Induratize [h.s/z.m au]

chapter four

induratize // four

WARNING: drugs. alcohol. sex. have fun. don't read if you're uncomfortable with any of that.

Clark isn't sure in what world Zayn thought it would ever be even remotely fucking okay - let alone safe - to leave her and Harry alone together for more than thirty minutes without supervision, but three days later she wakes up to find herself alone with Harry in the flat for the first time since he arrived.

She spends the first two hours hiding in her room, carefully timing her trips to get coffee so that she never has to cross paths with Harry. But it's fucking boring, is the thing, and there's only so much online shopping she can do before she maxes out her credit card. After that, there's only one really viable course of action.

She rolls herself a joint out of Zayn's stash and quietly wanders out to the balcony, and in minutes she's sprawled out on the ground, down to a worn t-shirt and and a pair of underwear, blowing lazy smoke rings into the warm breeze.

"Are you allowed to do that?" a low voice murmurs in her ear.Clark nearly jumps. She'd been so engrossed in her own game of poking holes through the center of smoke rings that she'd nearly forgotten about the curly-headed hipster Zayn abandoned her with.

It takes a second for her to settle back against the wall, and another second to register the words."Cigarettes are completely legal," she drawls, leaning her head back, her mind in haze.

"I'm not stupid, Clark," Harry scowls, swiping the joint from in between her fingers and holding it up to his face to examine it.

"What," she scoffs, "don't tell me I'm sharing my home with a fucking narc." But she looks up to see Harry wrap his lips around the joint, inhaling sharply, his eyelashes fluttering shut. She hums to herself, smiling with approval. "Alright, then."

He lets out a few soft coughs before taking Clark's growing smile as an indication to finish the rest of the joint. She watches him smoke in silence, caught up in the sharp line of his jaw and the way he hollows his cheeks with each inhale. He blows a final puff of before sliding down the wall to join her on the ground, green eyes red-rimmed and glassy with intoxication.

"There's more in the drawer of Zayn's nightstand," she says with a mischievous grin. In what seems like just a few seconds, Harry's up and back with another freshly rolled joint. He slowly leans in and presses it to Clark's mouth, lighting it with his free hand. He tries not to let his eyes linger on her lips wrapped around the joint for too long; in this hazy state of mind his imagination has no boundaries.

"Thanks," Clark says slowly, resting her head back against the wall and closing her eyes for a moment as the rush kicks in. "Maybe I'll let you stay here. For a little while, at least."

"Even if you said no, Zayn would probably kick you out and let me move in. He's practically in love with me, yeah? Our bromance would kick your romance to the curb. Bros before hoes and all that shit."

"Hm, too bad Zayn and I don't have a romance. None of that applies. He'd definitely pick me."

"What do you mean you don't have a romance?"

"It's complicated." Clark glances over to find Harry watching her intently, looking a lot like a student in class and only a little like a twenty-one year old hipster blazed out of his mind.

"How could it be complicated?" he blurts out. "You two fucking live together. You're like a stereotypical grungy art couple."

"We're not a couple."

Harry sits up, crossing his legs. His smirk doesn't dim, and Clark's brain isn't fully alert, and she feels like she's undergoing an interview under his sharp gaze. She fights to not shift under his curious scrutiny. The weed makes everything blurry, and as fucking lame as it sounds Clark just wants to relax. She leans back against the wall and keeps her expression impassive.