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meetmymouth · 2 years

Text

the intimacy of little things: iii

au ⌕ florist!harry x photographer!ofc

notes for this chapter: smoking and alcohol consumption, mature content, dysfunctional families

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Harry thinks it’s a great opportunity, Wild at Heart being quiet for it gives him time to work on a centrepiece. He takes a minute to admire his work, the orchids an enchanting shade of blue, their flowers resembling a butterfly with wings a midnight blue and violet. He hears someone coming in so he looks up from his work, seeing two women walk in the shop.

“Hello,” he says to the woman closest, then turns to greet the other. “How are you today?”

They both smile, the shorter one’s dimples deepening. “Good, thanks. I actually need help with something,” she puts the seed package back, and looks up at Harry with her brown eyes. “I got my English Ivy from you, but the leaves are turning yellow. I tried every flower food but to no avail.”

“Too much water can cause that,” Harry says. “Ivy grows in well draining soil and actually prefers it when the top inch of the soil dries out somewhat between bouts of watering. You can use your finger to detect the moisture of the soil.”

“Okay so,” she pouts. “Should I stop watering it?”

“You can start off by replanting it. They require porous, light soil and a pot that will allow them to drain effectively…” he smiles when she takes her phone out of her bag and presumably opens up her Notes app.

She keeps typing. “Okay…”

“Drainage holes are important when planting or replanting. Use a ratio of three parts potting soil mixed with one part perlite for good soil structure. Like I said, try replanting and see what happens. If nothing changes, we can try some nutrients for your Ivy, some liquid fertiliser, magnesium… you can email me anytime, send pictures and stuff– I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you so much, you’re so nice. I’ll try all of this… thank you.”

“Happy to help.”

He smiles when she gives him a grin, pocketing her phone, and she stops him before he can walk towards the other lady.

“Hey. I was looking at the seeds and… I have to ask,” she says. “Why don’t you do something like, buy seeds and help the bees?” She gestures at the messy seed stand by the till.

Harry follows her gaze, then looks back at her, a pout appearing on his face. “Elaborate?”

“When it’s warmer especially… sow some seeds to help the bees. Would also be a good advertisement for the shop! Sorry,” she laughs. “I work in PR and Advertisement. I get excited about these things.”

Harry chuckles, nodding at her. “Oh, no worries, this is actually so clever, I will think about it. And we can maybe stay in touch via email or something? If I needed some help with all the… you know, advertisement bits?”

The woman nods enthusiastically, then takes her phone out again. “Sure thing! I’m Jasmine, by the way–”

“–Harry,” he shakes her hand, smiling. “Nice meeting you.”

“I’ll give you my phone number as well. Just in case.”

“Thank you, Jasmine, you’re very kind!”

“Oh, and by the way,” she turns to the other lady who’s now standing by the pink begonias. “That’s my friend, Simone, she’s a photographer so she can also help with taking pictures and whatnot… you know– for the social media pictures and stuff, if you wanted, of course.”

“Oh,” Harry says, taken back by the kindness. “I actually– my… girlfriend– she’s a photographer.”

“Can you– don’t tilt your chin, stay that way, please. Yeah– perfect!”

Lila Moss doesn’t take directions very well.

Talulah doesn’t know if it’s because she likes to do her own thing–literally–or if it’s the fact that she’s got an attitude when it comes to directions: rolling her eyes whenever someone tries to direct her, or sighing audibly every five minutes. It can be frustrating, for both the crew and the model, and Talulah finds herself praying that this will go as smoothly and quickly as possible so she can have her lunch and if she’s lucky, a cigarette during said lunch.

She moves a bit closer, and tilts her head to the side as the camera in her face follows. “Chin up just a tiny bit–”

“You said not to move just now,” Lila Moss mutters. “Are you new?”

“No, I’m not. You were looking at your feet, that's why I said chin up…”

“I’m tired.”

Her manager clears his throat, eyes finally on the shoot rather than his phone. “We’re all tired, Lila. Can you try your best and cooperate with the crew so we can move forward with our schedule?”

“I am! My feet are killing me,” she looks down at her socked-feet, pink fabric looking almost fluorescent under the white lights.

Her manager, Jeremy, turns to Talulah, giving her a smile. “Let’s carry on.”

“Not long now,” she tries to comfort Lila, not wanting to annoy her any further. “We’re almost done.”

“I sure hope so. Sorry, I just– woke up at three in the morning today,” she looks down again, clearly tired. “I’m just not used to this whole thing… like my Mum. Sorry for being difficult, I really don’t mean to, Talulah,” she looks at her, then smiles.

She returns it. “I know, it’s okay, this is all new to you and it must be exhausting. You’re doing great.”

