Author's Note: Wow, its been a long time since I've posted anything. Hope this isn't too bad.
He'd been through the routine before. He knew the drill- get it done as quickly as possible, with as few words exchanged as necessary. He would get in, start the general process of disentangling his life from his most recent ex, and move out. e He would leave no trace o f his presence. He'd had so much practice with this the purging act no longer took him much effort.
It was a sticky Thursday morning in mid-July, the humidity so thick Harry could feel the excess weight of the weather sitting on his slight, muscular shoulders. The windows in the small, third-story apartment he stood in were thrown open in a vain attempt to catch a cross-breeze, but the extra measure proved futile as the 22-year-old wiped away the sweat that began gathering on his forehead. On either side of him lay two boxes, one half-full with clothes he had laying around left from late nights crashing here. The other held the remainder of his personal effects: a spare toothbrush, his favorite tea mug, a much-loved paperback, and his silk black bathrobe.
Harry sighed, wondering just what it was about him that screamed "Failure to Commit." This was his fifth failed relationship within a year, the latest debacle ending in a bitter torrent of insecurity, selfishness, and general immaturity on his partner's end. He bent down and picked up a photo album from the living room floor. Flipping through it for a moment, he tossed it into one of the boxes, deciding it contained a few too many pictures of him for comfort. He didn't want to leave much behind.
The finality of a break-up, Harry felt, left little room to tarry about pretending things would mend themselves. He preferred a clean break, moving on immediately without so much as a glance back. He even went so far as to come into the apartment while his ex was at work, enabling him to avoid any apologetic goodbyes and awkward, obligatory small talk all together. The less that was said, the better it was for all parties involved- and there really wasn't much left to say once it was over.
Harry took a final run-through of the premises, making sure he thoroughly extracted his belongings. As he passed through the various rooms, he took in the familiarity of the apartment- the ivory walls that he'd helped paint, the stainless steel appliances that gleamed in spotless glory, the overly-contemporary gray furniture that had made it hard to live comfortable and think of this place as a second home- Harry pushed the thoughts from his mind, realizing that it truly no longer mattered. He no longer had a place here.
For the umpteenth time that morning, Harry analyzed how much chaos and destruction his love life had experienced over the past year. It was so unstable- he was a self-described Leaper, someone who acted on whim and took a leap of faith on every relationship that came his way. Many men loved this innocent quality in him, but lately it just left him getting burned. He was usually too eager to please, and threw everything he had into finding love. But his fatal flaw was his failure to separate his needs from his wants and his brain from his heart.
Harry concluded his tour in the kitchen, pausing only to glance at the clock before he grabbed his boxes and headed out the door, planning on dropping his stuff off at his own place. He wouldn't bother to unpack it- he knew that soon enough, he would just be relocating it to a new boyfriend's home. A boyfriend that would hopefully hold some promise this time.
And as he slipped his key under the potted plant outside the doorway, he congratulated himself on a new record. Only 49 minutes to pack up and leave. He smiled as he bounced down the poorly lit stairs two at a time.
A personal best.
"So you're telling me you're at it again?"
Harry took a long draft from his mug of firewhiskey, shaking his head as the liquid trickled down his throat. "Yeah, I'm at it again. Let me know," he finished his drink off with one more tip to his mouth, "if you think you can set me up with anyone."
Neville gave him a long, loaded look before polishing off his own drink, his skeptical eyes shifting from his friend's face to the table and back again. "I don't think I know anyone who's your type."
The two were sitting in a local bar that night, drinking to celebrate Harry's newly-obtained single status, much as they did every time. The pair, sitting across from each other at a small table towards the back of the venue, was an interesting sight. Harry, with disheveled jet-black hair just grazing the jut of his jaw, had a soft face and piercing green eyes that threatened to derail even the straightest of men. His signature rosy pout was in his usual disarming smile, and he peered coyly from under thick eyelashes at fellow customers passing their spot. His body was on the slight yet muscular side, his height around 5 feet 9.
Neville, in contrast, was slightly more angular than Harry, with a thin but healthy face, high cheekbones and a light smatter of freckles on either side of his nose. His smile, honest and inviting, made his companion's smirk seem almost deceiving in its flirtatious nature. His chestnut brown hair extended a little past the top of his ear, and his light brown eyes drew you in with a silent welcoming. Though he had filled out since his school days, his body was still long and reed-like, his height towering at around 6 feet 3.
They both wore slacks the shade of charcoal and a button-down shirt, Harry's pale blue and Neville's soft gray. They were an attractive pair, and people around them took notice as they surveyed the two with lustful eyes.
"And what, pray tell, is my type exactly?" Harry turned his attention back to his buddy with a mirth-filled gaze, intrigue gracing his features as he ran a fingertip in looping designs across the tabletop. His lopsided grin portrayed genuine interest as he raised an eyebrow. "Because it would be great to know."
