looked back to his girl.
She smiled faintly and without allowing a moment for her conscience to stop her, Clara snaked her arm around his waist and pulled her chest closer to his. The warmth from her body spread through Harry's blood and he fought his eyelids from falling shut again at the sensation of being that close to her.
"Clara," his nostrils flared as he inhaled her scent, faded jasmine from her perfume.
"Yes?"
"Thank you for last night," Harry murmured. "You don't... you don't know what he means to me. Thanks." The memory of the smile on his father's face and the hope in his eyes was enough to make Harry forget about the warning bells going off in his head as he stared at Clara and stroked the side of her stomach gently.
"I do know," she smiled wider and pressed the pad of her thumb into the skin that was exposed by his shirt bunching up above his soft hips. "Thank you for inviting me."
"Yeah," he uttered and then licked his lips, "You look really pretty in the morning."
Clara's brow slanted and he quickly backtracked. "You look pretty all the time," Harry corrected himself, coughing. "But especially in the morning... because of the light..."
"And because my boobs are spilling out," she giggled sweetly and Harry smiled, a smile too warm to seem fitting on his cold lips.
"Yeah, that too," he breathed, eyes flickering down.
"You look pretty, as well," Clara told him. You look fucking gorgeous, she should have said. Harry's skin appeared paler in the morning and his eyes were puffy from sleeping. And then of course there was his hair which was a mess, falling onto his forehead and tangled like someone had just gripped it in their hands. She could see every minute detail on his face from how close they were, her eyes observing the thicket of lashes lining his emerald eyes, and the hallows of his cheeks where the light failed to reach, instead filled with shadows to make his face appear more sculpted.
"Yeah," Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm sure this-" he pointed his index blindly to the scar by his eyebrow, not needing a mirror to know its location, "-is very pretty."
Clara's breath hitched in her throat at the bitter tone of his voice and the grimace on his previously soft features. She frowned and felt her heart crack at every possible seam.
"Harry, you're a very attractive guy," she told him quietly.
"You mean my dick is," his scowl was replaced with a smirk and he reached for her hand, forcing it to cup his crotch. Clara shook her head and retracted her hand before a blush tainted her cheeks.
"No, I mean all of you. Personality and looks."
"Okay," he mumbled dryly, clearly unconvinced. He shifted his body so he wasn't facing her anymore, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling. Did he really think so poorly of himself? Sure, Harry wasn't the kind of guy who boasted or appeared smug very often, but Clara definitely never suspected that he was insecure of himself. He most definitely had nothing to be insecure of, physically anyway.
"I bet all of your old girlfriends could tell you the same thing," she attempted to change his mind, smiling.
"Girlfriend," Harry spoke.
"Huh?"
"Not girlfriends, just girlfriend. I've only ever had one." He continued to look up at the plaster. His voice was softer than before and Clara was glad that his frown had faded. She was about to ask him about his girlfriend, but he spoke before she could utter the words and satisfy her yearning curiosity about his past.
"Are you hungry?" he asked her.
She pushed away the questions creeping into her mind (would she ever gain the courage to ask him all of them?), and then laughed out a yes after her stomach began to growl. As usual, she decided it was best to go along with his good mood rather than force him to become distant by pestering him about personal matters. Harry and her ended up in the small kitchen together, following multiples pleas on her part, begging for him to cook for her again. He only gave in when he requested that she join him, to which Clara sprung up from the couch and grabbed his hand, practically dragging him to the kitchen. Cooking with Harry seemed like something that could only happen in her sweet fantasies.
"What are we making?" he asked her, leaning his hip against the counter and pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. He watched her as she rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out what seemed like more than enough to make breakfast for the two of them.
"Crepes," she answered, pushing past him to go through the fridge. "Have you made them before?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
After getting everything that she knew they would need, Clara and Harry got to work. She talked the most, rambling about how her mother used to make her crepes for breakfast, and telling Harry all of the different ways to that she knew how to do it. Harry didn't find himself quite as annoyed by Clara's rambling, more humored than anything, and even added comments of his own as she spoke and they made the batter together.
"I only use a cup of milk," Harry stated when she handed him the carton. "I like them to be a bit thicker."
"Me, too," she grinned and clasped her hands together. "Do you like to add a dash of vanilla? I do that sometimes."
"No," he shook his head and measured a cup of the milk before adding it to the batter. He wanted to smile at her childish excitement. "We can do that, though."
