Ok, I'm not sure if your requests are open (if they aren't disregard this) but you should write one complaining about how nappy your kitchen is and Harry being totally confused about it😂
I got the article that you sent me and it definitely helped me to finish this one!
Sweat steadily dribbles and runs down the column of your neck, going as far down as the top edge of your bra and saturating the fabric there.
You take another deep breath and resolve to strengthen your grip on the hot comb lest it slides out of your palm and makes contact with your skin (you’ve got a small scar on your shoulder blade that speaks to the possibility).
Several fans large and small were posted around the bathroom and the door was left hanging ajar to encourage the flow of cool air and the release of the smoky steam. This was your predicament for the past half hour and as of yet, there seems to be no foreseeable end to your task. The more that you sweat, the more that those coarse, stubborn curls at the back of your neck refuse to lay, trapping you into a vicious cycle of frustration and suffocating humidity.
The heated metal passes through a small grip of hair once more, but when the tip of your finger grazes against it, an exasperated howl lurches out of your throat before you could even begin to think to fight it.
“You alright? Sounds like an animal dyin’ in here,” Harry inquires, appearing in the doorway after hearing your frustrated cry. A long and heavy cough bellows from his throat as he takes in the smoky atmosphere of the bathroom.
“Jesus, why is it so smoky in here?”
You only give him a tired look before turning on the faucet and placing your lightly singed finger under the cool stream.
“My hair. Can’t get the kitchen straight and I’ve been in here for almost a hour.”
“Kitchen? S’that like yeh edges?”
A small smile runs across your face. So he does pay attention when you talk.
“Kind of, but it’s that bit at the back of the neck and not the sides of the face.”
Harry looks over the hot comb curiously before taking the handle into his grip. He’s seen you use this before but never actually held it himself.
“You can put it back on the stove in the kitchen. It’s gonna cool off soon so it needs to get hot again,” you explain, watching him fiddling with the comb.
“I meant can I help yeh use it?”
That takes you for a bit of a loop. You weren’t expecting him to ask to get involved. “Maybe next time. This area is a bit tricky and even I can’t get it properly most of the time.”
“Why don’t yeh just leave it? That little bit back there is cute.”
Harry just seems to be full of surprises this afternoon and you can’t quite keep up with it all.
“Did you just call my naps ‘cute’?”
“Mmmm hmmm. S’part is softer than the rest of your hair somehow.” He takes a partially straightened piece between his fingers and twirls it as if to emphasize his point.
“You really think it’s cute? For real?”
“I do. What you gonna do about it, pet?”
You look at Harry, and then at the hotcomb, and your sore finger after that. When you motion for the comb, Harry hands it back to you and you place it back in the drawer and begin to unplug the fans scattered around the bathroom.
