Honey. He's dripping in honey. He's standing by the window, bracing his palms on the windowsill, overlooking the tall pine trees that surround the house. The late afternoon sun streaming in through the open window casts an ethereal glow around his figure, almost like a halo. The sunlight catches on the tips of his wild hair, causing them to turn a light shade of brown. Like brown sugar, Harry thinks. or It's the summer of 1978, somewhere in northern Italy. 2019. ©️ @groupielovers