Clara watched as he gripped the whisk and stirred the crepe batter. His arm flexed as he moved the whisk quickly, his lips pursed tightly and his chocolate hair falling over his eyes, but he was too fixated on the task at hand to push it away. Clara reveled in each thing that he did; Harry lifted the whisk after a bit to gauge the batter's consistency, he rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully, and then he reached for the carton of milk once again to add a tad more.
"Why don't you look for a job in cooking?" Clara couldn't help but let one of her many questions slip from her mouth when Harry retrieved a pan and turned on the stove.
To her surprise, his face didn't go blank and his eyes remained warm. "I don't think I'm all that good," he shrugged simply.
"You are, though," Clara urged. She stood beside him with the bowl of batter in front of her and filled the ladle up to the brim before pouring it onto the slick, hot pan. The oil popped underneath it and Harry watched carefully for the crepe to be cooked to golden perfection.
"I like what I do now," he spoke quietly, eyes on the pan. Clara's lips tugged in a frown- she didn't like what he did now. At the mention of Harry's current and frightening career, the hairs on her skin elevated and she swallowed thickly.
"May I ask why you like it?" She tested the water, treading lightly because she constantly feared his reaction. Harry had never gotten angry with her, not really anyway, but the sight of her brother laying on the cold concrete in a pool of his blood was an image that wasn't so easy to forget.
Harry grabbed the spatula and flipped the crepe over. "It makes me forget," he replied vaguely. Clara parted her mouth but the words were lodged in her larynx- instead of furthering the subject, she opened the cupboard above her head back and pulled out two plates. Harry was thankful that she didn't ask anymore about it, and moved the cooked crepe to the plate she got out a moment later.
"Let me show you how I fry them now," Clara forced a smile and nudged his shoulder. The air went from dense to light as he chuckled quietly and opened a jar of Nutella, spreading it over the crepe while Clara began to fry her own.
"Mine is a perfect circle, look." Clara gloated and put her hand on her hip.
"Impressive." He rolled his eyes.
"Does someone have an attitude this morning?" she hummed.
"No," in a very un-Harry manner, he dipped his finger in the jar and dragged the chocolatey spread over Clara's neck. His eyes gleamed when she squealed and shot her gaze towards him, mouth hung open.
"You ass! What was that for?" She stepped towards him, eyes wild and a playful snarl twitching on her lips.
"Dunno," he shrugged and casually ducked his head down to graze his lips over the sweetness on her neck. "I guess I do have an attitude," he whispered gravelly and the moment his tongue swiped over the Nutella on her neck, the playfulness between them faded. Clara's chest shot up as her breath hitched and she brought her hands up to the sleeves of his shirt, twisting the hem of the fabric. The moist muscle on her neck collected the sweet spread before trailing up to her jaw, tortuously massaging into her awaiting skin. Her nerves were awakened with each inch of skin that his tongue journeyed across; soft whimpers tumbled from her lips and before she knew it, a Nutella flavored mouth consumed her moans and every thought in her mind. Clara responded to the movement of his lips instantly; her hand flew to his hair and tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck as they kissed. It was slow at first, but it became exponentially intense as their tongues danced together and his hands gripped her hips.
"Harry," she breathed against him. She felt like a puppet, her strings being controlled by the feel of his fingertips prodding her hip bones, and his sweet, warm mouth molding against hers.
Harry groaned and suddenly lifted her up onto the kitchen counter, his hips fitting in the space between her spread apart legs. She locked her ankles around his torso, drawing him impeccably closer to her body, and their kiss became sloppy and needy within seconds. Tongues lapped against each other and lips caressed every centimeter of their mouths and the skin around it. Harry's hands squeezed at everything he could, all at once; her waist, her breasts, her hips, the end of her back. It was a mess of saliva and swallowed moans and feverish touching. Clara felt like a proper inexperienced teenager, making out wildly with her boyfriend behind her parent's backs. Her back pressed into the cupboard behind her and made her spine ache, but it seemed like an insignificant detail in the hot mess of it all. She wanted to think about Harry and Harry only, or at least, that's all her pussy wanted to think about.
Only he could have her on her toes like that. Only Harry could make her forget about the cooking crepe on the stove. She broke away from his lips for a short moment to gasp for air, and took the time to slip her hand into his joggers and boxers, stroking him gently. Harry mewled her name and went on to kissing her neck, sucking at the skin to send tsunamis of pleasure through her boiling blood.
