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fishnets-fingers · 2 years

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Six Months - Part Nineteen

Summary - Layla desperately needs a vacation and her Aunt and Uncle come to her rescue. So, at twenty two, she packs her bag and jets off to America. Harry took a break from education and is now a full fledged content creator on OnlyFans. At twenty, he makes more money than almost all of his friends. What ensues when these two meet and realise the windows in their rooms face each other? How will paper airplanes bring them closer together?

PAIRING - camboy!harry x indian!oc

a/n - i’m baaaack! sorry for the break being longer than intended, it was harder for me to get into the headspace to write layla and harry the longer i stayed away. still don’t know if it turned out alright. special shoutout to @sunandherflores and @0oolookitsme for being the sweetest. there is a bit talking about maternal physical abuse, so please feel to skip that part if that’s triggering. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 12.3k

Warnings - smut (sexy photoshoot, unprotected shower sex, mastrubation, sex toys), angst (blood, hitting, insecurities), fluff.

Masterpost (find previous parts here)

Layla: this could be us but you’re just being difficult.

Harry: I don’t know what you are talking about 🧐

Layla: please… 😒 i’ve been begging you to do this for me from the start!

Harry: Really?!? Guess, my memory is like a goldfish then.

Layla: lies. all lies. will you ever put on your little maid outfits for me? 🥺

Harry: I like that we have a little bit of intrigue in the relationship. Don’t you agree?

Layla: what intrigue, you rat bastard! you literally pulled out your dick and peed in front of me. all intrigue is out the window!

Harry: I really had to go and you were taking a long time in the bathroom.

Layla: i still can’t believe you did that smh

Harry: Your face was quite hilarious! You just stood there staring at me, frozen in place, with floss between your teeth lmao 😜

Layla: i know what you’re doing, harry styles. tsk tsk.

Harry: And what might that be??? 🤔

Layla: changing the subject! don’t think i’m gonna let this go!!!

Harry: It’s hilarious. You’ve seen only one picture of me in a maid outfit and you’re hooked 😂 Guess I’ve got some of that ✨raw sex appeal✨ huh?

Layla: who said i’ve only seen one??😏

Harry: There’s only one of my OF instagram and I haven’t shown you anything else.

Layla: you’re right. but as a subscriber, i have seen all the pictures and videos 😈

Harry: 😯😦😧😮

Layla: 😈😈😈

Harry: When did you subscribe?

Layla: you figure out 🥸

Harry: I’m gonna literally go and stalk and find you and boot you

Layla: why 😔

Harry: I told you that all you had to do was ask and I’d show you everything! Don’t waste your money, Lails. You have it all.

Layla: has it ever crossed your fat head that i’d like to support you?

Harry: You already support me in more ways than one.

Layla: oh.

Harry: Yeah, sweet girl, oh.

Layla: i hadn’t thought of that…

Harry: Wouldn’t expect a different answer 😘

Where are you guys rn?

Layla: oh we’re at cafe du monde. uncle’s gone to get us some beignets!!

Harry: Yum! That was the place Earl recommended yeah?

Layla: yup. we had some crawfish boil yesterday. delish!! i’m definitely falling in love with the city…

Harry clicks on the picture she sent, she was in her My Chemical Romance crop top smiling at the camera. She had a hair in a topknot, half up half down; hair ever so straight and long, bangs tucked away behind her ear. She’s holding a corn cob in one hand while sucking on a crawfish. There was a red ring around her mouth, no doubt from the seasoning. The picnic table in front of her had lots of shrimp, crawfish, lemon wedges, and corn cobs spread out on a newspaper.

Harry: Don’t you look cute!

Layla: thanks 🥰😚 oh, uncle’s back with the goods. gtg!

Harry: Alright. Have fun! I love you!

He locks his phone and moves over to his setup in the guest room. He was using the cloud backdrop from his mum’s party. He picks up the thick white comforter from the bed and lays it on the floor. His camera has already been set up on a tripod, a power cord connecting it to his MacBook, so he could look at the pictures as it was being taken.

He picks up his 35mm lens and screws it on. Harry hunches down and looks at the scene in front of him through his viewfinder. It looked very soft, especially with one of Layla’s skin coloured stockings stretched over the lens - ethereal. He clicks the shutter and looks at the picture on his laptop, and the corner of his mouth slump downward at what he sees. The lighting is still a bit too cool, for his liking. He sighs and walks over to the windows and opens them up, he fiddles with the light boxes, until he gets it exactly the way he wants it to be.

He goes over to Spotify and clicks on his playlist titled ‘nasties.’ Funnily enough, he’s never used it when he was actually having sex. Brown Eyes by Fleetwood Mac comes on and Harry smiles taking in the music that fills the vacuum. He hits shuffle - his playlist ranged from Doja Cat, Weeknd, Cigarettes After Sex to his old dirty 80s rock - and moves over to strip himself of his shorts. He was wearing his fishnets and his black briefs, shirtless on top, except for the black leather collar fastened around his neck.

With the remote in his hand, he goes to kneel on the white mattress, sitting back on his calves, leaning forward a little - palms flat on the mattress, biceps flexed. He presses the circular button and hears the camera click and his lightbox blink. He looks at his laptop screen, and parts his knees, the outline of his crotch visible and takes another picture. He took over a hundred pictures in the next two hours. Several clicks of him laying on his side - hand splayed out on his inner thigh. A few of him leaning backwards using his hands to support his weight, one leg bent at the knee resetting on the mattress, the other straight; he then bends his straightened leg at the knee, fleet planted firmly on the mattress. He then takes a few more of him after he folds his body and drapes his tattooed arm on his knee - his you booze you lose tattoo on display, head resting on his arm. For the final couple of shots, he gets up and gets closer to the camera, only his chin, neck and collarbones on display and uses his narrow black belt to thread into the metal hoop at the front of his collar, winding it around his palm and holding it taunt and takes a couple of pictures.

When he’s packing up, wearing a grey hoodie and a black pair of Nike shorts, taking apart the cables, he hears his phone buzz. He quickly makes his way over expecting a call from Layla but the corner of his mouth drops, when he looks at the caller ID.

“Yeah?” He says in a terse manner, after he presses the green button.

“Harry!” The voice chips, a familiar voice of a now unfamiliar person. “How are you, dear boy?”

“Alright.”

“What, I only get one word answers now?” He chuckles.

“What do you want, dad?” He sighs.

“Is it a crime to call up my son to check in?”

“No.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Oh um,” his cheek flushes with colour as he looks around the room. It’s not like he could tell him he was taking pictures for his OnlyFans. “Just tidying up around the house.”

“Always the one to help your mum around the house. Guess some things don’t change.” Harry could hear him smiling on the other end of the line.

“You know me,” he manages to get out, rolling his eyes.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I’m up to?”

“What are you up to?”

“I’m in Manchester. Have been here for a few days for a few meetings with the mergers and acquisition team. Walked across the milkshake place you love - Shakeaway, the one at Chorlton. You remember those giant-”

“Yeah. The butterscotch and white maltesers ones.” He smiles, wistfully.

“And the brainfreeze we’d get drinking them,” he chuckles.

“Yeah.” Harry sighs.

The line goes silent, neither not knowing what to say next.

“H, what are you doing Christmas time? Do you wanna watch a game and grab a pint at a bar?”

“I won’t be in London, Dad.”

“Oh, you and mum off on a holiday?”

“We’re staying here in the States and celebrating.”

“That’s odd. Very unlike the two of you to not come home and celebrate with mum’s family.”

