harry had considered not going home that evening. just... not going. between the frustration and the drunk stupor, he knew it was just better for everyone if he didn’t. he had almost asked one of his friends to lend him his couch, but the sudden reminder of jack’s game the next day popped into his clouded brain. so, there he was; walking into the townhouse, as silently as his uncoordinated body allowed him. the intoxicated man made his way to the bedroom, and straight into the bathroom attached to it. if cecelia was awake, and if she’d said anything, he didn’t hear. yes, he knew he was supposed to be home hours earlier — he also knew he didn’t text, call, or answer his phone. the issue was, he did not care. harry splashed his face with water, took off his shoes, and walked back into the bedroom, only to find cecelia, awake after all. “no.” his voice was more of a grumble, very unlike him. for emphasis, he raised a finger, which served as a barrier, of sorts. “i’m not doing this right now.” he continued, eyebrows furrowed. “go.” without really looking at her or her expression, harry walked around her, unnecessarily making sure he didn’t touch her — he’d never thought there would be a use for however many spare bedrooms they had, until then. | ( @cwndsr )