"What's burning?"
A voice from the doorway to the kitchen caused them to still, Harry's lips detaching from her neck and Clara's hand hurriedly slipping out from his pants.
"Oh-" Des stared at the two of them, rubbed at his eyes, and then fought back a knowing smile. "Sorry."
Clara felt her skin inflame with embarrassment; she pushed at Harry's shoulders and hopped down from the counter, hiding her red face behind his massive build. Harry blew out a frustrated breath and mentally scolded himself for being so careless before stepping away from his flustered girl and turning to face his dad. He wasn't embarrassed like Clara was, simply annoyed since he could predict the amount of pestering his father would give him once she left. He narrowed his eyes at Des while using his hand to conceal the bulge in his joggers; don't say anything, he silently warned his father.
"Shit," Clara swore under her breath suddenly. moving to the stove. She turned it off and waved her hand over the pan, where wisps of smoke had accumulated from the now blackened crepe.
"So you made breakfast?" Des padded into the kitchen and flickered his gaze between the two of them, his smile unwavering. "Or... Burned breakfast, rather."
"I- we," Clara stuttered and shifted on her feet. "I'm sorry, I should have payed better attention to it."
"No worries," Des assured her, waving his hand in dismissal before reaching for the pan. "I'll just throw the pan out. We can get a new one for Christmas."
He placed the pan in the sink and Clara ran her hands over her face, fidgety and all. Harry noticed her unease and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hands down and looking at her softly.
"Relax," he mouthed. He picked up his plate and guided her to the table. "We can share mine."
She nodded feebly and Harry took a knife and fork, cutting the crepe in half. He scooted the larger half to one side of the plate and motioned for her to eat it. Clara still felt embarrassed, but shoving a bite of crepe in her mouth proved to be rather calming. She focused on chewing the sweet meal rather than on the fact that Harry's dad just saw them, with her hand in his boxers and his lips on her neck. Surely, the bruise was visible on her golden skin, a clear reminder of their lack of control.
Harry walked her out to her car after they ate. Conversation had been small during breakfast and now they were silent as they approached the blue Corolla, the sound of their footsteps in the fresh snow drowning out their lack of talking. Clara was still stuck in that kiss, in the way his hands had groped her so desperately as if he had been restraining them since the night before, and the way he had lapped his tongue against her skin, swallowing the pulses of her arteries. She thought that, if Harry acted like that all the time- she could really, really like him. And that excited her. That fluttering in her stomach was growing stronger and more difficult to ignore, even as they walked in silence.
A few days after his father's birthday, Harry figured that his knuckles had healed enough for him to put them to use again. He ripped the gauze from his hand and examined the thick scabs, pleased that the swelling and redness had faded. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he walked down the familiar grey streets with the numb thrill already surging through his veins. He was up against a large, burly drunk that night, and returned home with his bag full of cash and his mind cleared of all thoughts, from the hope in his dad's eyes to the affection in hers.
He would slam his fist against their jaw and the image of her naked body underneath his would disappear. His knuckles would split open as he hit their stomach, and the reminiscent feel of her lips on his skin would dissipate. Fighting was the only time Harry ever truly achieved peace in his mind; he didn't have to think or feel or question himself. He didn't like how she would seep into his thoughts uninvited, but he also didn't have the urge to stay away from her, so bloodying his hands seemed like the only solution.
Clara, however, didn't seek escape from her thoughts of Harry. She embraced them; she thought of him at work while she scrubbed at the grease, she imagined him in her kitchen as she poured herself a bowl of cereal in the morning, she even thought of him when she was at the mall shopping from Christmas gifts. Clara had stopped in front of an apron that had a nude male body printed on it; she giggled to herself and imagined the look on Harry's face when he opened her gift and pulled it out. Her nagging conscience forced her against buying him anything, though; it's not like he's your boyfriend, it reminded her.
Clara even thought of Harry when she was on the phone with her friend, Liam.
"So where is it that we are going tonight?" he asked her. She had promised him that she would make up for the dinner he had planned, and decided Sunday was the best time to do it. No work in the morning, meaning she could enjoy her night out without the dread of waking up early the next day.
"I can't tell you!" Clara held the phone between her ear and shoulder while rummaging through her selection of clothes. She smiled when her eyes landed on a cream blouse and she tugged it from the hanger.