“Well, we’ve made a family for ourselves here. We might pop over to granddad and grandmum’s sometime after,” he says, although he doesn’t understand why he did add the last bit in.

“Oh. Thought I could see you. I picked up a Titanic record at the market the other day. Seems like an original. Pretty rare too; you can’t get the One Night in Eagle Rock anymore. Thought I could make it your Christmas present. It’s been two years since we’ve-”

“I know. Listen, I’ve got to go. Need to head to the post office soon. Told my gir - um… my friend that I’d ship some stuff of hers.” He wasn’t fully lying, he really did need to go ship Layla’s paintings of those kittens in babushkas, but he wasn’t gonna do it right now.

“Alright. You seem to be pretty busy. Hope you’ve applied to schools.”

“Yup. If everything goes well, might head to UCSD next autumn.”

“I’m positive it’ll all go smoothly, H.”

“Fingers crossed. Hey, thanks for picking up the vinyl, you didn’t have to.”

“Of course I had to, H. That’s our thing. I’m gonna let you go now.”

“Yeah. Bye.” He clicks the red button and collapses on the couch, letting out a big breath that he wasn’t aware of holding.

////

“Absolutely not,” Abi shakes her head.

“But why not?” Layla whines, holding up a small skull of a tortoise from the glass cabinet.

“It’s only six dollars. It’s the coolest thing in this room. Doesn’t this look like a dinosaur?” She asks, hoping to convince her.

“Nah uh.” Layla had managed to pull her uncle and aunt into a voodoo shop in the French Quarter. Ten minutes browsing in the small dimly lit, blood red room, that Abi frankly thought looked like a dingy basement from the sixties.

“What if I take it back home with me?”

“Who’s gonna let you fly with a skull?” She chuckles.

“Fair point.” She thinks for a while, thinking about another reason to make her aunt agree. “Please please, I promise to have it in my room,” she resorts in the end.

“It's not coming into my house. Nothing belonging to dead animals.”

“Look at this!” Vasanth waves them over to him, on the other side of the room. They both shuffle over to him, Layla grumbles putting back the tortoise shell in its place.

They look to see a small drawer pulled out containing different trinkets inside - buffalo tooth, shark tooth, racoon tooth, coyote tooth, crow bone, and alligator claw.

“Cool!” She exclaims picking up a buffalo tooth, which was larger than she expected to be. “This is like an ingredient list to a witches brew.” She picks up the alligator claw next. “One racoon tooth, two alligator paws, six drops of the blood of your enemy, stir in some bird saliva...” She prattles on, poorly mimicking a cackling voice of a stereotypical witch.

“Do birds even produce saliva?” Vasanth asks.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, putting a glass case with a wooden frame into the small cart Abi was carrying. It already had a purple cardboard cylinder that her aunt picked up that was called ritual bath salt, there were two silk bandanas that Layla had picked out for Harry - one in red with blue patterns and other blue with white patterns, her uncle had picked out a black candle that smells like apples and cinnamon.

“What’s this kutti?” Her Aunt asks, turning over the glass frame and she’s faced with seven butterflies - all different shapes and colours - pinned to the white background.

“You said animals. They are insects,” she defends herself, when her aunt’s eyebrow arches. “And your husband is also on board with me. So it’s two against one,” Layla sticks her tongue out at her.

“That’s right! Democracy baby,” Vasanth exclaims, high fiving his niece. “Seven of these beauties for forty five dollars, that’s a steal.”

////

Harry sighs for the umpteenth time, he shuffles to his side, pulls up his sheets and tucks the ends under his chin. He just couldn’t sleep tonight. He looks at the ceramic ring dish, Layla made for him, on his night stand. It was such a thoughtful gesture from her to make him a dish to keep all his rings in place. He sighs again. It’s crazy that it’s only been four days and he misses her already, which is insane considering she has only been in his life for three months now. It’s ten past two at night and he’s sure she’s zonked out after sightseeing but it doesn’t stop him from unlocking his phone and texting her.

Harry: Hoi!!!

His eyebrows raise up when his phone immediately dings with a notification from her.

Layla: hi hi! what are you doing up?

Harry: Can’t sleep. Why aren’t you asleep?

Layla: mcr just released a new song out of the blue

Harry: So you’re trying to memorise it within a few hours for your fangirl cred?

Layla: know me so well. can’t look like a normie at the concert in december.

Harry: Won’t you look like a normie next to me?

Layla: i would but doesn’t matter. i’ll redeem emo points for you too!

how was your shoot today?

Harry: Went well. Wanna see some pics?

Layla: deffo

Harry: Shit everything is in my SD card. I do have one on my phone though.

He attaches the only picture he took with his phone, a picture of his feet - with his fishnets on - pressed flat against the white mattress topper. The black of his ‘big’ tattoo on his big toe and the mesh pattern contrasted with the white of the background.

Layla: i’ve said it before and i’m saying it again but that’s some nasty ass feetsies. goblin trotters, even.

Harry: I’m hard…

Layla: have i pavloved you so much that my insults are sending all the blood rushing to your dick lmao

Harry: Shut up, dickhead. I’ve been hard for a while now.

Layla: i see. i’d love to help you out but uncle and aunty are a foot away from me. so you’re on your own.

Harry: :(

Layla: sorry but i’ll make up for it when i’m back. promise babe.

Harry: Counting on it. Good night baby.

Layla: good night! maybe try using that egg vibrator thingie you got.

He does the exact same. He rummages through his drawers to find the grey drop. He then spits into his palm and strokes his length, palming at the head. He unlocks his phone to find some pictures of Layla he had taken. He moans out loud when her soft thighs come into view. She got a pair of embroidered butterfly panties off the internet and demanded he take sexy pictures of her because she felt cute in them. His tip spurts out pearls of precum and he spreads them down his length as he swipes through the series of pictures, hips bucking into his palms as he looks at the picture of her lifting up her white tennis skirt - thighs spread open - to show off her underwear. The next two were just of her thighs from different angles. His hips pick up the pace as he fucks his palm, warmth raging through his body. The last two of her taking off her underwear but her thighs took up most of the frame. He reaches for the vibrator, pressing the button before the little silicone starts vibrating and he touches it to the head of his leaking cock.

“Shit,” he curses, gritting his teeth of the new sensation.

What I would give to bite into her thick thighs right now, he thinks. He pictures himself pushing his cock in between her thighs, rocking until he spurts all over.

“Fuck sweet girl,” he whines, pressing onto the button again - the little machine’s intensity increases. He runs it up and down his shaft, eyes scrunching up as the pleasure plateaus.

He just needed the smallest push to tip him over the edge. He places the vibrator against his balls and wraps his hands against this throbbing member, mewling at the tingles shooting up his spine. He swipes his screen quickly landing on exactly what he was looking for - a picture of Layla on top of his chest, head tucked into his chest, eyes glazed over from her orgasm, dopey smile stretching across her face, lips swollen, hair mussed up the perfect way that screams ‘just had my boyfriend rail me on all fours,’ and a hickey near her collarbone. She had two of her fingers in Harry’s mouth - she just finished telling him that he was such a good boy for her.

He moans out loud, feeling himself soaring as the pleasure bursts. And he empties himself onto his stomach and hand, he continues pumping until the last few spurts of his hot come dribble on his fern tattoo.

The power she has over me, he thinks, smiling as he’s coming down from his high.

////

“I can’t believe you two are gonna eat that,” Abi exclaims, shaking her head at the two of them. She fishes her phone from her purse and takes a picture of the hurricane cocktail Layla ordered. Layla moves her face, so right behind the poco grande glass filled with the blood orange liquid and a slice of orange wedged on the rim, right next to a cherry. She makes a funny face in the background as her Aunt snaps away. The couple opted for a pina colada sans any alcohol, because of the growing little baby in Abi’s tummy.

