ever since new york || h.s.

eight

He pressed the fifth button on the elevator carefully, his hand still on my waist as we waited to get to the desired floor. I had no idea where we were going, but I was so interested in whatever I was about to learn that I pushed any doubtful thoughts to the back of my mind, pretending like I didn't notice how unprofessional it was to be beneath a client's touch.

"I wanna show you my place since I've already seen yours," he said, his breath smelling like a cool mixture of alcohol and spearmint. The possibilities of what his apartment might look like whirled through my brain. I knew it would be exponentially nicer than my place or anything I'd ever step foot in, possibly with the exception of his office. I imagined everything being the same silver color as his rings with accents the same green as his eyes.

"Mine is nothing compared to all this," I said, tapping my toe against the ivory tiled floor of the lift. He breathed out a laugh that fanned against the side of my neck, making me scoot away from him a little, the realization of our closeness hitting me uncomfortably and suddenly.

"I liked yours. It was cute," he answered, still smiling, not seeming to notice that I'd separated myself from him. I nodded a thanks before letting a warm silence wrap around us, the sound of the brass instruments from downstairs still lightly filling the background. I could still see the people dancing around in my head.

The elevator stopped and Harry pushed the golden gate door open to reveal a purple hallway: solid plum colored shag carpet and a lilac paisley wallpaper. It even smelled like lavender, maybe air freshener or a candle or something. It was amazing, almost enchanting, and even nicer than what I'd expected.

He lead me to the last door on the left, no number or identification on the white paint. He slid a silver key into the lock before opening it with ease and gently nudging me into a room that was too dark to see but still obviously big from the way our footsteps echoed throughout the space.

"Hold on," he mumbled, fumbling for the light switch before the room was revealed in an almost fluorescent light. Everything in the room was either white black, or grey. The floor was the same pristine white tile as most of the building and the wall was a crisp slate color that looked freshly painted. It was a very open living room floor plan, the furniture a sleek metal and the accents mostly black faux fur. It was aesthetically manly and impossibly expensive.

"This is amazing," I said, my feet stuck to the floor in front of the doorway as he moved around his home, toeing his shoes off and sliding them beneath his charcoal colored fabric couch. He sat down on the edge of it, pushing the papers on the glass coffee table towards the middle of it so he could stretch out his legs without crumpling the edges of them. He extended his hand moving his fingers towards himself before patting the cushion beside him, inviting me to join him. So, I did.

I inched my way towards him, taking a seat as close to the arm of the couch as I could and as far away from the heat radiating from his body as possible.

I sat there, waiting for him to say something, when suddenly my four glasses of champagne and the sips from in the car hit me, making my head feel like I was underwater and my limbs tingly. It was suddenly hard for me to hold myself up so I let myself sink into the couch, unfamiliar with the feeling a of drunkenness because of how long it'd been since I felt it. I must not have even noticed that I was feeling tipsy before.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked from beside me. I nodded, only making the sloshing feeling of my body worse. I could hear him laughing but I had my eyes screwed too tightly shut to see his grin that I figured was there. "Didn't peg you as a lightweight, Pen."

He stood, his socked feet making an almost scraping sound against the floor. I could hear him descend into a different room, but I didn't care all that much as I stretched myself further, letting my arms spread beside me and my feet dig into the soft, fake fluff of the rug. His furniture was a lot more comfortable than mine and I took advantage of it while I could.