"Oh, come on. I'm going to be the one paying, anyway."
"No, you're not," she scoffed into the phone and laid the blouse flat on her bed, before searching for something to go with it. "It's my surprise, so I am paying."
"Clara, there is no way I will-"
"Liam," she rolled her eyes to herself. "You treat me way too much. This one will be on me."
"I like treating you," her friend pouted quietly.
"Too bad," Clara sang. "I'll see you at eight." She laughed softly before hanging up, imagining the childish frown on Liam's face. Unlike Harry, he was very predictable; she could already see him pulling out his wallet after dinner despite her protests.
Liam arrived to her flat at eight, dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a flannel. His eyes expanded when Clara opened the door, wearing a gorgeous outfit and a dazzling smile that melted away all of his nerves.
"You're stunning," he breathed. He reached his hand out to her and she bit her lip bashfully, not always the best at accepting compliments, even from her best friend. As he guided her out to the car, Clara took note of the rich cologne rolling off his body, flooding her senses. It was minty and fresh; she found herself preferring Harry's natural musk.
Clara drove and wore a sly smile as her friend continued to pester her about their destination. Liam didn't care to know really, he just loved the smug look on her face and the way she pretended to seal her lips shut. They bantered over who would pay again, and then sang along with the radio- that one Katy Perry song that Clara likes to belt out came on- and despite how much she was enjoying herself, Clara's mind still was fogged with green eyes and tattooed, scarred skin.
"Here we are," Clara announced with a grin as she pulled up to the restaurant she had chosen. When she looked over at Liam, his lips were spreading into a grin, too, and his eyes gleamed with amusement.
"You remember this place?" he laughed and unbuckled.
"How could I forget? Prom night-"
"Don't remind me," Liam groaned, blushing as he got out of the car and took her hand in his. Clara didn't think much of the gesture- Liam was her best friend, holding hands meant nothing romantic, of course.
"Prom night, senior year," Clara continued. They approached the entrance and Liam held the door open for her. "You brought Jennifer Goodman and I brought Mark Berg. You spilled your drink all over her, she went to the bathroom, Mark said he was going to check up on her," she looked to Liam with a bubbling giggle forming on her lips, "And then we found them having sex in the stall."
"It was certainly a night to remember," Liam joined her in laughter. "Why did you want to come back here?"
Clara shrugged. "I dunno. I thought it would be funny, and I remember the food being great. I got that halibut, remember?"
"You're something else," Liam said. The words rang through her ears and she blinked, remembering the way Harry had said the exact same thing to her. Why can't I get you out of my head, damnit?!
Clara spoke to the lady at the front desk and soon they were seated at a table near the window, where they could look out at the lit up streets. Christmas was quickly approaching and the thought made Clara warm inside. She would get to spend time with her parents for the first time in what felt like ages, singing out of tune carols with them and opening presents (she hoped everyone just got her money this year; rent didn't pay itself). Clara wondered what Harry would be doing for the holidays, if anything. He didn't seem like the type to get in the spirit, but somehow she could imagine him putting up with it just to please his father. Images of Harry crudely wrapping gifts and shoving them under a plastic tree creeped into her mind as Liam talked to her about his schoolwork, and she smiled to herself, fingertips waltzing on the rim of her glass.
"So I hope she will agree on letting me retake it," Liam said and she finally drifted back to the conversation. She had sort of being listening to him talk, something about a test he had not been aware of and ended up failing; Clara nodded her head to appear focused.
They looked over the menus even though Clara had her mind set on getting the halibut. It was funny to her how she had sat in that very restaurant, a few years ago, and her life had been so different, so carefree. High school had been a breeze for her and she found herself aching for the simplicity that came with her life back then; she didn't have a shitty job to worry about, or money, or curly haired boys with too many mysteries to keep up with. She could sit with her friend and listen to him, laugh with him, and not have her thoughts drift to other matters the entire time.
"Tell me about work," Liam requested when their plates of food were set before them. The delicious smell invaded her nostrils and was almost enough to relieve the tension in her wound up muscles.
"What's there to tell you about?" Clara snorted dryly and picked up her fork. "I hate it, I hate my boss, I hate not being able to do what I am actually good at. And Janice always gives me the longest shifts at closing time," she groaned and rubbed her temples at the thought of it.