“When you’re at Pat O’Brien’s you’ve gotta do it their way,” Vasanth shrugs, rotating the hot sauce bottle that was on the green table.

“What do you think it’ll taste like?” Layla asks her Uncle.

“Probably chicken.” The two were the adventurous eaters of the family.

“Oh, are you two excited to find out the sex of the baby?”

“Who says we don’t know?” Abi smirks.

“What?”

“We know. The doctor was able to tell us in the last check up,” Vasanth smiles.

“Well, tell me!”

“You’ll find out with the rest of the family in a few days at the function.”

“Oh come on, not fair! Tell me,” she presses.

“You’ll find out when தாத்தா பாட்டி (granddad and grandmum) find out.”

“What if I rub your feet and rub lotion on your stomach tonight? Will you tell me then? I’ll make it worth it,” Layla asks her Aunt.

“I won’t but you’re welcome to rub my feet,” Abi giggles.

The waiter comes back with their starters and distracts Layla. She looks at the plate in front of her. The bite sized crispy breaded pieces looked to be fried to a golden brown perfection. There was mayo dip placed next to a wedge of lemon. Tiny bits of green were dusted all over the plate, Layla could make out it was some herb from the smell. It looked very innocuous.

“Looks like KFC. Can’t tell that that's an alligator,” Abi says.

Vasanth and Layla both pick up a piece and bite into it. “Not bad. Sure you don’t want any?” Vasanth asks his wife, gesturing to the plate of alligator bites.

“No. I’ll stick to my vegetarian choice. Thank you. What does it taste like, hmm?”

“It’s tough.” Layla gets out with a mouthful as she chews. She cocks her head from side to side, trying to best decipher what it tastes like. “Like chicken,” Layla declares, picking up a napkin to wipe the mayo at the corner of her mouth. “Could pass as fried chicken definitely.”

////

“You got all the bags?” Layla grunts at her uncle, as she drops the last of their luggage on the front porch with a slight thud.

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I’m gonna pop over to Harry’s,” she says, hands going into the pockets of her sweats.

“We just got in,” Vasanth raises his brow.

“So?”

“Don’t you wanna shower first?”

“I’ll do it later.”

“You could do it now and then head over to your boyfriend’s,” he suggests.

“No,” she huffs.

“Go ahead, kutti. Bring over the package பாட்டி (grandmum) sent over,” Abi says, coming over to the threshold from the bathroom.

“Alright! See you!” She waves and jogs over to the house next door.

She quickly makes her way in, punching in the security code and quietly bounds up the stairs of the empty house. She sees him sitting on his desk, shirtless, broad shoulders hunched over the tiny black game console of hers. His greasy brown ringlets were haphazardly clipped away from his face. From the music Layla could tell that he was playing Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town. He got sucked into the game the minute he got to know that he could name his animals and his character. So much sucked into it that Layla’s Gameboy has only been on his bedside table for months now.

“Hi, farm boy,” she whispers, making him whip around.

His response is not one of surprise that she was expecting, and it almost offends her. She simply gives her a distracted smile and turns around to the backlit screen in his hands. “Give me a minute I just need to collect one more Goddess Gem, so I can marry the Harvest Goddess.”

“Excuse me?”

“What? She’s hard to impress,” he defends himself. “I finished digging up all the items in the spring and lake mine, and I bought a big bed. It’s the only thing left for me to marry her.”

“You do realise you can’t just ask her. You have to go to Carter and ask his permission to marry her in the confessional first.”

“Okay. Noted. Thanks, didn’t know that.”

“Wait?!? Why am I helping you?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, still glued to his game.

“Hello! I just got back after a week and came here straight to surprise you and you don’t even say hi,” she narrows her eyes at him.

“Just give me one moment,” he still fiddles with the buttons.

“Fine.” She huffs. “Guess, sex is off the table then. I’m gonna take a shower.” She unzips her lilac puffer jacket and shuffles it on his floor.

“Whoa, hold on now.” He flips the device close and puts it on the desk and walks towards her.

“Oh, that got your attention now, did it?” She grumbles, bunching up the end of her jumper and pulls it up her head, mussing up her hair in the process. She steps back when he goes to pull her in for a hug.

“Don’t be like that, Lails.”

She frowns at him, standing in a sports bra and grey sweats, arms crossed over her chest and tapping her socked foot on the floor.

“Come on, I was just in the zone. You know what that’s like when you’re playing,” he reasons.

She thinks about what he said, worrying her bottom lip. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, letting out a big sigh.

“How about we start from the top?” He says, coming to cup her puffy cheeks between his large palms.

“I’d like that.”

“Hi, baby.” He whispers, bending down to nuzzle his nose against hers. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too,” she replies, getting on her tiptoes - throwing her arms around his neck to balance herself - brushing her lips against his.

She rubs her hands against his stubbly, unshaven patchy scruff on his face. “What’s with the whiskers?”

“Didn’t really feel like shaving? What you don’t like my new look?”

“Can’t decide. Prickly,” she giggles, when he rubs his face against her neck, pushing his face away.

“How was your trip?” He asks, backing her up against the cream coloured wall.

“Good. I got you two silk bandanas. You know, so you can stop stealing my claw clips,” she smiles.

“Nice try but never.” He leans down and steals a kiss from her, it was needy, incessant and passionate. She swipes her tongue across his bottom lip, and he opens up letting her lick into his mouth and his hips involuntarily flexes into hers.

His hands slowly make their way down her torso, caressing her soft skin, as he kisses down her neck, sucking on the spot right below her ear, making her tug at his hair at the nape of his neck. He unties her drawstring and pushes down her sweats, making it pool at her ankles, smirking at her Batman underwear.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous you know that sweet girl,” he mutters, pupils blown out with wanton.

She shrugs and tugs him closer, running her hands down his taut torso, fingers tracing the outlines of the ferns. “Could say the same thing about you.”

He laughs. “I’m honoured.” His hands slide into her panties, one hand gripping onto her meaty bum, while the other teases at her damp folds, getting close to her nub but completely not touching it.

“Harry,” she complains, biting down on the column of his throat.

“What?” He smirks.

“You know what.”

“My sweet girl wants to be touched, huh?”

She nods. “Cut it out with the teasing,” she demands.

And he does. He pins her against the wall, dips his head into her chest so he can kiss and suck on the fleshy tops of her breasts, as he works her clit repeatedly by drawing circles and alternating it between back on forth motions on her hood - just how she likes it. Her moans and whimpers against his ear only eggs him to keep going until he helps her reach her peak. His erection feels unbelievably heavy, straining against the zipper of his trousers, he rubs himself against her thigh, in an asynchronous pace, to relieve the pressure.

“Ah, Harry,” Layla groans. Her fingers come to grip his wrist, stopping the ministration of his fingers. “Need you inside me when I come. Shower. Take me to the shower.”

He carries her to his en suite. They both quickly work themselves to get rid of their clothes and walk into the water. Layla grips on to his hair and pulls him in for a kiss, letting him suck on her bottom lip, breaking away ever so often to mewl as her closed fist works his cock, thumbing and his leaking slit.

“Baby, can I - uh fuck - feels good,” he grunts, as his hips work his throbbing member into her palm. “Can I not use a condom? Just wanna feel all of you.”

“Okay. Pull out, alright.”

She quickly turns around and presses herself against the tiles, chest flush, back curving, ass sticking out.

“Want this?” He checks in with her, as he’s roughly pumping himself, coming to stand behind her.

