Incandescent | H.S

Part Thirty-Nine: Domestic Daydreams & Dominant Desires

You'd had a long day. Like painfully long. The minutes felt like hours and it verged on unbearable. You'd had too many meetings to keep count of and just wrapped up a gallery event with a client. You were emotionally and physically drained.

It was late by the time you made it home. You let yourself into your apartment and ditched your shoes immediately, smiling at the lineup of footwear by your front door. Harry had left a few of his pairs of shoes there, too. In fact, he'd peppered many bits and pieces of his belongings all throughout your apartment. It was a natural progression. He had a toothbrush in your bathroom, a bunch of clothes ranging from casual to some of his more dressy garments. Smatterings of his books in his favourite reading places, consisting of your couch, the nook outside your bedroom window, and nestled in your bed underneath the ornate painting.

It was an unspoken agreement between you. That you belonged together, living between two homes and wrapping your existences around each other.

You were expecting him back in London the next day, and you'd been looking forward to an isolated weekend with him. You knew that while he spent a lot of productive time in L.A, it had become a lot more exhausting for him as his album launch neared.

You entered your bedroom, planning on changing into something far more comfortable than your smart work attire. That plan was stunted when you felt the chill in the room and you spotted that the window that led to your little rooftop heaven was open.

Nearing the source of the draft, you peeked your head out and saw Harry sprawled out on the couch with his leather journal perched on his knee. He was back a day early and you were so relieved to see him. You didn't know you could miss someone so much. Whatever he was scribbling must have been engrossing because you had to call his name twice before he heard you.

"Harry."

"My girl, hi." He crooned, setting the journal aside as you made your way to him. He wrapped his arm around you as you sat next to him.

"You're back early." You grinned.

"Managed to sneak away. How was work?"

"Long and tiring. Had an event at a gallery that went ten times better than I expected but I'm so drained now." You sighed.

He kissed your forehead and then your nose. "You work too hard, petal."

"I'm too busy to not work hard. How are you? How was L.A?"

"It was good, wrote heaps, recorded some stuff. Caught up with some friends which was nice."

"Sounds like a productive trip."

Harry grinned at your tired little expression and how you were fully pressed against him. He thought you were the most adorable and precious being to exist and he squeezed you, just to make sure you were actually real. He couldn't believe that you were, sometimes.

"Come on, I'll run us a bath."

Harry drew a bath, adding oils and bubbles to calm your overworked body and mind. He undressed you, leaving tender kisses upon each inch of skin he revealed. He dipped his hand into the water, making sure it wasn't too hot even though you liked scorching showers.

Every time you showered together it was a battle to win a favoured temperature. Harry always yelled and protested, saying he wanted to shower- not stand under a spray that was delivered straight from the fiery pits of hell.

He slipped into the bath first and helped you get in after. He leaned you against his body, massaging and smoothing his hands all over you.

Your head lulled back against his chest with a content hum. He tied your hair up into a little bun on top of your head and chuckled when you yawned. He got to washing you with your usual vanilla and honey-scented soap.