They finally wrap up at four, an hour before Talulah finishes work, and she immediately goes up the stairs–one floor–and takes the already-rolled cigarette out of her pocket, lighting it before she takes a hefty drag, breathing in like her life is depending on it. She takes another drag of the cigarette before she remembers the forgotten lunch box on her desk, in her office– which is devastating, but she shrugs, smiling when she remembers sending a picture of said lunch box to Harry after he asked if she’s had her lunch yet. Her heart soars when she re-reads his last text, two sunflower emojis, a camera, and a yellow heart, and she wants to scream and cry, feeling both happy and confused at the same time.

Her thumb hovers over the screen, the keyboard popping up when she touches it accidentally, though she doesn’t even need to do anything when a grey bubble pops up on the screen, indicating that Harry’s typing a message. She laughs, then waits.

She texts back an ‘okay’, and lots of kisses, and takes another drag of her cigarette, then puts it out on the ashtray nearby and makes her way towards the lifts, to take her to her floor. It’s beginning to get quieter in the office, most of her floor trying to get their last bits of work done so they don’t bring any work home so she tries to do the same, immediately getting her SD card out to get the photos into her laptop.

Despite Lila’s uncooperative nature at the beginning at least, she’s got a pretty face and some quirky features which can clearly be seen in her photos with only some of them coming out as futile with most of them as bright and lovely as ever. As she adjusts the colours in one of them, she thinks back to her attitude at the beginning of the shoot, her walls coming down towards the end when both Talulah and the crew showed some mercy on her and empathised with her– with her still being new to lights, cameras, and the spotlight in general.

She glances at her watch, remembering her previous conversation with Harry–and Ben–about the therapist and with some newfound bravery, she unlocks her phone and finds the contact name, immediately hitting the call button without giving herself any time to reconsider or back out. As it rings, she thinks back to Lila Moss’ bright, shining eyes when Talulah showed her some compassion and kindness.

Vanilla candles are burning like there’s no tomorrow, their flames dancing as Cloud Control sings softly in the background, ‘I love you too, I'm not scared for you darling/ I'll make you mine all of my dirt/ All I could do is dream of you darling/ I'm in a dream cave/ I'm in a dream cave’. It’s peaceful, as she leaves her lunch box in the sink and puts the kettle on, a text already sent Harry’s way, and she takes a quick shower, wears her most comfortable joggers and a ratty Care Bear t-shirt, then makes her way back to the kitchen to rummage through her fridge.

He knows Harry isn’t fussy when it comes to food, but she still texts him a couple of choices, the both of them deciding on some pasta with lots of colourful veg as Harry promises to provide the alcohol, and she knows he’s going to bring a bottle of red because she’d come to learn that Harry secretly adored getting tipsy on red wine.

She chops the vegetables, leaving the pasta to last since she knows it doesn’t take long, and sits on the sofa with tea in hand as she scrolls through Instagram, liking a few photos and watching some stories. As she reads a vegan brownie recipe, the door goes off, and her heart does too, looking around to see if there’s anything weird laying around both in the kitchen and living room before she makes her way to the door.

Harry looks dashing, very beautiful and pretty– bright and lively. They smile at each other, as if to say, ‘you’re here,’ and Harry’s grin is an answer, ‘I’m here,’ the smile says, dimples deepening against all the grey behind him, ‘I’m here, and I found you’. He’s dressed in a cosy looking striped jumper, yellows, reds, creams, and his legs– oh his legs, he’s supporting a pair of black jeans, one that hugs his thighs perfectly, and when she invites him inside, she watches him take his pink Vans off with a tiny smile, the slow movement of his feet reminding him of the two of them, tearing each other’s walls down one by one, as tenderly and slowly as possible.

“Come here,” he says when he places his shoes beside hers, then the wine somewhere close, and grabs her ever-so-gently by the back of her neck, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. “Y’taste like bell peppers.”

“Mmh,” another kiss is pressed to his chin, the stubble tickling her lips. “Sorry,” she says, all bashful. “Was a bit hungry.”

“It’s okay. Am I late?”

“Nope. Come, I was just boiling the pasta.”

Harry sniffs the air, a content smile appearing on his face. “Love the smell of peppers.”

“And the taste, hopefully,” she puckers her lips, earning another smile from him as he leans forward unexpectedly and steals yet-another kiss.

“Cheeky. I’ll help in the kitchen, if that’s all right with you?”

“Sure, come on.”

As Harry washes his hands in the kitchen sink, the smell of green apples overpowering her senses, she watches with a smile, loving the way Harry seems to fit into her kitchen– her tiny, lively kitchen, the backbone of her home. He just fits, with his cosy jumper and socked-feet, he seems to be in his element, looking as carefree, comfortable and familiar as ever whilst chopping some more veg for their food. Their food.