“Need it.”

Harry quickly guides himself into her, mesmerised by how she sucks him in with ease. Both moaning at the feeling, when he bottoms out.

“So exquisite for me, my sweet sweet girl,” he moans, hot breaths against her ear. She felt like heaven, all what he needed, warm, wet, tight, and loving. Things were much better without a condom. She was indescribable, almost like his antidote.

“Just like that. Keep doing that,” Layla tells him, when he drives his hips into her quickly.

He drives himself deeper and faster into her each time. Grunting against her ear, one hand steadying himself by gripping onto her hip, while the other snakes its way to toy with her clit, making her cry out in pleasure. He notices her hands - one gripping onto the shower handle, the other clawing onto the cold tile and he can’t help but feel jealous. So he pulls out quickly, kissing down her wet back, turning her around quickly, so she’s facing him.

“Want your hands on me,” he whines greedily, bringing her hands to rest on his shoulders. He gets between her hips in no time, one hand gripping onto the shower wall, the other coming to cradle the small of her back, her chest pressed against his in a delicious manner. Her leg comes to hook around his hips, getting on her tiptoes, they both cry out from how good they’re making each other feel. The sound of water was torrential but not enough to mask the way their skins were slapping against each other.

“Ah. Don’t - fuck fuck fuck. Don’t stop,” Layla cries out knowing full well he won’t, nails scratching down his back in a painful manner.

Tingly sparks shoot up his stomach at the delicious pain he’s experiencing with heightened pleasure. He stutters his hips into hers, harsher than he intends to, causing her to cry out.

“Hurts,” she gasps, tightening around him.

“Motherfuck,” he moans loudly. “Don’t. Or I’ll come,” he warns and she relaxes around his throbbing prick.

“Sorry. You okay?” He asks, pushing the sopping strands of hair away from her eyes, blinking away the beads of water that weighed down his eyelashes.

“Yeah. Think you went a bit hard on my cervix there,” she chuckles.

“Sorry. Got a bit excited when you scratched down my back.”

She chuckles. “That’s okay. I’m okay.” She pushes the water away from her face. “Make me come now.”

He works him slowly into her. Going slow and being much more gentle. “Faster, Harry,” she demands and he picks up speed, drawing circles with his hips, making her bite into his shoulder.

“Aargh,” she grunts, clutching onto his bicep, tightening around him again, much more relentlessly and tighter, band in her tummy stretched, ready to snap.

“Don’t. Don’t.” He can feel his control slipping, his rubber band snaps. “Fuck fuck fucking hell,” he curses, eyes screwed shut, pulling out of her hurriedly - just in time - as he comes all over her stomach – warmth spreading in his body.

She chuckles, pulling him closer for a kiss as his cock sputters ribbons, emptying himself. She could still feel him twitching between the two of them.

“Unacceptable,” he shakes his head, chastising himself for coming before her.

“Guess I got that gorilla grip, huh,” she jokes, as his come smears on his stomach, as she sucks on his neck, meeting with a blooming kiss mark when she pulls away.

He uses two of his fingers and scoops some on his hand and sucks it into his mouth, bending down to kiss her, tongue dancing with hers. He kisses and licks down her body, getting down on his knees as he runs his stubbly face against her inner thigh, making her shriek in response. He hooks her leg onto his shoulder, palms laying flat against her belly - holding her squirmy body still - as he dives into her folds, intending to take full advantage of what his scruff can do.

////

Warm. The thick duvet, afternoon sunlight slanting into the room and a certain someone curled up on him made him feel warm all over, yet he couldn’t bring himself to move and turn on the fan. Harry looks down to see a shock of her dark slightly damp hair fanned every which way, obstructing her face. He gently pushes her wild locks behind and smiles when he sees her let out soft snores through parted lips. His thumb absentmindedly comes to caress her cheek, as he stares at how her eyelashes fan across her face and the way her eyes move behind her closed lids. Poor thing, must be shattered from all the travel, he thinks.

Layla can sleep anywhere at any time, unlike him and she needed her full eight hours. She’s threatened to bite him if he ever woke her up early during the weekends for his runs. He’s seen her pull a few all nighters prepping for her classes - her lights are always on and her windows were open and that certainly caught his attention when he got up for a wee - and when he’d gone over the next day to check up, he’d found her snoozing away on the sofa.

It’s nice when he gets to hold her while he can. He never really had the opportunity to hold her through the night. They’d both start with a cuddle but would eventually need their own space, because they were both predominantly stomach sleepers.

Harry always knew that she wasn’t a big cuddle or a touch person but it always surprised him to no extreme when she’d be up for a good cuddle whenever he wants. He’d once asked her if she was just putting it up for his sake and she’d told him “I am not a touch person. I don’t really reach for people often. Dolphin is the only exception. I’d always pick the floor to sleep on rather than squeezing into a queen sized bed with my cousins. But the only cuddles I accept are from my Aunts. Vasanth had left for the States for his Masters before my parents started fighting. So they, all four of my Aunts, basically stepped in to take care of me. Being my Dad’s first cousins, they had good relationships with my mum and they were the only ones who were allowed to talk to me from my Dad’s side when we lived alone. They were the only ones who always treated me as their baby during that time. I’ve never had to pretend to be fine with them. I’ve felt the most at ease to cuddle with them. I don’t see them very often and they all have their own families now. Timeshare sucks, so I haven’t had a cuddle with anyone in years. Until you. I like cuddling with you because it makes me feel like that. Like safe and comfortable enough to let my guard down to accept your care. So no, I’m not putting up with it just because you’re a touch person. I look forward to it actually.” It knocked the soul out of him. He went home that night and cried himself to sleep knowing that he was able to provide a haven for his sweet girl.

His fingers weave into her hair, and he gently rubs at her scalp. Raspberry lips brush against her sweaty forehead. She was a natural caretaker. There probably wasn’t a time where she didn’t jump at the chance to take care of others - cooking, helping run errands, handiwork, helping with the orders at Earl’s, and knowing how to listen to others when they’d want to talk. She absolutely loved listening to his stories in a way that fed right into his ego; Layla always being so curious. He thinks back to a conversation they’d had when he was sitting on the lidded toilet watching her do her skincare routine at night.

“What did you just squirt from that?” He asks, watching her set down a dark amber frosted glass bottle on his counter.

“Vitamin C.” She responds, using her index to dot the serum at different points of her face, before softly massaging them into her skin.

“Do you know Narwhal’s have the same amount of vitamin c on an inch of its skin as half an orange?”

She shakes her head.

“Inuits used to use their skin to ward off scurvy.” “Interesting. Narwhals are those whales with a tusk, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen a few when I was in Churchill.” He says with a smile on his face.

“Aren’t they rare?”

“Hmm.” He makes his way to the counter, popping his butt on the marble top. A proud grin stretches across his face. “It was May and we were up North to get more data on the machine and while we were standing on the ice, setting up equipment, there were seven of these and they popped right up in the ice pockets to get some air. They go down super deep and they always remember to come back to the same ice pockets to get some air. They are also creatures of habit, quite like you. Too bad it’s killing them.” He sighs.

“How so?”

“Climate Change.”

Layla gives him a confused look as she squirts some of her aloe vera moisturising gel into her palm. “Oh, global warming and because of rising water temperatures?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. See what’s why the word global warming pisses me off. It’s reinforcing the idea of heat to people who don’t know much about the science behind it. People in colder areas don't think it applies to them and everyone thinks the ice caps are melting. I’m not saying they aren’t, it is a pressing issue. But the earth is also getting cooler. Much much colder. That’s why I personally prefer the word climate change over global warming. Coming back to whales, because they are such creatures of habit, they come back to the same pockets of openings in the ice sheets for air. Suddenly, mostly due to a shift in the wind and these pockets freeze over fully or have a very small opening, this makes a whole pod fight to come to the surface for air while the weak ones drown. Sometimes, they get trapped in these tiny areas and get hunted by predators.”