"Well, long shifts are better than short ones when you have bills to pay," he smiled in hopes of replacing her frown with a smile. Clara stabbed a piece of fish and brought it to her mouth; it tasted delectable, soft and perfectly seasoned. Perhaps she could sneak in the kitchen and ask one of the chefs what they put in it...
"Yeah, I guess," she said after swallowing down the bite of food. "But it feels like my life is so busy, you know? I never have time to hang out with you or see my parents-"
"You have time to see him, though."
Clara looked at her friend's restrained scowl and blinked in confusion. "What?"
"Him," Liam dabbed the cloth napkin against the corners of his mouth and cleared his throat. "That guy you told me about."
"Yeah, but what are you... How do you know I've been seeing him?" She could detect the slightest hint of irritation in the soft brown eyes staring back at her. She felt utterly caught off guard and just plain confused by the way Liam had said him so bitterly.
"You told me about him over the phone."
"Right," Clara looked down at her plate. "I don't see him that often, really. He's just a friend-"
"You've been to his house," Liam cut her off, griping. He, too, looked down at his plate and puckered his lips in exasperation. "That doesn't sound like just friends, Clara."
"How do you know that?" she sputtered, leaning back in her chair.
"You told me," he replied calmly.
"No, I-"
The waitress from before approached their table and interrupted Clara. "Can I get you anything more to drink?" she questioned, smiling sweetly. Clara gulped down her confusion and shook her head, as if telling herself she was just being irrational. She must have told Liam about going to Harry's house. Why would he make that up? Her mind was so jumbled these days, it wasn't unlikely that she could forget something like that. With a soft sigh, she looked up to the waiter and forced a smile in return.
"No thanks," Clara said.
Liam handed his empty glass to her and asked for some more wine. Silence settled between them for a few minutes after the waitress left, the only sounds being the clanking of silverware against their plates.
As expected, Liam reached for his wallet when it came time to pay the check. Clara protested but it was no use; he took out his credit card and handed it to the waitress before she even had the chance to go into her purse. They walked out into the cold night and an arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Clara didn't have the desire to pull away- she was absolutely freezing and Liam was like a damn human incubator.
"We should have invited Mark and Jenny," he joked in attempt to lighten the air between them. She laughed and nuzzled against him. It was easy to feel herself around Liam, even after that awkward moment shared between them at dinner- it was quickly forgotten and replaced with that natural connection they had had since they were little.
Upon arriving back to her apartment, Liam stepped out of the car first so he could rush to her side and open the door for her. Clara clasped his hand and laughed softly as she got out, the cold wind whipping her hair around. She pushed the strands away from her face and smiled at him.
"Always such a gentleman," she teased. It was true- Liam was more of a man than any of the dickheads she dated over the years.
"Only for you," he straightened his back and stared down at her intently. Perhaps it was due to the distraction of the cold air around her, but Clara was helplessly oblivious of the look in Liam's eyes that gave way to every thought floating through his mind. Had she noticed it, maybe she would have been able to say something before he could lean down and seal his cold lips over hers.
Clara, for the second time that night, was thrown off guard. A pair of lips.. against hers... Liam was kissing her? Her eyes flew wide open and every muscle in her limbs became stiff with bewilderment, not knowing whether to push him away or just go along with it.
She didn't have time to process her choices before he pulled away, wild and unrestrained hope in his eyes. Clara peered up at him and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.
"Liam," her voice was hushed and laced with surprise. The kiss had been short and simple, it hadn't made her feel warm or excited, and there definitely was no fluttering in her stomach. But it did left her mind racing, and robbed her of her ability to think clearly.
"I'll go," his cheeks flushed. "Uh, thanks for tonight."
Before she could find the words to say, he rushed back to the car and sped off, leaving her frozen in place and unable to understand what just happened. Clara finally found the ability to move her legs a few minutes later; she swore under her breath and jogged up to her flat. Liam kissed her. He put his lips against hers and then hurried away like a hot mess. She kept playing it over her in mind, from the kiss to the dinner to the way he had been acting recently, and suddenly it clicked. The realization flooded her mind like a tidal wave and swept away every last bit of her sanity- Liam wants me that way?
~
This won't be a love triangle thing I promise lol
Have a wonderful new year ! I hope 2016 is good to all of you. And thanks so much to all of you who vote and comment it means so much to me 💕
Btw I miss Harry :(