They say the kitchen is one of the most intimate rooms of a home, or eating, sharing food with another person, and it seems both scary and exciting to Talulah. Having Harry in her space was scary at first, not knowing whether to let her walls down and accept the fact that yes, there’s something there; there’s something beautiful and big there, in Harry, something that Talulah seems to adore so much. It doesn’t come as scary anymore, she notices as he itches the side of his face with his arm, knife still in hand, and when he turns to her with a bright smile, Talulah knows. She knows there’s something there and she knows Harry knows too. It’s mutual, and it hurts but in the best possible way as her heart grows fuller and wider with each smile and kiss pressed to her face. She thinks it’s worth it.

He raises his eyebrows, though the smile stays there. “What,” he asks, the smile becoming a smirk. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey– something happened at work today.”

“Oh? Something bad?”

He shakes his head, then turns the heat up for the vegetables, throwing in the mushrooms next. “No, nothing like that. We sell flower and veg seeds and someone told me it’d be nice to sell them…” he purses his lips, clearly trying to remember their exact words. “Like sow seeds and help the bees? Apparently she works in PR and Advertisement. Said she could help me.”

“That sounds clever, actually. You could do it when it begins to get warmer,” she comes closer to where he’s standing, and places her head on his shoulder, watching him wash the cutting board. “What else?”

“This is– well, I said something kinda embarrassing and, without asking you, as well. So, I hope you don’t get mad at me,” he looks down at her, smiling at the way she rubs her ear against his soft jumper.

She raises her eyebrows at that. “What? What did you say?”

“I may or may not have called you my– well, my girlfriend?”

Something gives in in the pit of her stomach, excitement and warmth reaching her ears and then her face, cheeks becoming as hot as the vegetables in the pan. She can only mutter out an ‘oh’, and Harry’s face falls.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t–”

“No! No, don’t apologise. I’m… that actually made me… happy?”

“You sure?”

“Are you serious? Touch my fucking face, I’m on fire!”

And so he does, places his damp hand on her cheek and rubs the soft skin there, smiling when he notices how hot she’d become. “So… you are?”

“I’m… what?” She smirks, then looks down at her feet. Suddenly, her mismatched socks seem way too interesting.

“You’re my girlfriend– wait, no,” he turns her in his arms so they’re face to face, her face heating up further. “Be my girlfriend. I mean, will you?”

“Oh God,” she lets out. “You’re adorable.”

“Talulah, I like you so much. I can’t stop thinking about you, your face, your hands… I go to sleep with you in my mind and open my eyes to the thought of you, wondering where you are, if you slept well or had breakfast… I want you so much and not just in that way. In every possible way– whichever way you’re willing to share with me. I want you– all of you. So… be my girlfriend.”

“God, you’re– okay, yes, of course. Yes.”

He brings her closer, hands on both cheeks. “How are you real… you’re so sweet– so sweet. I can’t get enough of you. I always want you. What are you doing to me, hm?” He presses his thumb against her bottom lip, her mouth opening just slightly before he suges forward, pressing his soft lips against hers.

It’s sweet, delirious, exciting.

And smells just like tobacco, vanilla and burnt pasta.

“I don’t think it’s al dente…” Harry mumbles when they pull apart, and checks the pasta.

“Who cares. Come back, kiss me more,” she whispers as Father John Misty sings softly:

‘Our hearts are free/ So tell me what’s wrong with the feeling/ I’m a flower, you’re my bee/ It’s much older than you and me/ I’m in love, I’m alive.’

Their pasta is salvageable, and delicious despite the fact that it’s too soft for both their liking, though they eat all of it, with Harry feeding Talulah his last bits of veg as they both finish half of the red Harry has brought. It’s good– the wine; expensive, and a little sweet and perhaps a bit tangy on her tongue, so she devours it, both from the glass and Harry’s lips. As she spends time with Harry, she’s come to realise that she loved, and absolutely adored kissing him.

His lips, now plump and red from all the kissing, are usually soft, though Talulah thinks she would still devour them when chapped. His hands, sometimes calloused and scraped-up and fingertips stained with green from different kinds of flowers and plants he works with, felt incredible on her skin; hard, rough and bumpy, and exciting.

He brings his lips down, other hand following close behind as it finds its place on her left boob, feeling her bare boobs while he goes back up, mouthing at the other one over the thin material of her t-shirt. It’s fire on fire, his lips on her, despite the barrier, so she lets out a whine when his warm mouth finds her nipple and takes it between his teeth, rubbing the nub roughly before letting it go. She feels both nipples harden immediately so she shakes her head when he pulls apart, hand finding its place on the back of his neck as she presses him down between her decolte which Harry takes advantage of, and brings his mouth to the other nipple, repeating his previous actions.

“Can we take this off, baby?” He murmurs against her clothed chest, earning a nod from her as soon as the words leave his mouth, her mind only processing the words ‘take off’ and ‘baby’.

