May [H.S]

28 •

Harry
•••

Baisers empruntés.

The moment we gathered up to leave the skies tears began, after holding out all day, the city was waiting to be reckoned with.

Wrapped in various hues of gray, and off gray, a wistful ambiance matched the traded energy between us. It wasn't like her to back down, especially under the influence– that was fuel to her fire most of the time– I suppose I can thank the cooling ease of the storm's air, managing her composure even as we zipped through the dying streets, desperate for the sight of our temporary housing. I didn't think I'd be saying that word again so soon.

Sprinkles dusted my arms, and hers just beside me. A ghost floating to the tune of her memory, each twist, and turn. Collecting her thoughts as she stuffed her face with a mess of grease and carbs we'd bartered on our way down the sidewalk. The scent had lured her, and I didn't come near shooting down the idea of her wanting something to soak up all she'd helped herself to.

She's looked at me maybe two times since I shot her down mentally with the ocean as our audience. I only wish now that I would've worked harder to avoid that conversation, at least until the sun rose upon her face, a glimmery buffer for when she was sober enough to understand the significance of her words.

I could see the rest of this trip play out as thunder boomed in the clouds above; she'd pass out, wake up tomorrow hating herself, and me more. Ignore me on the entire ride back and pretend like nothing happened, like she's not hungover as shit. And we'll go back to whatever the fuck we are when we're not forced together by some comically dire situation.

She'll go back to pretending like I don't exist, and I'll go back to pretending like I don't think about her every second of the day.

Inveigled by the wind, my shirt puffs out around her body, catching behind her similar to her hair.  I can feel the rough goosebumps on her arms as she brushes against me every so often, too wrapped up in herself to walk ahead like she'd done all day. Lazily maintaining an upright position, one foot in front of the other.

Staring between the glimmering lights surrounding us and her side profile, I take note of the suddenly accumulating color in her face. A deep pink flush, feverish.

"Do you want my jacket or... your sweater back?" I offer softly, kicking myself for not thinking about it sooner. We had to be close to the hotel, so it didn't matter much. Meg's declining response gets lost under her breath, whisked off, too quick in reaction to my question, I nod.

She fixes the sunglasses over her eyes, using the back of her hand to smear off the little accumulated drips of rain. A shield to cower behind. 

The rain picks up in spite, eager to meet with the ground. The minuscule avoidable drops now pelt down onto our skin, heavy and hard to ignore. Consciously, Meg picks up the pace, knowing what's to come, I do so too. The metaphorical clock had rung, and the time was up.

I can hear her shriek under her breath at the suddenness of the pelting rain, holding her arm up above her head as a makeshift umbrella, seeing as though it's not very effective, her voice bellows in the air frantically, "Okay, I do want your jacket."

Accompanying a laugh, I don't waste time slinging my arms from the jacket, wrapping them around her as she picks her pace up further. I direct us haphazardly toward the backway of our hotel I'd discovered just earlier when I fled the room for a smoke, grasping her fingers and sprinting up the sidewalk. Slowly, the lavish architecture around us becomes more familiar and I retrace my steps. 

She hides her head under the material of my jacket, peeking out and blindly letting me lead the way, helping her up a flight of steps. I yank us under a gaudy, unlit gazebo, breathing out a laugh at the soaked state of her clothing. A full smile melts over her cheeks as she brings her hands down, overwhelmed by the persistence of the shower. Dyeing the concrete a deeper shade with its moisture.