all the flowers in time | laurinah *rewriting hehe*

chapter four

edit: this was rewritten/edited on 10/07/18!
word count: 2301
trigger warning(s): swearing + depictions of ocd + depictions of a panic attack

lauren suddenly finds herself wishing she could be an ostrich and burry her head in the ground.

harry continues to assure her that everything is okay, only touching her in spots that he knew were safe, always being the ever-caring friend he was. lauren took a solid fifteen minutes to come back out onto the floor, and when she opened the door and was greeted with an empty room, her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach.

poetic, jauregui. she thought to herself. you're still a fücking loser.

harry smiles sheepishly in lauren's direction, coming over and pulling her into a gentle embrace. lauren can smell the soft hint of vanilla in his shampoo. "it's okay, laur." he assures her, though it's somewhat falling on deaf ears; she feels absolutely mortified. "she doesn't understand, she'll lighten up."

lauren finds herself scoffing softly, shaking her head as the two pull away. "i talk to a pretty girl for the first time in," she pauses. "in my whole life, and i can't even hide the fact that i'm a freak." she whines, her tone nothing short of ashamed.

harry simply shakes his head and presses the gentlest of kisses to the top of lauren's head. "nonesense, lauren. yer no freak. maybe everyone else are just freaks." he suggest, and lauren is grateful in that moment to have a friend as amazing as harry. she'd be lost without him.

harry leaves her behind the counter when the bell to the front door rings, and he's off to greet a pair of customers that had walked in. lauren looks down to see juniper winding between her legs, nuzzling at her ankle as if to comfort her. she smiles, squatting down to give her baby a soft scratch between her ears.

she tries, and fails, to forget about how stupid she'd looked.

[ . . . ]

one week later

lauren wakes up the following week, as per usual, at seven am on the dot. she yawns, loud and strangled, into the sleeve of her sweater where it rests on her palm, looking around the dimly lit room. sometimes, she wakes up with juniper on top of her, other times, like today, she wakes up alone. she doesn't mind either or, if she's honest, both are refreshing.

she manages to get herself out of bed within a few minutes and goes into the bathroom to do her usual routine, all the while listening to brockhampton's new album iridescence. when she finishes up, her hair wrapped up in a towel and her body covered with a robe, she pads down the steps and into the kitchen.

she measures out six ounces of tuna for juniper, the little tabby appearing from behind the couch and bouncing over happily to her food. she starts to get her munch on, and lauren leaves her to it before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and making her way back up the steps. she wasn't scheduled to work that day, which meant it was a day for lots of errands, lots of blogging, and lots of netflix.

one thing lauren would like everyone without a perfectionist demeanor to know, is that putting on make-up sucks. it absolutely blows. if her wings are uneven, or if her eyeshadow isn't blended out properly, she can't leave the house. literally, she will sit at home and work on it until it's perfect or until she's so late that she just wipes it all off and gives up.

so, with light, small, strokes and bated breathe; lauren gets to work.

[ . . . ]