"Where we off to?", Eilidh ask absent-mindedly as she meticulously and expertly applied shadow to her eyelid in the mirror.
"Sketch", Harry replied vaguely, roughly drying his hair upside down with a towel.
"I've never been", he added, pulling on boxer shorts under his towel before letting it puddle at his feet. Eilidh took a minute to admire him in the mirror as subtly as she could, noting how his tattoos stood out against his skin, glistening with droplets of water left over from his shower. She watched the muscles flex in his hard, lean arms and marvelled inwardly at his deep golden tan, shaking her head minutely and repressing the urge to roll her eyes that he was so brown in bloody January.
"It's supposed to be nice", Harry continued, stepping into his well-worn and patched black jeans. "Sadie's choice seeing as it's her birthday...what?". Harry noticed her eyeing him, and gazed at her questioningly with wide, anxious eyes.
"Nothing", Eilidh smirked and continued applying her makeup, avoiding his gaze. "You look good, is all", she grudgingly admitted when he continued to stare. "Anyway", she continued, ignoring the shit-eating grin that broke out over his features at her words.
"Who's all going to be there?"
"Usual suspects...Sadie, Nick, Raff, his girlfriends Ella, Daisy, Pix, Niall, Kelly, Lex, Gem, Aimee, Lou and Tom...". Harry didn't see Eilidh visibly blanch as he rattled off casually a bunch of names that read like a who's who of rock star royalty. Cool Britannia was going for afternoon tea, and all of a sudden she was invited.
"Looking forward to cake?", Harry asked playfully, pinching her side as he wandered past her, shrugging on a t-shirt before layering on a butter-soft jumper which was so long in the arms it hung over his hands.
Eilidh watched, wishing suddenly that she could tackle him somehow onto the bed, and curl into his side against that very material, instead than the inevitable awkwardness of spending the day with a bunch of famous people she didn't know.
"Yeah", she finally remembered to answer and turned abruptly back to the mirror to flick mascara on her already feathery eyelashes.
"Where we off to?", Eilidh ask absent-mindedly as she meticulously and expertly applied shadow to her eyelid in the mirror.
"Sketch", Harry replied vaguely, roughly drying his hair upside down with a towel.
"I've never been", he added, pulling on boxer shorts under his towel before letting it puddle at his feet. Eilidh took a minute to admire him in the mirror as subtly as she could, noting how his tattoos stood out against his skin, glistening with droplets of water left over from his shower. She watched the muscles flex in his hard, lean arms and marvelled inwardly at his deep golden tan, shaking her head minutely and repressing the urge to roll her eyes that he was so brown in bloody January.
"It's supposed to be nice", Harry continued, stepping into his well-worn and patched black jeans. "Sadie's choice seeing as it's her birthday...what?". Harry noticed her eyeing him, and gazed at her questioningly with wide, anxious eyes.
"Nothing", Eilidh smirked and continued applying her makeup, avoiding his gaze. "You look good, is all", she grudgingly admitted when he continued to stare. "Anyway", she continued, ignoring the shit-eating grin that broke out over his features at her words.
"Who's all going to be there?"
"Usual suspects...Sadie, Nick, Raff, his girlfriends Ella, Daisy, Pix, Niall, Kelly, Lex, Gem, Aimee, Lou and Tom...". Harry didn't see Eilidh visibly blanch as he rattled off casually a bunch of names that read like a who's who of rock star royalty. Cool Britannia was going for afternoon tea, and all of a sudden she was invited.
"Looking forward to cake?", Harry asked playfully, pinching her side as he wandered past her, shrugging on a t-shirt before layering on a butter-soft jumper which was so long in the arms it hung over his hands.
Eilidh watched, wishing suddenly that she could tackle him somehow onto the bed, and curl into his side against that very material, instead than the inevitable awkwardness of spending the day with a bunch of famous people she didn't know.
"Yeah", she finally remembered to answer and turned abruptly back to the mirror to flick mascara on her already feathery eyelashes.
Harry stopped in his tracks to eye her, noting her muted response. He had gotten better at reading her lately, a feat he was achieving through his own committment to the cause. He knew now through experience that she sometimes struggled to articulate her feelings, and would frustratingly withdraw emotionally if preoccupied or worried. As a result of this, he had subsequently become quite the master of interpretation. He knew that her hands shook when she was nervous, and that she was more likely to cry if she was furious than if she was upset. He knew that whenever they fought or argued, she would put her hand over her Keats tattoo, as if to hold it there, to burn and press it further into her body. He watched her light up around her Mum and Dad and Alex, and knew that even a phone call or a text from one of them could audibly buoy her mood. He would watch her visibly relax when their plane would land in Glasgow if they had been in London for a bit, her muscles unknotting and long fingers unclenching one at a time, as if she had been tightly wound throughout their duration in the Capital. She had developed an undiluted venom for the papparazzi which worried him, and he would guide her through throngs of them gently, feeling the tension rolling off her in waves. He watched silently as her expressive brown eyes filled with tears while she watched Cancer Research adverts on telly, and loved the way she talked so animatedly with her hands when she was telling a story, providing her own brand of special effects to her audience, such as turning the light switch on and off if she was talking about lightning. He was learning her off by heart- and unlike any subject at school, he consumed himself in her, her nature captivating and fascinating him like nothing else had since music.