“What are predators to living whales?” Her voice muffled as she applies some Vaseline on her lips.

“Polar bears, walruses and sometimes even the arctic foxes.”

“I didn’t know walruses and bears are powerful enough to take on whales.”

“They are- wait am I waffling about and boring you?” He stops. He’s been told that when he gets excited, he has a tendency to blather about it for ages.

“No you are not. I love getting to hear these snippets from your time in Manitoba. You must have worked so hard.”

“I was the youngest, and inexperienced, so I did meaningless work most of the time. But the people on the team were real nice.”

“Harry, don't sell yourself short. No one just gets to go on an all expense paid year long research expedition in the Arctic Circle, especially when they are right out of school.”

Boy did that stroke his ego. It felt nice coming from her, he knew she was sharp as a tack. She had the ability to read a forty page research article and condense it down to five lines and she’d hit all the right points. He was also envious of the way she’d instantly make abstract ideas and sound like it was as simple as breathing.

She always gave and gave, sometimes it resulted in back and forths just to get her to accept care from him. Care in the form of appreciation. Gratitude. Helping her with whatever she was doing. Helping her unwind with a massage or a movie. Paying for things. Wanting to spoil her. But it was hard sometimes. She was far too stubborn. He’d also notice the way her eyes flit around any room they walk into, assessing the situation, like she’s gauging the temperature of the water by dipping her toe in before taking the plunge. Taking care of people was her default mode, she’d find time to squeeze the act in even if she was slammed that day. His fingers drift to the exposed honey like skin under her collarbone, she was wearing his white ribbed tank and one of the sleeves had slid down her shoulder. He presses his lips to her sleep warm cheek, sighing in response to her scent crescendoing.

It was challenging to get her to just accept the smallest acts for care. Harry wondered sometimes if she’d short circuit if she can’t care for someone or something. As herculean it was to get her to shut up and go with it, he wasn’t gonna stop until the fact that he’s not gonna give up trying, until it’s driven deep into her thick skull.

She jerks in his arms and he stills not wanting her to wake up, she mumbles something incoherently and moves to lie on her back, but her left thigh was still wedged between his. Bare legs tangled together in the sheets. Faint red splotches, a result of friction, decorate her inner thigh, a reminder of the places his stubble traced her sensitive skin. Dimples carve into his cheek as he thinks back to their exchange an hour or so ago.

“What are you doing, babe?” Layla asks, while towelling her sopping wet raven strands, eyeing him as he picks up his razor.

“Shaving.” He replies, tearing his eyes away from his reflection on the sink mirror to look at her in just his briefs.

“Why?”

“Because you have beard burns on the inside of your thighs,” he tells her, nose scrunching as he deals with a phantom itch at the top of his nose.

“Don’t shave. Please.” She says softly.

“Baby, I don’t want to irritate your skin any more.”

“I can always put some aloe on it. It doesn’t really hurt. Keep it please, Har. I really liked how it felt when you went down on me,” she blushes.

“Is that so?” He asks coyly, putting the razor on the counter and turns his body towards her fully. Ego skyrocketing.��

“Hmm.” She nods, giving him a shy smile.

“Okay, since you asked so nicely. I’ll maybe give this stubble thing a go for a few days. But I’m gonna shave before Abi’s ceremony.”

“Super!” She bites the plump of her bottom lip as she picks up the white tank top that Harry had hung on the rack for her.

////

Layla pushes a strand of hair that flips onto her forehead, obstructing her view, back with her wrist. She squints at the scrawny handwriting on the bound notebook in front of her. The blue ink had faded, the once white pages have now faded. But she could make out the instructions on the page. She squeezes a tablespoon of sriracha into the bowl containing mayonnaise.

A sizzle comes from the pan, from where Earl’s toasting their baguettes. She was over at his place for lunch. “How’d you like the piano duels?” He asks, referring to his recommendation to her New Orleans bucket list.

“Fun. I was surprised when one of the musicians started playing ice ice baby. I never really thought of it as a piano song,” she chuckles.

“I loved the video Harry showed of you rapping it on stage.”

“Oh. He came over last week?” She adds some more ingredients as per the book and mixes them into the sauce.

“Yeah to drop off my meds and he stayed over too. We geeked out over music, as usual. Missed you though. I didn’t know you could rap that good.”

“I’ve heard that song my whole life really; Appa (Dad) had it on repeat. Not that hard,” she shrugs.

“You’re full of surprises, little girl.” He brings the toasted baguettes to her so she can spread some of that remoulade on the golden brown pockets of dough.

“Your wife’s a genius. This po’ boy seems so different from the one I had in New Orleans. This is such a wealth of info, you really should look at printing this or typing this onto a computer,” she says, pointing to the book full of recipes.

Earl smiles. He goes to sit on one of the bar stools at the island. “I forgot it was there, to be honest. You were the first person who made me open it up after a long time when you asked me to teach you Gumbo all those months ago.”

“Oh. Didn’t you kids or grandkids ever try to make something from this when they’d visit?”

“Not really. Her recipes are always elaborate and time intensive. Everyone came over to relax, so spending over two hours on a recipe wasn’t at the top of their list.”

“They’re missing out. I would love to have something like this,” she brings the excess sauce that had dribbled into her thumb to her mouth to suck it off. “I’ve been begging my grandmum to write down her recipes and she always goes ‘why don’t you ask me to die already,’” she laughs at her own high pitched voice she picked to mimic her grandmum; her voice was the furthest away from that.

“I’m here!” His voice carries over to where the two were.

“Hi,” Layla greets him, when he gets to the top of the staircase. He drops his white tote on the ram recliner, and beelines straight to the kitchen, bending down to kiss Layla’s cheek.

“Yes, pretend like I don’t exist and go straight to your girlfriend,” Earl teases them.

“Lovely afternoon, is it not?” Harry takes Earl’s hand and presses his lips to his knuckles, cracking them all up.

Harry’s wearing a black button down with the word ‘Styles’ embroidered on his chest in white, against his chest. He was wearing a pair of hot pink and neon green checkered shorts - it looked like it was stitched from a curtain. His hair was not styled, his little clip at the top missing; instead his hair flopped down to his forehead, almost reaching down to his eyes. He looked so boyish, especially with the patchy scruff on his cheeks. He sits down on the stool next to Earl and drops his leather bound journal on the counter.

“We’re having po’ boys for lunch?” He asks, watching Layla wash some tomatoes and lettuce.

“Uh huh.” She answers, turning around to get the baked shrimp out of the oven. He can’t help but shamelessly stare at the swell of her ass as she bends down.

“Did you get me the snail poison?” Earl asks.

“Yeah. Left it downstairs in the greenhouse,” he answers.

“Wait, snail poison?!?” Layla exclaims.

“Yeah. There’s an infestation of them in my cabbage patches.”

“So you’re planning to kill them?”

Earl nods. “They’ve chowed down on almost all of my cabbages, those fat slimy bastards.”

“Don’t say that.” Layla scolds. “You can’t kill them,” she says in a stubborn voice.

“Oh yeah, little miss here is a lover of snails,” Harry chuckles at her cross demeanour.

“I’m sorry, Layla. I tried the natural route with the copper plate and it just didn’t work. It’s the only way.”

