Blurred Lines // h.s.

Live from New York

"You know, if I wanted to look up at your ceiling all night, I'd have spent the three-hundred-and-fifty to go to London."

Harry rolled his eyes, spoon clinking and clanking as he stirred his coffee, socked-footed in his kitchen with his dressing gown hood pulled up high over his head.

"Not that it isn't nice." Your voice continued to crackle through his phone as he took a sip to test the taste, muttering a small ouch when the scalding liquid blistered his lower lip. "I just thought you'd called for something a little more interesting. Unless you're planning to hump the mattress while I—"

"Would be stupid to spend four hundred dollars for the same view." Harry picked up the phone and padded to the doorway, catching the light with his elbow on the way out. He tipped the screen up and your eyes found his immediately from where your head was nestled in your pillow. "Isn't it a little early for you to be in bed?" he asked.

"Could say the same to you," you said. "It's raining out. I'm nesting."

Harry chortled under his breath, a smile tugging at his lips. "So, anyway...." The recliner he favored sank underneath his weight and he lifted his cup of coffee. "I'll be back in the city in a little over a month. Maybe six weeks or so."

The corners of your eyes softened and you cleared your throat. "Sounds awful."

He chuckled and you asked, "Why this time?"

"Booked a little something."

You arched an eyebrow and he took a sip.

"SNL."

"What?" One eye closed when he winced through his grin from how shrill your screech was in his singular earbud. You sat up and leaned against your wall, looking at him straight on. "When?!"

"November," he said. "They haven't announced it yet, so keep it quiet." He grinned and winked when you rolled your eyes.

"When did you find out?"

"It's been in the works and it was basically done a bit ago. But everything's been set now. And I was thinking...." He took a long, exaggerated sip of coffee and smacked his lips when you scowled. "I've got to be there the Monday before the show. But if I got in a little earlier, we could get a hotel and just... I mean, I know you've got work, but it'd be somewhere different. We could have dinner, not worry about cleaning up...."

"So you'd be here for—"

"Two weeks," he said. "Maybe three, f'I can manage."

"Almost a month," you murmured and he nodded.

"Almost a month."

***

Live from New York, it's Saturday Night!

Frowning, Harry leaned out of the bathroom doorway. "What are you watching?"

You blinked owlishly from where you were curled up in the large hotel bed. "Reruns."

The suite on the 6th floor of an historic midtown landmark — just a few long blocks away from Rockefeller Plaza — offered a fantastic view of the city that he'd ignored first by pacing the floor waiting for you to turn up after work and second by drawing the blackout shades almost as soon as you had. He'd have enough eyes on him this week without worrying about window cleaners scaling the side of the building and getting a peek at him embracing you.

Room service trays still littered the dining room table and cart they'd arrived on, the leftovers from the dinner he'd had ordered up a couple of hours ago long gone cold. He sidestepped a stray one on the floor on his way to you. "Turn that off," he grumbled, diving into bed. "I don't want to hear about that yet. Trying to enjoy my week."