He scanned the dimly lit bar as he waited for a reply, noting the rapidly waning light of the evening sky and the absence of a particular redhead companion. Ron had yet to make it to the outing, his habit of tardiness so predictable it no longer fazed either of his friends. The duo knew he would arrive late.
Sure enough, 15 minutes after the original meeting time, a flustered and sheepish Ron pulled up to their table, his 6 foot 6 frame making him easy to spot.
"Sorry guys," Ron stated as he shrugged, sitting down and waving a waitress over to their table. "I had a bit of a situation to take care of-"
Harry cut him off with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "As fascinating as your story probably is, I think it should wait for just a moment." He turned back to Neville. "So, my type?"
Ron laughed and Neville rolled his eyes at the man's persistent nature, not at all surprised at his one-track mind that made frequent appearances. But Harry was oblivious to their reactions; his eyes trailed around the bar again, catching a familiar face that made him do a double-take. He watched in mild interest as the person sat on the opposite end of the bar, not noticing a pair of green eyes seeking him out.
After a moment, the redhead's laughter stopped and he looked at Harry with pure delight. "For as long as I've known you, I still can't help but be surprised at how little you know about yourself." Neville gave him a quick nod to continue. "I'm guessing you're talking about your type concerning men?" This time Harry nodded. "Well, to put it mildly…"
He trailed off, smiling at the waitress who brought him his beer, and watching as she winked at him over her shoulder and pranced off. He flashed another sheepish grin at his companions as they shook their heads.
"What?" He tried to, unsuccessfully, appear innocent. "Am I not allowed to have a type too?"
Neville groaned. "Damn Ron, every female on two legs that can string a few words together is your type." He rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the tabletop as he scrutinized the tall man. "Every girl who looks at you is attractive. Every girl that has a-"
Harry cut him off. "Awkward conversation topic for the gay man in the audience, Nev."
He blinked. "Sorry Harry. Forgot that talking about female anatomy makes you queasy."
He ignored the comment. "So… my type?" he ventured again, lips pursed with impatience. He drummed his fingertips on the table, noting the familiar face now looking at him in recognition, head tilted to the side in concentration.
"Well, to put it mildly…" Ron started again, but paused.
"Let me spit it out then. You tend to gravitate towards the 'no good for you,' 'has issues committing,' and 'all I want to do is fuck you' types." Neville sighed. "Sorry to be blunt."
Harry appeared unaffected by his friend's blunt words. "Well, that seems about right." He reached over and grabbed Ron's unfinished beer, drinking the rest with a swift gulp.
The other two stared at him with a look that Harry was all too familiar with- the lecture look. They were about to tell him for the millionth time that he deserved so much better, that he was selling himself short, that he should stop settling, blah blah blah…
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the familiar face excuse himself from his table and slip across the room, his eyes locked on his watcher as he invited him to join him with a slight jerk of his chin.
So before his impending doom could commence, Harry stood. "Have to go pee," he offered before heading to the restroom.
He knew he shouldn't do this but the thrill of a possible impromptu rendezvous was too tempting to resist. He'd just gained his romantic freedom and already he was willing to surrender it again.
Once behind the swinging wooden door and in front of the porcelain urinal, Harry felt at peace. He let his thoughts wander as he glanced around the tiled space before locking his gaze on his host.
"Fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice whispered, sending a chill up his spine he hadn't felt in a couple of years. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Harry said nothing as he watched the speaker, his head cocked to one side and a grin dominating his face.
"Maybe a bit too long?" Harry shivered as he watched an arm snake around his waist and rested a hand on the small of his back. His shiver deepened and his breath hitched as the hand boldly slid along his spine. "Perhaps we should get reacquainted?" The hand gently pulled Harry forward inch by inch. "Familiarize ourselves again?"
Harry closed his eyes as warm lips grazed his collarbone, struggling with words as the lips travelled up his neck. He managed to form a few sentences in his head as his heartbeat quickened.
"Don't think I should revisit old habits," Harry gasped as a swift tongue traced the contour of his jaw. "What's done is done."
"Now Harry." The tongue rested momentarily behind his left ear. "You wouldn't be here if you really believed that." Both hands roamed his body now, pausing in places that made Harry blush. "Besides," the hands stilled and rested on Harry's belt, "maybe I've changed."
Harry felt it again- he felt his heart already jumping into that familiar place. He was diving head-first into a situation he knew best to avoid, and yet he couldn't help but take yet another leap of faith as his own hands found places to explore.
He knew better, but he couldn't help himself. "Well, maybe another try wouldn't hurt."
Harry felt himself pulled forward again as curious hands latched onto his waistband. Hips connected to hips, and he couldn't remember how to breathe as his feet left the ground and he was suspended by a strip of leather.
"Well now." The familiar face had a voice like velvet- smooth, seductive and convincing. "I'm glad you changed your mind."