“No no. There has to be some other way to get rid of them without killing them,” she huffs, crossing her arms defensively against her chest.

“Well I’m all ears,” Earl says.

“Umm…” She thinks, biting down on her bottom lip. “Oh! How about I pick them up one by one, put them in a cardboard box and release them in the park. Harry will help me,” she says determinedly.

“Fat chance. I’m not touching those slimy things. You’re on your own, baby.”

Layla shoots him a dirty look.

“Honey,” Earl sighs. “Even if you do manage to get all of those snails, there are still eggs and it’s not a guarantee. I need to sell those cabbages to the local farmers. They aren’t gonna be of much use if they have been chewed through,” he reminds her.

She pouts at the two of them like a petulant toddler knowing she’s lost the battle. “Fine. But I’m mad at the two of you.”

“What did I do?” Harry exclaims. “He’s the one who’s doing it.”

“But you were the one who’s aiding him with this whole ordeal by getting him the poison.” She pointedly says, the baking tray still in her hands.

The next few minutes go by in silence as Layla gets to slicing up the tomatoes and lettuce. She keeps giving the two dirty looks every now and then as she arranges the thinly sliced tomatoes on a bed of lettuce.

“So what’s this?” Earl gestures to the journal hoping it would distract Layla.

“Nothing important.”

“He'd rather die than tell you what’s in there Earl. Don’t even try, you’d only be wasting your time,” Layla informs, as she picks up a spoon to transfer the shrimp on top of the tomatoes.

Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Now I gotta know,” Earl turns towards him, giving him his full attention.

“It’s just…” He could feel the tips of his ears getting hot and by the way Layla is smirking at him, he can only imagine the blush spreading on his face. “I write sometimes and - just like dabble in it,” he tries to explain, his hand subconsciously reaching for his book, splaying his hand protectively over it.

“So, what do you write?” Earl asks.

“Umm… just things. Things that I see, emotions I experience, things that I like, things that pop up in my head.” He slides the book closer to him.

“So is it like poetry? I’m assuming because you read a lot of them,” Layla says, plating up their sandwiches.

“Yeah. Sometimes I do write a bit of them… sometimes they’re like journal entries. Sometimes I write down something people around me have said. Could be a movie quote.”

“That explains the Winnie the Pooh quote,” Layla says more to herself but they all could hear.

“Let’s head to the dining room. The boy’s uncomfortable. His ears are to his shoulders. Well, Harry, we get that it’s personal. But I would be happy to read whatever you write, if you are comfortable sharing.” Earl slips out of the barstool. “I’m gonna head to the restroom and wash up.”

“Thanks, Earl.” He nods and Earl squeezes his shoulders before he disappears into the hallway.

“Har, can you um, reach that mason jar of hot honey,” she points to one of the cabinets, that was way placed much further away from her grasp; it was out of direct sunlight pouring in from the open window.

“Yeah, short stuff.” He opens the counter and pulls out the glass jar with an exorbitant amount of sliced chillies. “I’m surprised your stubborn ass isn’t climbing over and getting it yourself.”

“Oh, I’m wearing skinny jeans and these ones really restrict my movement, especially at the thighs, so can’t really bend my legs more than ninety degrees. But they make my butt look so good. Plus, I think I’ve lost some weight, it’s loose around my tummy and hips,” she explains, getting the jar from him and popping it open to spoon some of that spicy honey onto all of their sandwiches. A slight drizzle for Harry and Earl, and two generous tablespoons -with all the sliced chillies -for her.

“Oh is the fermented honey thing you and Earl were making a week ago?”

“Yup. His wife’s cookbook is a wealth of all things fermentation. I didn’t even know you could add things to honey. Can you help me put these plates on the table?”

“Sure. Almost forgot to tell you this.” He gets closer to her, lips close to her ear like he’s gonna share a secret. “You look beautiful today,” he says, trailing his fingertips down her cheek. His feathery stroke tickles when he gets to the column of her neck, making her squirm. “Your shirt is just marvellous,” he cockily smirks, fingers coming to clasp her gold elephant pendant that rested on the centre of her collarbones.

“Is that so?” She smiles, rolling her eyes. She was wearing his shirt. A light cream shirt with vertical dark green stripes, she’d left the first few buttons undone - just like he would. She paired it with her favourite black skinny jeans, that she’s refused to part with since high school. Her signature hoops in her ear. The gold butterfly in her conch and the single diamond of her helix stud shimmers, throwing off fractals of sunlight. She had put a lip tint on, some brown liner at the outer corner of her lids, smudged to create an illusion of fuller lashes, her eyebrows bushy and straight - she hadn’t threaded it for a few weeks now, some shimmery gloss on the centre of her lids - making the gold particles scintillate on her honey wheat skin. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, her bangs straight and unstyled, tucked behind her ears.

“Almost warrants a thank you to the person that bought it,” he says in a sing-song manner. His other hand comes up to her face, thumb rubbing her full bottom lip.

“Guess, I better call my boyfriend and thank him. Wonder what he’d say though,” she teases.

“I don’t know this boyfriend fellow of yours, but it were me I’d say something along the lines of ‘I know. My fashion taste is impeccable. Almost as impeccable as the way it’s draped on your body.” He bends down to button her lips against his.

“Idiot,” Layla mutters, when they break apart, chest heaving to draw in air. “Go set the table, will you,” she pushes him towards the dining room.

They scroll on their phones, waiting for Earl as they settle into the dining chairs. Harry shows her a funny meme and they both giggle as Earl makes his way towards the two.

“You okay?” Layla asks immediately, brows furrowing in concern.

“Yeah.” He replies in a soft voice, mopping his face with his pocket handkerchief.

“You look ashen. What’s wrong?” She prods, watching him sit, more slowly than normal.

“Just got a bit light headed when I was washing my face,” she says.

“We can go to the hospital. I’ll call mum and get my car,” Harry offers immediately.

“You two worry so much,” he chuckles. “I’m old these things happen more often now. It’s not the first time. I’ll be fine.”

“Earl,” Layla starts.

“I’m fine. Must just be from not eating. I only had a banana for breakfast. I’m sure I’ll perk up after lunch,” his eyes flit to the stuffed po’ boy in front of him.

“But if you feel ill in any way, let me know and we’ll go straight to the hospital,” Harry says.

Earl nods. The rest of their lunch goes in silence, all of them eating while listening to Idle Moments by Grant Greene. Earl can’t help but notice the little things between the two of them and how much they were in sync with each other. When Layla looks around the table for something, midbite, Harry wordlessly heads to the kitchen and brings her the bottle of sriracha. She smiles and says a muffled thank you to him, mouthful of food, and sheepishly smiles at the two of them as she proceeds to paint the inside of her sandwich with the fiery red condiment. When Harry knocks Layla’s phone off the table with his elbows, as he takes a sip of water, he watches Layla cover the edge of the wooden table with her palm while he’s bending down to pick her phone and on cue, Harry being klutzy as ever bumps into the same spot but comes in contact with her hand and not the sharp edge.

After lunch, the two head downstairs to clean up the floor shop and close up orders for the day. They’d convinced Earl to head to bed and not open up the shop for the rest of the day.

Harry’s using the swiffer to clean up the floor while Layla was standing on a step stool busy peering into her phone for different fonts - a white chalk in hand, as she writes down tomorrow’s special deals on the chalkboard. They each had one of Layla’s Airpods popped into their ear, while it was connected to Harry’s phone - playing tracks from his playlist. Irene Cara starts crooning What a Feeling and Harry slowly makes his way over to her, putting his arms around his neck and he wraps his hands around her waist, pulling her body flush to his.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs, lips brushing against her neck, making her shiver.