What she manages to catch is enough for her to comply, so she takes the t-shirt off quickly, letting it fall to the floor, making Harry’s eyes shine at her bare chest. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen already, however Talulah swears–despite the haziness of the moment–that there’s a flicker in his eyes as his gaze wanders across her chest, admiring her already-hard nipples.

She shifts under his gaze when it lands on the soft of her stomach.

Harry stands his ground.

“How are you so perfect,” he lets out, hand coming to rest on her neck, making her preen under the compliment.

The song changes to Cage The Elephant’s ‘Telescope’ as Harry strokes Talulah’s cheeks with both hands, then brings his hands to her neck. It’s a holy sight, him looking so hungry despite the food they shared just a moment ago, and knowing the fact that she’s the reason why he looks all ravenous, hasty and worked up makes her the happiest woman walking this earth.

She places her own hands on top of his that’s still around her neck. They rest there, and he doesn’t squeeze– not at all. “Harry,” she whispers, silent, secret pleas falling off her tongue.

Harry nods, like he wants to understand. And, he does– he so does, she knows it. He’s looking too hot, and not the adjective– but too hot, as inhuman as possible, making Icarus jealous. But at this moment, it’s Talulah who’s close to the sun– so close she feels the warmth deep in her bones, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

He nods, once again, watching her mouth– waiting for her to speak.

“What do you want, Talulah,” he says, thumbs stroking the side of her neck. “Tell me.”

She gulps, the lump getting smaller and smaller, and whispers: “I want you to fuck me. Hard,” she adds, heart feeling like a pomegranate; ripe, over-full.

With a ‘fuck’ falling off his tongue, he gets up, taking her hand in his, and guides her to her bedroom. It’s not as if he’s never been before. He has– once. But he acts like he’s been there a million times, knows the way like the back of his hand as they enter the warm, quiet bedroom. The lamp on her bedside table creates a soft, mellow light– shadows falling over the room like they’re in a Studio Ghibli film. She decides he looks perfect under this light.

She walks backwards towards where she knows her bed is, and falls on top of it arse down, watching as Harry starts unzipping his jeans. He slides them down with ease, underwear too, and he’s completely bare in front of her sans his jumper.

She bites her lip, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Jumper, too,” she says, watching as she herself takes off her joggers.

“Shit– yeah,” he says, awkwardly taking it off, too.

It’s like he can’t stay on his feet too long, so he bends over and takes his socks off, watching as she copies him and takes hers off.

His cock is hard, and already an angry shade of pink at the tip, so she reaches and grabs him by the wrist when he doesn’t make any move, and brings him close to her where she’s seated on the bed. His cock is on her eye level, and the smell of him is intoxicating– vanilla, something spicy, and cigarettes. She looks up, catching his gaze, and then licks her palm before placing it on his cock. He bites his lip, whining at the contact, but lets her do whatever she pleases.

Her hand slides up and down his cock, ever-so-gently, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes when he grabs her softly by her chin.

“Take it off,” he says, bending down to touch her clothed pussy. The hand on her cock falls when he rubs a finger across her pussy over her underwear, his fingers feeling all rushed and harsh on her.

And, she does.

He lets her stand up and slide her underwear off, the movement making him gulp in anticipation. She’s wet, she feels it, and he seems like he wants to find out for himself, so he places his hand on her chest with a crooked smile on his face, and helps her lie down on the bed. She goes easily, hair sprawled on the mattress, and he kneels, gets on his knees before her, and parts her legs.

“Can I?” He whispers, lips touching her knee as he presses kisses on her warm flesh.

“Yes– shit, of course.”

He looks up. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t get to it right away, though. Instead, he starts off by pressing kisses all over her legs, her knees, the inside of her thighs, and he breathes in the smell of her–oddly attractive–and when he reaches her bare pussy, he looks up– looks into her eyes. It’s a thousand times yes– yes, and yes, please. He kisses around it, then presses another open mouth kiss on her centre, and without breaking eye contact, he places his hand on there, and parts her folds– her wet folds just so he can press another wet kiss on her clit. It burns, but in the most beautiful way. Having his mouth on her makes her feel like she’s high– so fucking high she can’t even see anything but clouds below her. Having him here, on his knees, casually wanting to give all he has to pleasure her makes her heart soar with happiness.

“God,” she manages to choke out, hand flying to his hair, and she pulls gently, earning a groan. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” It’s muffled, but she makes it out.

She nods.

He keeps going.

He licks and licks, his tongue flat on her cunt, and when he finds her clit, he softly grazes the soft nub with his teeth, earning more pulls and a whine out of her. He alternates between licking and sucking, the room now filled with both their moans and wet, filthy sounds, and she loves it– she loves to hear him moan into her cunt because he’s enjoying pleasuring her as much as she is enjoying the act.

