night and day [h.s]

eighteen

It was like 1 AM and he was surprised Uriel wasn't having a fit down their hall currently. He arrived after having a few drinks at the bar with Lola, consistently good company he noticed. Harry heard the music from outside the door to their hallway. He wondered who it could be but there were only three of them, and 202 seemed to be a running culprit for anything musically.

He didn't want to seem like a creep more than he already was, but her door was cracked open and...he couldn't help himself really. The Spanish music flooded into the halls making him feel as if he were on a holiday somewhere far from here. He enjoyed the brief illusion and peeked through the crack of her door.

Here all her layers were peeled off. Even though he was viewing something private, he didn't feel the guilt from it until now. Nyala was her truest purest rawest form, her hair tied up in a ponytail, a layer of sweat pooling at her collarbones and forehead, the sleeves of her hoodie tied around her wide hips.

Her eyes were closed, lashes fallen over her high cheekbones, and she didn't dare open them even though she moved like the wind.

He had to admit, she was fucking talented.

Some people could create art, whether through paints, words on paper, melodies drifting through your ear, etc. But this woman made it through her body. Her beautiful beautiful body.

Why she wasn't one of the ads plastered all across NYC was beyond him. She deserved to be.

Every beat in the song she was there, her moves on point and never faltering. Harry didn't understand how people could feel a song as if it were a physical thing in the room with them. Some people could see a song come to life and they decided to dance with it. Ride its wavelength and look good doing it. He didn't get it. He appreciated songs for the art that it was but he could never move like that. He looked like a fish out of water when he attempted to enjoy a song with his body.

Nyala used the entire empty space of her apartment. Not wasting a single place on the creaky hardwood floors. How could move her body like that? His teeth captured his bottom lip between them.

He was completely lost in her now, and as she turned her eyes fluttered and Nyala opened them for a split second. That split second, she met Harry's hypnotized ones and she faltered. She fell off the wavelength and back down to the real world where Harry was. It was like a record cutting off abruptly.

"Harry!" she scolded, and stomped over to the door to fling it more open than it was. He couldn't even pretend he wasn't doing what he was doing because he got caught red handed.

The alcohol and embarrassment flushed his cheeks red, and he blinked a couple times to bring himself back down. "I – I'm sorry, I'm drunk? If that makes you feel better?"

"How would that make me feel better?"

"I make stupid decisions when drunk."

"Like watching other people in their apartment? Yeah real stupid." She placed her hands on her hips and furrowed those dark brows. But looking at him the hard expression couldn't even stay, she looked away huffing a breath. "Come in," she muttered, stepping aside for the tall intoxicated male.

He bustled in, Nyala closing the door after him. He was a little nervous, not going to lie. It wasn't as if she were going to kill him for what he saw, but she was never mad at him. He hated when people were mad and disliked him, as history shows he doesn't handle it well.

She was distressed, lips forming into a scowl and her eyes sweeping across the apartment floor instead of looking at him. Once the stereo was turned off the silence made everything even more awkward. Harry didn't know what to do with his body because, of course, she had no fucking furniture.