Sweet Tooth [HS]

TEN

Later.

"So," Max cleared her throat, taking a sip of her orange juice. "What are your plans for today, hm?"

She placed her glass back down on the small table between her and Harry, that she'd filled with a makeshift breakfast of toast and... toast. She had been sort of completely unprepared for him to stay until morning, and even more so that he'd spend the rest of it fucking her senseless.

It was now nearly midday, and they were sat on the balcony, enjoying a breakfast of coffee and orange juice and buttered toast and, of course, cigarettes.

He shrugged, and looked away from her and down at the city. "I'm not sure, really."

Max furrowed her brows, confused. She actually had no idea why Harry was even back. Had no idea why Harry was even staying.

"Harry," she leaned towards him, "Don't you have important rockstar things to be getting on with?"

He whipped his head around, smiling. "Important rockstar things?"

He laughed and Max tried not to melt.

"Hey," she kicked him with her foot, but he caught it. Pulled it so it rested on his knee. "I don't know what else to call your job. What is it that rockstars do on their days off?"

"You, mostly." He smirked and Max poked him with her toes.

"You're filthy."

"You walked in to that one, Max."

She rolled her eyes. "I want to know. Tell me. What do you do on your days off? Why are you back?"

"What? Apart from shagging you senseless?" He grinned but Max wasn't fooled.

"You're avoiding the question."

She'd known him for years. Could see through the jokes, knew that he wasn't telling her something.

"Am not. I just got distracted thinking about the shower this morning. You seemed to like when I-"

Max kicked him.

"Shut up!" She moaned, "If you talk about that again I'm kicking you out. Now tell me what you're doing here!"

"Well," he grinned, and leaned back in the chair. His fingertips started skimming up and down her bare leg. "I suppose I do have important rockstar things to attend to, actually."

He gave a big sigh and frowned and Max had to stop herself from smoothing the creases in his forehead.

"Like what?" She pried, uncertain whether he'd say anything more because Max couldn't remember the last time Harry had told her anything.

"Well," he sighed again and ran a slow hand though his messy hair. "I've come back to get some inspiration, or something like that," he started drawing spirals on Max's ankle. "My managements on my back to write a new album. It's been like, years now. And I've been completely useless in LA. It just moves so fast out there, you know?"

Max, undoubtedly, did not know.

So she simply said, "You used to write music all the time," as memories of his battered notebook and ink-covered hands and scrawling handwriting swirled through her thoughts.

That was another lifetime. Like a different universe.

"I dunno," he sighed again, staring off into the distance. "I've been trying to write out there and I just- I don't know. I can't. There's too many people and too many parties and too many drugs," he chuckled and this time it was Max who was frowning.