“Please,” she says– begs. “Please don’t make me come just yet– not yet. I–”

“–What, baby?” Harry looks up, thumb rubbing lazy circles on her wetness. “What?”

“Harry,” she shakes her head, eyes closing shut. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

He chuckles, pinching her cunt between his fingers as she whines and moans. “So lovely,” he murmurs, kissing her wetness. “Aren’t you?”

“Please– fuck– come up here,” she fists his hair in her hand, and tries to pull him up.

He goes willingly.

He places one knee on the bed, and watches her shift and lay properly on the bed, a shy smile appearing on her face when he smiles down at her, bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, grabbing her hand. He brings it up to his lips, and presses a kiss on top of her hand. “So, so pretty.”

She laughs, and watches him stroke his already-hard cock with lust clear in her eyes. “You’re–” she says, feeling too hot all of a sudden. “–You’re one to talk.”

Harry smiles, hand still on his cock as he strokes, and squeezes the tip, her eyes still focused on the tiny drop of precum falling between her parted legs.

“You think I’m pretty?” Harry asks, mischief clear in his tone.

“Fuck me already.”

“Mhm.”

He strokes the side of her face first, then her leg before he situates himself between her legs, and gives himself another stroke before rubbing his leaking tip between her warm, wet folds. They both hiss at the contact, feeling too hot all of a sudden, and she looks up at him, watching him as he pushes inside, eyes never leaving hers as he does so. Harry gives her the biggest smile there is, and his face looks like home– mixed in with something she hasn’t felt before. She lets herself feel it all, doesn’t question why or how, and when he pauses for a moment, his hands on the mattress and hers holding onto his forearms, she finds his eyes, and copies his smile.

“Move,” she says, voice hoarse, like she hasn’t used it in a while. It’s hesitant, the tone, but at the same time, she’s sure of herself.

She wants him to move– she wants them to move.

And, he does.

He starts moving, slowly at first, her walls feeling paper thin around his thick, hard cock, and she already feels the burning sensation crawling all over her body, creeping in and owning her, like Harry is above her. His hair is all over his eyes, locks of curls falling effortlessly, his silver chain holding his cross swaying back and forth, very gently, as he keeps moving in and out of her. His arms must get tired after a few minutes, so without pulling out, he sits on his heels, and places his palms on either side of her bum, moving her body close to his on the bed. They both let out whines, moans, and Harry hisses one too many times when she squeezes around him, and then he places his hand on her boob, fondling it before his thumb and index trap her hard nipple between them, twisting before his hand travels to her belly. He rubs there, gently and all loving, then he brings it to her pussy, circling her clit in a gentle but skilled manner.

His hips begin to gain confidence after a while of slow fucking, beginning to fuck her deeper and harder as she lets out moans, and he brings his forehead close to hers, pressing against it before his mouth finds her cheekbone, then her nose, an open-mouth kiss pressing there before he speaks.

“How are you real,” he murmurs into her warm, sweaty flesh. “How are you so perfect, hm?”

She lets out a pained chuckle, hand going up to his nipple as she twists the hard nub. He moans.

“Stop,” she turns her head to the side, a lazy, shy smile on her face. “Stop.”

“Never.”

“Keep– God, keep going, I’m gonna come,” she whispers, hand going up to her mouth.

“Yeah?” He places his hand on hers, and grabs it, placing it back on his body as he watches with gleaming eyes while she rubs his chest. “You’re gonna come on my cock?”

“I– fuuuck. So– so good– you’re fucking me so good, Harry.”

“God, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

“Fuck me harder.”

His hips picks up a pace, fucking into her in swift motions, skin slapping skin as moans fill the room.

And when she comes, squeezing around him, foreheads touching each other as he whispers sweet nothings in her ear, Harry interlocks their fingers, and she feels complete. As odd as it is, she can still hear the distinct sound of the music coming from the living room: ‘It may be just us who feel this way/ But don't ever doubt this, my steadfast conviction/ My love, you're the one I wanna watch the ship go down with’.

On the twentieth day of March, Talulah decides to pick up the phone.

It’s still windy outside, the trees dancing left and right as the breeze outside shakes their branches almost like a tambourine, and the sun keeps teasing the pedestrians as it comes and goes, hiding behind big, puffy clouds. Talulah stops counting the amount of time the sun peeks out between the clouds.

The person’s breath hitches as soon as she answers.

“Honey,” Jeanette cries into the line, though it falls short when Talulah utters out a ‘no’.

“I answered to tell you to stop ringing me,” she says, feeling her chin tighten in anger.

“I want you to give me a chance. To apologise.”

“What is there to apologise for?”

“I do not understand this– this anger, this wrath! This is not you, Lulah. Give me a chance to make it right,” Jeanette argues.

