Slow Motion

Chapter 5: Inspired

He could feel the softness of the mattress underneath him. It was too soft, not like his own, and as he rolled over, he found a lingering scent of rose water. The silk sheets around him were unfamiliar, and he blinked twice when it dawned on him that he was not in his apartment. A look of confusion set on his face as he noticed his bare chest, and the confusion only grew when he caught sight of his trousers draped over a purple accent chair.

He'd never been in this room before. It was a nice room, one he would have remembered if he'd stepped foot in it. He stood and walked over to the window in an attempt to gather more information. He recognized the buildings, and the trees, and even some of the parked cars.

This was her apartment. He'd been in it before, but never in the bedroom. He knew only the large living space and kitchen, and the colorful bathroom. He pulled on his clothing and shoes and took a moment to wander around. Her bedroom was huge. A king-sized bed sat in the middle with accent chairs distributed strategically everywhere. The vanity mirror was covered in roses, and there were plants in every corner. He smiled slightly- he was never any good at keeping plants alive.

There was an absolute serenity in the room that put him at ease. It was easy to imagine Charlotte here, probably curled up with a journal jotting things down.

He found her in the kitchen, with her hair tied up and flour on her shirt. She had made a mess of her counter but merely smiled when he stepped in.

"About time, sleepyhead," she poured him a cup of coffee and placed the mug in his hands. A swift kiss brushed his cheek before she returned to the stove. "How many pancakes?"

"Three, please."

He sat on a stool and watched her work her magic. The faint sound of indie music coming from her phone only fueled the sway of her hips as she gingerly danced around the kitchen. There was no tension in her body like he had expected.

"Sorry about last night," he finally apologized as she set a plate down in front of him. She shook her head as if shaking the apology away.

"Don't worry about it."

"And I'm sorry for avoiding you. Don't know why I did that if I'm honest."

"Trust me, it's not the first time a man has been spooked by who I am," she chuckled as she filled her plate, "It is, however, the first time I've had to bring a man home completely wasted."

Harry smiled sheepishly as he recalled the elevator ride. He could only remember the fits of giggles.

"You did a great job at taking care of little ol' drunk me, love," he complimented cheekily as he stuffed his mouth with the fluffy delicacy.

"Well, next time, maybe you'll be the one who has to undress me," she winked, sipping her coffee and enjoying the sight of Harry's red cheeks. "I'm joking, Harry."

"Right," he smiled, although his heart leapt at the thought. "As if you'd be so lucky."

A handful of flour flew at his face at his comment, and the pair erupted into laughter at the mess he'd become.

——---

"Harry?"

"Yeah, sorry," he apologized as he snapped out of his memories. Mitch had noticed the way his mind had trailed off elsewhere. One minute they were discussing songs, and the next he had grown quiet, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

"What's on your mind, mate?" Mitch asked with piqued curiosity. He'd seen Harry in love before, and this dangerously resembled it, although there was something different that he couldn't put his finger on.

"Oh, just daydreaming," Harry replied with a grin.

"About someone?"

Harry struggled internally at the question. His privacy was essential to him, and while he admittedly was daydreaming about a certain someone, he was unsure if they were daydreaming about him.

"Yes," he replied hesitantly.

"Shall we write about them?" Mitch suggested. He knew he wouldn't be able to pry details from Harry if he was unwilling to give them, but perhaps he would be more open musically. "Maybe we can get this mysterious he/she that's living in your head to come out?"

Harry sat up at the idea. What a fantastic inspiration to pull from.

"She," he clarified, "and yes, let's write about her."

------------

"Darling, where is your mind today?" her mother questioned as she noticed the various pages strewn around her. Charlotte had found her way home that weekend, and the luxuries that her parents' home held gave her more enthusiasm for writing. It was hard not to be inspired when she'd spent the entire morning in a bathtub that could hold three people.

"It's somewhere," she chuckled as she continued to scrawl beneath the large oak tree. She loved being outside, and her parents' home was secluded, away from the noise of the city. That was the perk that came with money; you could afford to live wherever you wanted. Her parents never understood why she chose to live in an apartment when she could own the whole building if she desired to.

"I don't understand why you don't just use your laptop," her mother commented as she picked up a page. "It would be much easier on your hands."

Charlotte snatched the page back from her and simply shook her head.

"It's the authenticity of it. This feels more-"

"Real. I know, I've heard you before," her mother smiled. "Now, this Benjamin character you're writing, based on anyone we know?"

Her mother raised an eyebrow, hopeful that her daughter would share some intimate details of her life.

"Not anyone you know," she hummed teasingly. She waited only a moment before shooing her mother away, the need to write flowing from her.