May [H.S]

10 •

Magnolia

•••

Ça fait longtemps.

The streets' glimmer ascends through the frosty-glassed windows, orange-hued shade glowing down onto the concrete entrance of my apartment, ricocheting off my toes. The lean, strung-out figure of my shadow glows under the harsh, vividly burnt-out light.

Sighing in exhaustion, I glance over to the strapping number, bent over by the door of my car. He peeks into the darkness-abundant interior, looking back at me with a cringing expression. Telling me I didn't think this out— which, I didn't. Not even in the slightest.

Leaving the ajar door, I let it shut behind me. Catching in the shy winds as Harry gestures at the tattered boots hanging just outside the car. Flopped over, leathery, and spotted in blood.

"Alright, you take his hands, I'll take his feet." He gauges, grasping a tight hold onto Luke's ankles and then calves. Budding in quickly, I force him out of the way. Harry's eyes dart over me suddenly, soaked in tire, he doesn't have the strength in him to fire back in witty defiance.

"No, I take his feet, he's top-heavy, and I'm not going up the stairs backward." He scoffs instantly, accepting defeat. Arguing wasn't exactly the most ideal form of communication right now, my head was already continuously pounding from the brainless accounts of tonight. The thought of sitting out on my balcony smoking cigarette after cigarette until what was left of my pack was gone— seemed addictive at this point. I needed some sort of release, healthy or not.

"Have fun carrying his boots." Harry shakes his head at me, a fleeting smile disappears as he walks over to the other side of the car. Flinging the door open, only to let Luke's limp head fall and hit the exterior of the car with a small thump. Cringing his jaw, he makes a face the second I roll my eyes at him, sighing as I drop my feet to the concrete and head over to his side.

Sliding his arms under Luke's, Harry manages to pull him out of the backseat, exhaling out a tired sigh, two boots hanging on the street. His eyes widen in response to my lack of aid. Bending down I can feel the apparent sting of aching in my knees and thighs, huffing out a large breath as I take a hold of his boney ankles.

Luke rises from the floor with our strength, I glance up through sparse, unruly hairs to see Harry staring down at me, his lips somewhat parted in shock. Pupil-dominated eyes longing at every aspect of my strained face. "What?" I exasperate, lugging Luke into my arms. He shakes his head quickly, stepping backward with a soft, fleeting 'nothing.' Brushing off the way he stared at me, I shuffle on the concrete, wondering how the fuck I expected us to make it up a few flights of stairs.

Through our constrained breathing, Luke's face contorts in stifled noises, all fueled in pain. Harry grunts under his breath, pushing past the door and onto the first step. Glancing backward, he fires insulting, "Would you stop whining? I barely hit you." Right, just barely, Harry.

"What the fuck are you feeding this guy?" He says through gritted teeth, adjusting his bulking shoulders, I can't help that my eyes wander straight to his biceps. Flexing tattoos, veins crawling up the bulging muscles of his arms. Tensed. Something particularly enticing about it strays me away from his wry comments.  

Shakily, we manage to make it all the way up the stairs. Generous with our breaks in between each flight, creaky sounding step. I drop Luke's feet to reach for my keys, shooing Harry out of the way and unlocking the door. A rushing sensation gathers in the pit of my tummy, the ajar entrance leading to the dark, unlit area of my apartment doesn't help.