Talulah sees red, even more at the nickname. “I don’t care,” she almost cries, though recovers quickly when a helicopter outside distracts her. “It doesn’t matter at this point. I don’t want to talk to you– or see you for that matter. I’m done.”

“No. You can’t do that, I’m your mother.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens, Jeanette. Deal with it,” she laughs bitterly. “I’m gonna hang up now. Goodbye.”

“Talulah–”

“–Bye.”

With her thumb on the red button, the line goes dead.

She wouldn’t let it get to her. She just wouldn’t. She would just enjoy the last day of her weekend and go into work all positive and somewhat-happy.

She hears the rain falling outside, each drop hitting the window one by one, tap… tap… tap…, and the peacefulness of it all reminds her of Harry and their–his–plans for today. Each drop hits the window with bravery, leaving behind a wet trail as they travel down the glass. She smiles, only for a minute though, because Harry’s voice echoes in the back of her mind, talking about a Sunday outing to Brick Lane vintage market with Bo as the special guest. It was her idea, and as much as Harry seemed hesitant at first, with Brick Lane being packed during the market hours, he later agreed to bring the yellow Lab alongside, to join yet-another-date.

When Talulah emerges from the bathroom, the steam getting lost as she gets further and further away from it, the rain has already stopped, leaving behind a somehow-blue sky with tiny clouds scattered all around, and a big, bright rainbow that can be seen very clearly from both windows in the living room, with one end starting from one window as it spreads until the other. It makes her smile.

Tightening the robe’s belt one more time, she enters her bedroom, walking to her wardrobe as she tries to visualise every single outfit choice in her head, trying to pick something appropriate to both the weather, and the location. She touches every clothing item in her wardrobe, some of them making her palm itch as her soft jumpers put a brief smile on her face, and she finally decides on a brown, high waisted trousers thinking the wide legs will give her enough room seeing they would walk a lot today, and she tries on a couple of t-shirts, later deciding on a vintage Vetements t-shirt that quite possibly belongs to Dan, though she wouldn’t let it bother her today. Feeling comfortable in her clothes at last, she walks away from her wardrobe and to her dresser.

She’s a hundred percent ready when Harry’s text pings for the second time on her phone, showing the two-minute mark on the screen as she laces up her Converses, then her hand goes up to the handle and opens it, a grin following as she notices Harry’s car parked on the other side of the street. She adjusts the brown jacket as she checks she’s got everything on her bag, then she’s out the door.

“Why is it still freezing,” is the first thing she says when she opens the door to the passenger street, finding Harry already leaning forward, watching her with a smile as she gets in.

As they smile at each other, her gaze falls to his outfit, smiling even wider when she notices his Britney Spears t-shirt underneath his fluffy, striped cardigan and his ripped jeans.

“Oh my God,” she lets out, noticing Bo in the backseat. “Bo! I forgot– I’m so sorry,” she says, more to the dog than Harry. “Hi, darling, hi… ah, you’re so sweet.”

As she keeps petting the yellow lab, back almost bent to the side from her position, a cough which sounds forced leaves Harry’s mouth, making her look up.

“Hello to you, too,” he smiles, dimples widening.

“Hello, handsome–” she smiles, “Come here,” a kiss is pressed first to his chin, then his lips.

She smiles into the kiss when he sighs, and he breaks the kiss, earning a groan from her.

“Why.”

He reaches the backseat, and grabs a brown box. It’s the size of an A4 paper. “I keep forgetting this,” Harry mutters, then looks up at her. “It’s for you. Hope you like it.”

She raises an eyebrow, eyes darting between the box and him. “Is this because of your birthday present? You didn’t have to–”

“–No, this was way before my birthday. I had it with me for a while… I think we’re–” he hesitates for a moment, though his eyes never leave hers. He cracks a tiny smile. “–We’re right. Us. Now. So, I think it’s right for you to have it now.”

“Getting all cryptic on me… weirdo,” she laughs, fingers working the box so she can finally reveal what’s in it.

It’s a frame.

A glass frame, and there’s something in it– right in the middle as if someone’s stuck it there with super glue. With heart thumping in her chest, she looks more carefully, eyes detecting a small rose pinned something invisible right in the middle. It’s breathtaking– the way this rose is sitting proudly there with almost nothing that holds it, and its petals look almost fresh, like someone’s only just picked it– but picked it good, because apparently this was the right one– the best one. When she looks even more carefully, it’s apparent that the rose is all dried up, though it rests beautifully inside the glass frame, looking fresh and vibrant despite its dry petals. What’s more perfect, exciting is the colour of said rose. It’s not red, no, and it’s not white. Or pink, for that matter.

It’s black.

“It’s a Halfeti rose,” Harry says, and she looks up from the rose, eyes finding his gaze.

“It’s– beautiful, Harry. I… this is so beautiful.”

