Tfios (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 15

March 1st - Day 45

When I woke up at 5:30 drenched in sweat, it was Harry that kissed my damp forehead and led me to the bathroom, sitting on the tile as I sat in the tub, silent but for the drumming of hot water on the porcelain.

xx

Post shower, Harry and I took a quick trip to my room for clothes, him tugging on a pair of my joggers and a cozy white jumper I’d had forever, while I opted for a tee shirt and sweats. It was quiet in the apartment, the stagnant feel of morning hanging chilly in the air. Danielle and Liam wouldn’t be up for a half an hour or so, as she had someone else working until seven thirty and he didn’t have classes until eight.

Neither Harry or I spoke, a hush descending over us as we puttered about the kitchen. I reached into the cabinet for mugs and tea bags, setting them on the counter as Harry turned on the kettle. He was lovely in the mornings, all mussed curls and hooded eyes, lips that hovered on a contented half smile.

I perched on the counter, sticking my feet on the groove of a drawer and watching him poke around in the cupboards. I reached out when he got close enough and wrapped my fingers around his wrist, tugging him into me. 

He came easily, falling pliant into the space between my legs and nuzzling his face into my chest, arms wrapping around my waist. Putting my elbows on his shoulders, I rested my chin on his head, savoring the delicious intimacy of holding him. 

There’s a magic in being awake when no one else is, in moving slowly through the quiet, letting it go on around you undisturbed. There was magic in a lot of things, in sunrises and snow and blanket forts, but it had taken Harry for me to notice. Maybe there was magic in him too.

It was odd how time went as we stood there, barely a moment passing before the kettle began it’s lazy whistling, steam rising from the top in slow curls. I pressed a kiss to Harry’s head, sliding down off the counter and into his embrace. 

“Kettle.” I murmured, leaving him to lean up against the cabinets as I poured the tea, the bubbling sound of water on teabags filling the tiny kitchen. 

He slipped up behind me, sliding his hands onto my hips and kissing the place where my shoulder met my neck. “Love you.” He breathed against my skin, neither of us quite making the leap to full sentences yet.

I hummed in response, turning to loop my own arms around his waist, liking how it felt under my fingers. “Don’t move.” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder as he did the same to me, our bodies pressed together in the early morning glow.

I clung to him, sinking into how the fear that lived in my bones seemed to drift away as his fingers crept under my tee shirt, massaging slow circles onto my skin. The jumper was warm on my cheek, tile cool and sticky under my feet, and Harry soft in my arms. I thought maybe if you could catch moments and keep them in jars, I’d keep this one someplace special.

“I think tea’s ready.” He said, blinking tiredness from his eyes and slipping out of my grasp to turn on the overhead lamp, an old square installation that cast the kitchen in fuzzy orange light, pushing out the london gray.

I nodded, pulling the teabags out with my fingers and tossing them in the bin. He appeared at my side with the milk, splashing a bit in his mug before handing it to me, a smile flitting across his face as I did the same. 

“I like mornings with you.” I said quietly, taking my mug, a big green thing with a heavy handle and moving to stand by the microwave, leaning back against the counter.

“Me too.” He agreed, heading for the wall opposite so we were standing face to face, separated by three feet of linoleum, the too-short joggers revealing a thin strip of ankle as he leaned against the wall.