ambit. [hs au]

Chapter 53

Harry's P.O.V:

Thirskot's a rainy city. It has always been this way, some people say it's part of the English charm, others say it's more like a curse. In my conception, it's just about geographic location and my damn bad luck of being born here.

Yeah, I'm one of those who wants to beat down to pulp whoever has the audacity to say this humid, rainy, cursed fucking town is charming.

I've always hated the weather in my hometown. It's a constant pain in the arse to always have to be dressed in trench coats, to carry an umbrella wherever you go and stomp throughout the city in heavy boots. I hate how my skin is always pale and my hair gets too prone to frizz, I hate how I can never leave the house without a coat hanging in my arm, but most of all, I hate how melancholic it always feels. Wherever you look, it's always the same scenery.

Gothic architecture, cloudy sky, thin drizzle or sometimes heavy rain. Everything's always so dark in Thiskot. If the city had a color palette, it would be filled with grays, dark browns, deep greens and blacks.

I think that's the reason why I fell in love with California and the way we would wake up every morning while I was there.

Her dorm room was so small, it barely had any walking space with the two twin beds and a single study desk shoved inside of it, but she welcomed me there either way. Three nights and four mornings, that's the number of times I've got her wrapped in my arms while we slept in that ridiculously narrow twin bed, tangled together like a human puzzle so all our limbs could fit in the mattress.

Every morning, we would wake up with the sun kissing our skins, the shitty curtains too thin to keep the light from coming in, but I didn't mind. In fact, I rather adored it, to watch how beautiful she looked first thing in the morning, with sleepy eyes, messy mascara from the night before still in her eyelashes, puffy lips and flushed cheeks.

It felt idyllic, warm, peaceful. Almost like a dream, the kind of moment I knew, even back then, I would never be able to fabricate with anyone else, anywhere else.

It had to be Los Angeles. And it had to be Birdie.

Those terms were non-negotiable.

In the early hours of the morning, there's no sunlight coming through the windows, no dreamy yellow beam warming up our skins, here in Thirskot. The room is spacious now, the bed so fucking big we could probably fit her whole college dorm room in it, but we're still tangled, using up very little space. Unlike the constant rose and tangerine hue from California, Thirskot presents us with the pale, milky gray morning light, so weak it's barely visible in its poor attempt to pass through the curtains. The only thing that mimics the tepid light from our dreamy time back in Los Angeles are the candle lights still softly burning, as they did the whole night.

But it's still warm, having her in this bed with me. It almost burns.

Wrapped around me, she feels like the fucking daydream I'd convinced myself I could never have again. Warm, slick, welcoming. Gripping me tight, sucking me in, almost as if she needs me as much as I need her.

My fingers sunk in her hips, my cock buried deep inside of her cunt, my lips all over her neck and the side of her face. I could die right here and would go as a fulfilled man.

The rain is heavy outside, tapping angrily against the windows, but I can barely hear it over our mixed breathing. Her lips are parted, eyes still closed, cheeks tinted the prettiest shade of red, and she's holding me so tight, her fingertips sinking on the flesh of my arm that she'd been using as a pillow all night.

"Harry..." She moans my name, and my body reacts before my mind, hips rolling faster against the curve of her arse. "Oh, my God—"

"You feel so fucking good," My teeth sinks on my bottom lip as I suck in a deep breath, a poor attempt of controlling myself. Hearing her voice like this wakes something deep within myself even I can't explain. "God, baby, you're so perfect."