She doesn’t know what else to say, which adjective to use to make him believe her. Harry doesn’t seem to mind the repeated words as he watches her with a curious gaze, lips turned upwards in a tiny smile. He clears his throat once, then reaches with his hand to touch her cheek, then sends back the few runaway hair strands behind her ear.

“Halfeti roses are pretty rare. They grow in Şanlıurfa, a village in Turkey. When the roses reach full bloom, a richer, wine-colored red starts to show through in the rose's petals, but as buds, they are as black as the ace of spades. What gives these roses their unique colour and distinct smell is the soil itself.”

“Oh, wow– where’d you find this?” She looks up. “I mean– you’re a florist. It’s silly, the question… right?”

Harry smiles, dimples deepening as he does so, and he shakes his head. “I don’t actually sell them so I asked a friend to bring me one. His dad– he owns some. He’s from Turkey. And Finn– he actually works at the shop,” he rubs the small of her back, not wanting to take his hand off of her just yet.

She nods with parted mouth, eyes still admiring the rose. “Thank you,” she mumbles, cheeks feeling all warm. “This is one of the best presents I’ve ever received. So thoughtful and… and unique,” one hand holding the frame, she reaches to thumb at his chin, rubbing the stubble softly as he leans into the touch.

“You’re welcome.”

He leans forward, chasing her lips for a kiss, though a bark makes both of them jump. Bo, still sitting proudly in the backseat, looks at them, almost in disbelief that they’re still there, unmoving, and the fact that he’s still in the backseat– trapped, makes him let out the tiniest whines.

“Bloody hell,” Harry shakes his head, reaching back to rub between Bo’s ears. “Forgot about you for a moment.”

“Rude. Let’s just go before he hates me more. I have to leave a good impression.”

“How could anyone hate you,” Harry says in disbelief, hand working the key.

Harry’s Mini roars and comes alive as soon as the key is turned, and her hand immediately finds the button on the radio to turn it on. It’s already connected to Harry’s phone, the radio says that much, and the screen on there shows the song as it starts humming in the background, ever so softly.

‘It's your eyes and your ears and your mouth and your nose/ Head and your shoulders, your knees and your toes’.

Mac Miller sings in the background as they pass the crowded streets of East End, and when Harry turns right into Brick Lane, the crowd only intensifies as people walk the streets with most of them with reusable shopping bags, clearly trying to reach the market as soon as possible.

They decide to leave his car at a car park and walk, thinking that would save them both time and patience considering the traffic, and they both agree that Brick Lane has such scenery that should be seen and digested on foot. She watches as Harry helps Bo get out of the car, then places his yellow vest on and clips the leash on. Harry’s pink Kanken bag looks extra full, the bag probably holding a lot of things as well as Bo’s water bowl, and the thought makes her smile as she watches him stroke and pat the Labrador’s head and finally lock the car.

They walk over to where she’s standing and waiting with her own Kanken–totally coincidental–on her back, and Harry gives her a smile, coming even closer as their toes touch, then he just swoops in and presses a kiss to her lips, as unexpected as it sounds, and finds her cold hand, intertwining their fingers before they leave the car park with Bo on his left and Talulah on his right, hand in hand, and both with smiles that could light up the already-light-enough East London streets.

It takes them about seven minutes to reach the busiest street of Brick Lane, the stands already full of people crowding each and every single stand, and one in particular catches her eye, so she turns to Harry with a beaming smile, feet already carrying them to the orange stand. He returns it, the smile, and it’s almost as if the people around them respond with their own version of a smile, though Talulah thinks the kind, welcoming eyes are only directed at the huge ball of sunshine that is Bo, who keeps following them, trying not to get lost amongst the crowd despite his leash.

“Oranges?” Harry laughs harder at her widening smile. She nods. He does too. “Great. I love oranges.”

“I love oranges, too. Oranges are awesome,” she picks one up and smells it, though it doesn’t smell much– only a little hint of citrus.

As Harry watches with Bo sitting at his feet, she turns the backpack to her front and grabs the folded reusable bag from inside, and begins filling the bag whilst talking to the mad behind the stand. She talks about a poem about oranges, and how she’d just discovered it right before she left the house, and talks enthusiastically about an orange tree her grandmother had at her old house in Suffolk. The man listens with a smile on his face, clearly amused by her enthusiasm about something as simple and ordinary as an orange, though Harry knows every ordinary thing holds a great significance for someone like Talulah– someone who loves and cherishes, romanticises something as simple as a fruit. He listens to the man talk about his fruit–not only oranges but lemons too–with a heavy accent, and it makes him smile, oranges and lemons bringing two people together in such a way.

Later when they carry on walking, six oranges safely stored in Talulah’s bag, ‘three for you, three for me, H’, Harry asks about the poem. She laughs, sending her head back in such a beautiful manner, and he watches her push her hair back with ring-clad fingers, placing them ever-so-gently behind her ear. She recites the poem slowly– as she tries to remember each line, and it’s so warm and happy that it hurts his insides in such a beautiful way he thinks he’s ready to feel this way for such a long, long time.

