Blurred Lines // h.s.

Part II

It was two in the morning when his phone rang and rattled on his nightstand. At first, Harry burrowed into his pillow in an effort to ignore it, but after peeking at his clock and taking in the time, he forced himself to sit up. If someone was calling him this late, it could've been important. When he flipped it over and squinted at the screen, though, his heart skipped a beat and he scrambled to sit up while fumbling to hit accept.

"Hello?" He nearly dropped his phone in his haste and he nicked his knuckle with his fingernail. "Fuck— hello?"

"Harry?" You sounded as perplexed as he did— like you weren't the one calling him at this ungodly hour. "Why are you awake?"

"Wasn't." He cleared his throat. "Woke me up. S'everything...." Suddenly, he didn't want to ask. If everything was ok, why would you be calling? "Y'doing all right?"

"Yeah," you said. "Yeah, I'm doing... I'm coming to London."

Harry turned his light on and winced from the yellow glow. "Are you really?" he asked.

"Wouldn't joke with how much the hotel cost." You gulped audibly and laughed. "I was kind of... my flight gets in pretty late and... if you can't, I get it. I know the paps would go nuts but I'm—"

"They don't let them inside Heathrow like they do other places," he said. "When do you get in?"

"Tomorrow."

That was how he wound up at Heathrow just shy of midnight circling through the airport until he saw you standing by a curbside, luggage in tow, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as he pulled over. He got out of the car and you drew yourself up to your full height with a feeble smile, eyes wide and circled from the transatlantic journey.

"Hi."

"Hi...."

Your embrace was crushing and he returned it in kind while smashing a quick kiss to cheek. Far from romantic with smog, whizzing traffic, and straggling passengers, but all you could afford right then, and he practically swatted your fingers off the handle of your luggage before to haul it to his boot.

"Did you pack your whole flat in here?" He huffed, dropping it in, and he shut the back and ushered you into the car before following suit on the driver's side. "Reckon we'll head to mine?" he asked while struggling with his seatbelt.

"Sure."

Click.

"Right." He glanced in the rearview mirror. "Let's go."

It was all but pitch black on his road, for which he'd never been more grateful. Only his whispered swears and your muted laughter broke through it as he lugged your suitcase up to his door and he unlocked it to let you inside first. He'd left the light on when he went to get you, and he was glad for it, otherwise he'd have broken half his living room getting your bag inside.

"Show you around, if you want," he said. "You can take your shoes off, and like...."

You stood next to him, eyes wide and looking at the highest corners of the ceiling and the lowest ones on the floor.

"Make yourself comfortable," he finished. "Got some... I dunno if you're hungry, but I picked up some stuff."

"Yeah," you said at last. "Sure. It's dinner time for me."

Harry nodded and rubbed the back of his neck before jerking his head. "Kitchen's this way."

He was glad to have something to busy his hands with, even if he felt like more of a clumsy ass than usual from your proximity. Having you in his house was... surreal. For as long as you two had been a part of whatever this was, it'd always been on your turf, or in a hotel room, and always when he had a reason to be there. Now....