“Can’t,” she smirks against his jaw. He pulls back to look at her face and frowns. “I’m on a step stool. Very restricting movement wise, I’m afraid,” she teases him.

“Dickhead,” he whispers, rolling his eyes. God, was she a menace. “Sway with me then?”

“I’d like that very much.”

They both sway together, smiling at each other, both lovestruck fools - but one unable to recognise that. The added height for Layla changed things for them, instead of burrowing her face into his chest, this time they were almost on par with each other. Harry resting his nose on top of hers, their breaths igniting warmth against their skin, chests indescribably close, lips a hairline away from one and another - brushing every now and then as they moved. Smiles stretching across their faces, dimples fully making an appearance on their cheeks. Green eyes locked with her hickory hued orbs. Harrys mutters many ‘I love you’s in between the verses. They both felt so incredibly cocooned with each others’ endearment. It’s not a common occurrence, you see, seeing a stranger through your window and having them tight in your arms - a few months later, as you are baring your soul to them.

“Harry?” She says after the song ends

“Hmm,” he hums, in a drunken haze.

“Does it ever…” she trails off.

“Ever what, Lails?”

“Does it bother you that I haven’t said I love you back?” She asks him, lips gnawing on her bottom lip, eyes focusing - on her painting that Earl had hung up - behind his ear.

“Why would it bother me? I told you this last time, remember… I don’t want you to rush in any way or feel like you need to tell me that you love me. I can wait. I just need you to know that I do.” He kisses her temple.

“It’s just…” Her lower lip trembles and Harry can’t help but rub this thumb over it. “J-Ju-Just,” she stumbles with her words, chest heaving a sob threatening to breach the levee.

“Hey,” he coos. His hands come to tightly grip the back of her thighs, right where her bum ends, and plops her on the counter, nudging her knees and wiggling himself in between. His hands come to cup her face, lifting her head to read her eyes. “What is it? You can tell me anything,” he prods.

A bead slips down one of her eyes and he’s quick to wipe it away with his thumb. “It’s just that I feel so guilty when you say it and I don’t. Initially when you said it, it was all tingly but now I just feel bad that I can’t. You don’t deserve this. You’re so nice to me all the time and I feel like you should be with someone who deserves you, you know.” Her heavy wet eyelashes blink up at him.

“Lails, it is not your place to tell me what I deserve. I need to - no, I want to be with you. You don’t get to tell me otherwise. You’re the one I want - on purpose. I choose you on purpose. I’m sorry you’re feeling guilty. But you should have told me about this sooner, baby. Should I stop saying it? Would that help?” He tucks a loose lock of her hair behind her ear.

Layla thinks about it, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes flitting down to his shirt she’s wearing; she inspects the way the fabric is bunched around the tops thighs. She smooths out the creases with her fingers, feeling the seam of her jeans digging into the side of her thighs - protesting against her movement.

“No,” she says, timidly. “I don’t know,” she huffs out frustratedly. “Maybe, I’m not explaining this properly.” She uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose. “I’m scared.”

“Scared?” He asks, eyebrows arching up as he caresses her cheeks, hoping to provide her some comfort.

“It’s just that I am not very comfortable or good at expressing affection towards others. Especially, verbally. Like it’s much more valuable in a way. Especially if I bring myself to tell someone that I love them and it will just make it that much harder to lose them.” She sniffles. “What I’m blabbering… I can’t umm..” she tries, but tears spring to her eyes, and she screws them shut, trying to even out her breathing - hunkering that memory deep down.

Layla was ten, she was busy hiding in the kitchen, using her new craft punches that her father dropped off at school when he came to visit. She only saw him at school now. Sometimes her grandparents would come with him. Her mother didn’t want her talking to them, so she’d kept it a secret. She kept the fact that her father, and sometimes her grandparents would come visit her in school grounds, after school hours for forty minutes. Her mother didn’t know about it because she had basketball practice till four thirty, and her mother came to pick her up after practice. He’d bought her a set of those paper punches which cut paper into different shapes. The same punchers, she used to make confetti with her colourful origami papers - she cut out many flowers, stars, hearts, butterflies, and fishes. Her mother had been sad when she came to pick her up. She had been sad all through that evening, so after Layla made dinner for them, her mother’s favourite - a simple vermicelli upma, she’d gone to execute her plan in motion. She went up to her mother, who was at the dining table, looking at a stack of papers wistfully and threw the confetti in her direction shouting a very loud ‘I love you, Amma’ - hoping it would cheer her up. But it went horribly wrong, her mother was startled, causing her to tip the opened water bottle all over the papers on the table. Her mother shouted profanities at her as Layla begged for forgiveness, she got up and grabbed a fistful of Layla’s hair and slammed it right on to the closest brick wall. ‘லூசுநாயே (stupid bitch)’ she yelled. Her jaw came into contact with cement first but Layla had managed to block the rest of her face from the wall by putting her palms in between her face and the wall. She couldn’t feel the pain but noticed blood on her shirt before she realised that blood was spouting from her mouth; she'd lost her first ever baby tooth from the impact - she’d found it two days later under the fridge, she’d later buried it in her backyard hoping she would grow a plant that would have teeth as flowers. Her mother quickly apologises telling her she didn’t mean to and she did this because she loves her, as she ushered Layla to the bathroom to help her rinse out the blood in her mouth. That was the last time she’d ever said I love you.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles shakily to Harry, after she’d shoved down that memory, blinking back the film in her eyes that made her vision hazy.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” he tells her, he could tell she was struggling with something.

“It’s just that, it makes it more real, you know. And if something were to happen, it would make losing you so much harder. And I selfishly don’t want that.” She finishes. “I’m being stupid. Sorry.”

“Sweet girl,” he utters, resting his forehead against hers.

A snort escapes her lips and her hands immediately come to cover her mouth. “Sorry.” She giggles.

“Shut up. I don’t call you that only during sex,” he whines. Finding himself giggling with her even through his denial.

“Do you want me to start counting again?” She laughs.

“Don’t be a dickhead.” He presses his lips against her forehead.

“Can’t help it you know,” she shrugs.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” he says, coming back to cup her face, feeling how warm her cheeks have gotten against his palms.

“Just know this, you mean the world to me, Har.”

////

“Thank you!” Layla tells the woman behind the counter with a polite smile as she tucks her receipt in her bag. She pushes the wooden panelled glass door of UPS and steps out onto the sidewalk.

She smooths out her now empty white tote that had her painting and folds it into a small square and slips it into the compartment of the black shoulder coach bag she “borrowed” from Abi.

Layla walks around town aimlessly for a while strolling to note how more people preferred sitting inside bistros than in the outdoor seating area. How the bright yellow and orange leaves were now more on the pavement than on the trees. Hotter drinks were a source of invitation into coffee shops, their icy refreshing drinks nowhere to be found on the chalkboards. How almost all the Halloween decorations outside of shop windows were sparse. Her breath hitches in her throat, a burn simmers in her tightening chest, she feels her lungs strain to exhale. She coughs into the crook of her elbow. Changing of the season had also set off her wheezing. No more backyard yoga in the mornings, she thinks as she shakes her turquoise inhaler before wrapping her lips around the mouth and pressing on the canister for a puff. She stays out on the sidewalk for a few seconds letting the meds do their work in freeing up her lungs, when a bright red and yellow sign catches her eye. She sticks her hand in to fish out her phone as she drops the inhaler back in her purse.

Layla: i’m downtown. fancy something from McDonalds?

Harry: Egg and cheese McGirddles, fries, and an Oreo McFlurry.

