A capricious rollercoaster of feelings - just for you and Harry, minced with a flavour of each emotion and sentiment you desire to experience.
. . .
[Oneshots] First prize winner of Imagines category in Kiwi Awards, 2019.
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♧
“June!” He thundered for the hundredth of a time.
You were busy cooking and he knew it. But unlike the situation, he was now and then calling for you from the bathroom. You didn't choose to reply—annoyed. This had been going on from past eleven minutes and he'd made you go back and forth for about four times. And yes, you were counting.
“June! This is for the last time. Please?” His voice reverberated through the silence as he pleaded in a strained tone.
Giving in, you grumbled from the kitchen, “Promise?”
Harry exclaimed immediately, “Oh great good lord, you're still alive! Finally! And oh yes, I promise.”
You rolled your eyes at his exaggeration and defeatedly walked towards the bathroom, wiping your hands over your apron and uttering curses under your breath.
You knocked, muttering lowly, “What on earth does your royal ass require, now?”
Harry peaked through the bathroom door at your appearance and lent you a glare, “Bloody hell of a woman you are, can't believe you kept me waiting for—”
“Harry, I'm not here to hear your lecture. Just fucking tell me what do you need.” You glared back.
He narrowed his eyes and continued with his rambling, “Not my fault how I have to attend a recording session in half an hour. Plus your bathroom has all the girly shampoos, what am I supposed to do? Run naked around the house in search of my own?”
You faked a yawn, “Are you done?” And he scoffed like a small child who had been told to stay away from candies.
“And as of for the naked part—it's nothing I haven't seen.” You accused as politely as possible, a smirk on the verge of breaking onto your lips. These light bickers between you guys were irritating sometimes but you couldn't deny how fun they could be.
Harry pulled over a lopsided grin, imitating his signature smirk all of a sudden, “If I had enough time, I would've forced you to have a shower with me.”
You smirked back finally, “Yeah, like I'd let that happen. Who'll cook? Gordon Ramsey? Or Donald Trump?”
He feigned hurt, gasping in the process, “Did you just reject showering with me, Miss Oren?”
You shook your head. He was wasting his time. “What did you need, H?” Straight to the point, ha!
You couldn't help but wonder what on earth did he want this time—last being two bottles of conditioner and a soap. Not to mention he'd also forgotten to take his clothes in a haste.
His face gradually adapted a sheepish smile as the smirk evaporated into evanescence.
Harry cleared his throat before saying, “Um yeah—towel please?”