They find another stand, and Harry buys them cheesy chips and Talulah gives Bo one chip, watching with a grin as he chews while Harry tries to find them a place to sit and eat before they go on a vintage t-shirt hunt. They sit on a bench and Harry gets Bo’s leash around the leg so they can sit more comfortably without having to worry about him even though they both knew he wouldn’t run away. They sit in silence, hands greasy and hearts happy as they eat their chips, and Talulah lets out a happy sigh as the wind blows just right– cold, but right, and her heart soars with happiness and then some.

Harry clears his throat, bringing her back to reality as she tries to shake the thoughts away.

She looks at him. He looks at her.

“Would you… want to,” he licks his lips, her eyes briefly following the action. “Meet my sister sometime?”

When he mentions his sister, she remembers what Harry has said about his family– his dad. How after their mother’s death his sister got out of that toxic household, and in a way, left Harry behind, stuck with the dad. It’s her nature, holding a little bit of grudge against someone she’s never met. She knows it’s silly, seeing how Harry must’ve kept in touch with his sister all this time. And clearly, she’s important– an important part of Harry’s life so that he wants her to meet his sister.

So she nods, then swallows the lump in her throat.

“Of course. When?”

“Oh,” Harry says, like he’s relieved. Like he wasn’t expecting her to agree to it.

Something as tiny as a sound leaves a pang at her chest.

He continues, “Next week, maybe? If you’re up for it, of course.”

“I am. I mean– up for it. And yeah, H, next week works.”

He nods, though seems unsure still. “Are you sure?”

“Harry,” she chuckles at his hesitant features. “Why wouldn’t I want to meet her? She’s clearly important to you– I’d be happy to meet your sister. I’m… happy you asked me, actually. Very happy,” she nods, one hand on the container that holds her food as the other keeps stroking Bo’s fur.

Harry’s eyes follow her hand on Bo’s head, very briefly before he looks up again. “Okay– yeah, okay. She is. I mean,” he swallows, fingers tapping on his knee. “She’s important. We’re trying to work on our relationship. After– you know,” he says, eyes screaming something so sacred, like he just wants her to understand what he’s trying to say.

And she does.

So, she nods. “I know. And I’m happy to hear that, babe.”

“Good,” he smiles at the pet-name. “She’s a bit insane, though, just saying,” he says, making a laugh escape her mouth.

“Why’d you say that?!”

“She asked me to buy the house. Our house. The one I grew up in.”

“Wait, you were renting?”

“No. Buy it from– from him.”

He doesn’t need to say the name. Talulah gets him.

“Oh. Why?”

“He’s trying to sell it so she wants us to buy it from him.”

She places the container between them, no longer having an appetite for the chips. “Do you want to?”

“Honestly?” He laughs. “No.”

“Then don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah. I told you, she’s weird and… anyway. I don’t want anything to do with that man. I’m not buying the bloody house.”

“I support that. You’ve to do what’s best for you, Harry. Even though she’s your sister, you need to put yourself and your feelings first.”

He looks at her like she’s just reached and stole the shiniest star in the sky. She looks at him the same. They just take a moment, together, and look at each other, just watch each other exist in that moment until Harry cracks, and smiles. He smiles so big that Talulah can actually feel her heart get bigger as if it wasn’t already, and feel her chest tighten at the feeling. It’s a good feeling. So good.

He licks his bottom lip once again. “You’re the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”

“Only to you. Ask Zayn, he thinks otherwise.”

They spend another ten minutes on that bench, both lighting their pre-rolled cigarettes and enjoying the toxicity burn their insides as they watch other people go about their days with Bo joining in on their conversation from time to time either with a whine or a bark which Harry translates as a message for them to start walking again.

So they do.

Talulah watches with a grin as Harry buys rings from a vintage jewellery stand, trying them on one by one while she holds his own rings in her palm, feeling the cold steel against her warm skin, and he decides on a gold signet with a palm facing up, and another one– this one silver, with a carved skull. As they get ready to leave and look at the other sellers’ stands, Harry motions at yet-another ring and asks her to try it on. There’s a sunflower carved in the middle of the gold signet, and Harry watches with a smile as she tries it on her pinky– the only finger that would fit in, so she thinks she must have it.

She spends forty-five quid on it.

They spend another forty minutes on the vintage t-shirt stand, nearly getting told off by the stand owner because they kept throwing t-shirts they would like to see each other in at each other while Bo, like the good boy he is, waited patiently at their feet. Harry buys five, Talulah buys eight.

They leave the market with not only their bags and stomachs filled, but also their hearts.

It has been a productive Sunday.

to be continued...

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