Layla: see you soon!!

Harry: Love you x

Layla : i know!!! xxx

It's almost midday when Layla turns into the familiar street, a shiver runs up her spine when a cool gust of wind picks up. Her body can’t handle wearing her Dad’s running shorts anymore, it was baggy and stopped right above her knees and the wind was just not working in her favour. She's glad her Uncle zipped her up in his NASCAR jacket because that was the only thing that’s keeping her teeth from chattering. The warmth of the fast food seeing through the thin brown paper bag keeps her hands toasty. Dear Maria, Count Me In by All Time Low was blasting through her AirPods. She must definitely start layering to keep up with the November weather.

As she turns into the familiar street, she hears someone call out her name. Her brow furrows as she pops one of her AirPods out to check and she hears it again. This time clearer.

“Layla! Kanna!” Nandhini Aunty’s familiar voice booms from across the other side of the street. She was standing outside of her garage. Her empty driveway now houses three new cars. A red hatchback had its truck wide open and Layla could see the trunk filled with different sized suitcases.

She smiles at her giving a polite wave in return hoping that it was just a simple exchange of pleasantries. Her stomach had been growling on her way back and all she could think of was pouring out the honey mustard sauce from the small dipping container onto her chicken sandwich. But Nandhini Aunty had other plans as she waved her over towards her house.

“What now?” She mutters to herself as she crosses the street with a smile, she was still salty that Nandhini Aunty ratted her and Harry out to her folks.

“Hello, kanna! How are you?” Nandhini Aunty smiles warmly at her, crows feet becoming more pronounced as she grins wider.

“Hi Aunty! I’m doing well. How are you? Must be super busy with the wedding in ten days.”

“Oh yes, kanna. Very very busy. We have family slated to come this entire week. In fact that’s why I called you over-”

“Oh, sure. What do you need Aunty? I can come and help out.” Layla immediately responds.

Dammit! Why did I fucking say that?!? She mentally smacks her forehead.

“No no, kanna. How sweet of you to offer but we’ve got it under control. I just want you to meet some of the cousins who’ve come in today. Just thought it would be nice for you to hang out with people your age.”

Layla laughs. “Nandhini Aunty, I hang out with Harry all the time.”

“I just meant someone from our culture. It’ll do you some good,” she responds, as she takes one of her hands between hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. Layla’s brows furrow as she looks at their hands.

“பசங்களா! லேலாவை சந்திக்க வாருங்கள்! (Kids! Come meet Layla!)” She yells out in the direction of the open front door.

Layla awkwardly stands there until she sees two men rush out in jeans and the flashiest sneakers. They were both obnoxiously rambunctious, shoving and cackling amongst themselves as they barreled towards the two of them.

“Where’s Pooja?” Nandhini Aunty asks one of the boys.

“Oh, she’s feeding the baby. Prasath’s helping her like the good husband he is,” the man with the buzzcut tells her. “Hi, I’m Dhruv,” he extends his hand out boisterously to Layla.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Layla,” she introduces herself by wiggling her hand out of Nandhini’s grasp and gives Dhruv a firm shake. He was short but very built and had a long beard. His red shoes catch her eyes. “Cool shoes,” she compliments him.

“Thanks!” He beams.

“Those Jordans are his most prized possessions.” The other one tells her. “I’m Ashwin.” He extends his hand out in a more timid manner. His hair was wiry and the way it was cut made it so that it was fluffy at the top and with a fade on both sides. He had a navy blue jumper that had a bright red vertical stripe at his torso.

“Hi, Ashwin. Layla.” She shakes his hand and notices him fiddle with the belt loop of his jeans with his other hand.

“Layla here is getting her PhD soon,” Nandhini Aunty boasts.

“I have to get accepted into a school first though. But I appreciate your confidence,” she chuckles.

“Oh god. Nandhi Aunty is the worst! She went around telling everyone that I got into law school,” Dhruv tells Layla.

“That was seven years ago and not everyday someone I know gets into Harvard. I’ll be telling it some more at the wedding. We need to get you some proposals, you’re almost 32. When I was your age I had two children who were in elementary school,” Nandhini shakes her head, making the three roll their eyes.

“Sucks to be you,” Ashwin mocks.

“Don’t think you’re free, Ash. You’re mother and I are already in talks of finding you a girl. We need to start now.”

“But I’m only 27. You should really redirect your focus on this old unmarried cow here,” he points to Dhruv, making Layla laugh. She mumbles a quiet apology to Dhruv.

“No redirection of attention. You work at Apple now and-”

“You work at Apple? That’s so cool. You’re basically living the NRI dream,” Layla interjects Nandhini.

“Yeah. Been there for over two years now. Loving everything San Francisco has to offe-”

“Do you want to join us for lunch, Layla? You can hang out with them and I’m sure my daughter would love to meet you,” Nandhini Aunty interjects.

“Oh no. Thank you for the offer but I have lunch plans with Harry,” she lifts up the takeaway bag to emphasise her point. “I’ll be happy to hang out some other time.”

“We’re going to watch Beast in theatres in a few days. Do you wanna join us?” Dhruv asks.

“Oh, I’ve been listening to Halamithi Habibo all week! But I don’t wanna impose on a family activity.”

“Please. The more the merrier. It’s just us cousins.” Ashwin says.

“I didn’t know they released Tamil movies here.”

“They do in some theatres. Especially in places with a Tamil crowd. We have to drive to Charlotte to watch it.”

“Ah I see. You can count me in. I’m excited to see if it’ll top Thuppakki though. I doubt it but I’m willing to give it a chance,” Layla tells them, rocking on her heels.

“Super. We’ll let you know once we’ve booked tickets.” Ashwin tells her with a smile.

“Alright. See you all!” She waves and crosses the road to Harry’s house.

She gets in front of the door and opens up the brown bag and pulls out her french fry bag and pulls out a handful of them and drops them at the bottom of the bag. It may be a silly thing to do but she’ll never forget the look on Harry’s face, on their trip to Cape Hatteras and they opted to go through a drive through for lunch, when he discovered some loose extra french fries at the bottom of the bag. He declared that the gods of luck were on their side and swore that the loose french fries tasted so much better than the ones in the bag. She places the bag on the white railing and tries to seal both the brown bag and the french fry bag, so it looks inconspicuous. She’s been doing this every time they got fast food and the last thing she wants is for Harry to know that she tampered with it.

She rings the doorbell once she’s done and waits for him to answer the door. She could easily punch in the code and walk into the house but she prefers it this way. She hears some heavy shuffling of his feet and a few seconds later the door swings open.

“Hi, baby!” He yells still sweaty, from what Layla assumes was his pre-lunch workout session session. His hair was all gathered in a spout with a clip and the blue bandana, she got from New Orleans was tied around his head to keep the sweat off his face. He was shirtless and was just wearing the tiniest shorts she’d ever seen - it didn’t even cover an inch of the tiger tattoo on his thigh - and a pair of white socks.

“Hi you! I come bearing junk!” She exclaims, getting on her tippy toes to give him a big kiss.

“Hmm.” He sighs when their lips touch. “Thank you.”

“For what?” She asks. “The food or the kiss?”

“Bit of both really,” he smirks, grabbing the bag from her hand and opens it up, shuffling the contents in the process.

“Sweeeet!” He exclaims. “Loose fries!” He picks three up and pops it into his mouth. “I swear they’re laced with cocaine or some shit. Tastes so fucking better than normal fries,” he declared with his mouth full of fried potato.

“Oh, I know,” she agrees with him in a soft voice, a fond smile stretching across her face.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

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