"This is beer. It's even American." Mary waves it at him and then smiles. There's an awkward moment. "So. How about your flatmate, then? He's bigger than I would have thought."
He's not really sure what to do with the beer, torn between not really wanting it and not wanting to be rude. He decides that the only thing to do is to just hold onto it for a while.
"Listen, about that. I feel really badly about the other day. I really didn't think he'd be home that early."
It takes Harry a moment to notice anything is amiss, because he's too busy being bored to pay any attention to anything else. He'll catch it in a moment, though.
- okay, so it is a fuck of a lot weirder than he'd thought it would be to watch someone's reactions when he knows exactly what thoughts are going through that person's head. Is this how the various Holmeses feel all the time?
How the hell should Harry fucking know? This is weird. Like, six Demerols weird.
With a barely-concealed pained wince, Harry manages to sit up slightly from his previously lazy sprawl. Other!Harry may notice that his left hand is still bandaged with that awkward, itchy gauze.
"Uh. Hi?"
Harry's half-tempted to poke this other guy in the chest or something, but those survival instincts are kicking in hard.
Comments 129
Mary pretends not to see the familiar scruffbag on the sofa (hey, at least his socks match today) until she's picked up a couple of beers.
"Scootch up." She pokes him in the leg. "You're not that short." And proffers one of the bottles.
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"Hey, darling," he says, sounding equal parts confused and just-woke-up. "What's going on? What's this?"
He does make room though.
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He's not really sure what to do with the beer, torn between not really wanting it and not wanting to be rude. He decides that the only thing to do is to just hold onto it for a while.
"Listen, about that. I feel really badly about the other day. I really didn't think he'd be home that early."
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This never happens.
Harry veers over to claim the sofa opposite - well, himself, saying,
"'Bout fucking time."
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...
Well. That's just... Yeah.
"The fuck?"
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"Hi," he offers.
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With a barely-concealed pained wince, Harry manages to sit up slightly from his previously lazy sprawl. Other!Harry may notice that his left hand is still bandaged with that awkward, itchy gauze.
"Uh. Hi?"
Harry's half-tempted to poke this other guy in the chest or something, but those survival instincts are kicking in hard.
Reply
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