Domesticated housewife Harry always puts me in a mood. Please enjoy. Others works is located in the masterlist.
In which Harry is left alone at your apartment and needs to keep himself preoccupied.
Normally, on most given nights, you would reside yourself at Harry’s, because, “Babe, there’s more room for activities,” which would leave you huffing a groan and a slap to his arm, but as of late, your vexatious boyfriend seemed to have found a strange contentment in the comforting confines of which you call home.
When you got off work, he’d be texting you if he could come over, or in the middle of the night you’d wake to irritating knocks to your door, where you’d find him standing, hands behind his back, in sweatpants, his Randy’s Donut sweatshirt, and hair gone completely awry. “Couldn’t sleep. Sleepover?” And more times than any, he’d come knocking at your door unannounced with takeout and a smile you couldn’t say no to.
On mornings when he’d wake up to your absence, he’d start his day by rummaging through your cabinets, scoffing at the amount of hidden Hostess snacks he’d find, and begin by making a list of all the healthy foods you should have, and finally make himself a bowl of Frosted Cheerios, sitting sprawled out on your sofa watching the news.
He knows better than to leave his dishes sitting untouched – there’s somethings he can get away with here, but being a messy houseguest isn’t one of those – so he quickly scrubs them clean and goes back to your bedroom to find his boxers.
Most of the afternoon is filled with him wandering aimlessly around your apartment, scratching at his stomach as he flips through fashion magazines, making friends with your neighbor’s dog on the balcony, watering your plants and singing them a little song to help them grow up big and strong, and making side-comments about what you had saved to your DVR, but quickly forgiving you when he notices his SNL and Late Late Show episodes amongst them, and let’s a pleased smile linger on his face.
After finishing an episode of Cake Boss, he’ll be sending you texts about how lonely he is, and that he heard someone playing Woman through the walls and he instantly got excited and might have sang along. You ask him if he wasn’t just hearing a duck from outside, and he has an instance where he almost blocks you.
He’ll send you selfies of him wearing your sunglasses – which you save to your Camera Roll for blackmail – and text you at least once an hour asking when you’re coming back because he needs a cuddle – or a fuck, depending on the mood. If the latter, he’ll make sure to send you picture evidence of his prominent boner, and maybe even a puppy dog face if he’s in the mood to beg. Both leave you rolling your eyes and leaving him on read.
Once he’s done everything he could set his mind to, a wank included, he’ll begin by slowly cleaning your apartment, starting with tearing off the most likely soiled sheets, and making the bed. He’ll do any dirty laundry you had sitting around, and if he could compile enough ingredients, he’d get a start on dinner.
He liked it there, he couldn’t deny it. His house might’ve been his residence, but your place always left him feeling more at home.