a million tiny little things

“I wonder why our fingers get all wrinkly in water.”

Fallon looked at Harry and chuckled as she wrapped a towel around her body. “It’s so we can grip things underwater,” she told him, squeezing the excess hair from her braid. Her heart skipped a beat as a ray of sunshine hit Harry’s bare chest, the droplets glistening in the light. Despite what he said, he was perfect.

Harry furrowed his brow. “What do we have to grip under water?” he wondered, tickling Fallon’s elbow as he reached past her for their drink glasses. “Glasses?” he asked, pinching a cup between his fingers. “I guess it helps…”

Fallon laughed, taking Harry’s other hand in hers. “I don’t think there’re many glasses under water,” she told him, running her thumb along his puckered fingers. “No, I mean like… rocks and… and… coral? I have no idea. But… it’s so it’s easier to move around under water…”

Harry tucked the glasses under his arm and laced his fingers with Fallon’s. “Hmm…” he mused, leading her towards the house. “Seems far-fetched to me, babe…” he teased. It could be true – in fact, it likely was. Fallon was a lot smarter than Harry.

Fallon rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you take a science class?” she teased back. “Do we need to have a tutoring session?”

“Like on Billy Madison?” Harry asked, looking over at Fallon and wiggling his eyebrows. He liked the thought of that.

“Maybe…” Fallon pondered, squeezing Harry’s hand. She wasn’t ready to strip off all her clothes in front of Harry, but she suspected she would be ready sooner than she thought. “You might be a lost cause, though…” she added teasingly.

Harry scoffed, feigning indignation. “I’m brilliant,” he argued. He grinned at Fallon over his shoulder. Since her confession, she seemed lighter, more at ease. He hoped her family secret was the only thing plaguing her, and she could relax with him from now on. If she had more secrets, he would listen and support, but he hoped the fun-loving, teasing Fallon would be the rule, not the exception.

He set the glasses in the kitchen sink and pressed a kiss onto Fallon’s forehead. “You hungry?” he wondered. “Or cold?” He noticed the goosebumps along her damp skin, brought upon by the air-conditioning in his house.

Fallon nodded. “Yes and yes,” she answered, running her hands along her arms. “Maybe I’ll change…” she determined, realising she was still in her wet swimsuit. She pointed through the kitchen. “Is the bathroom… that way?”

Harry nodded. “Just through there,” he answered, matching her gesture. He watched as Fallon retrieved her bag and disappeared into the bathroom. If he had his way, she would stay in her swimsuit – or perhaps nothing at all – the rest of the day. He was glad she couldn’t read his mind. He was such a guy.

Fallon locked the door behind her and dropped the wet towel onto the floor. She peeled off her suit and found a dry corner of the towel to rub the remaining water off her body before examining her figure in the mirror. Like many girls, she wasn’t fully satisfied with what she saw. Her breasts could be bigger, her ass could be rounder. But then she remembered Harry’s hands on her body and his own body reacting to his touch. He liked what she had, and not that his opinion should be the only deciding factor, but it helped her own confidence.

She pulled on a pair of clean underwear from her bag and tugged her shorts on after. Panic washed over her as she rummaged through her bag, realising she forgot to pack a bra. Her small breasts did not need the added support of a bra, but the chilled air-conditioning would cause her nipples to stand erect, clear as day even through her tank top.

Fuck, she thought to herself, pulling her tank top over her bare breasts. The fabric rubbed against her nipples, protruding them further. She huffed out a sigh and pushed on her nipples, willing them to flatten against her breasts. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her time with Harry with her headlights on high beam, but her nipples seemed to have a mind of their own.

Harry pawed through the fridge, searching for something delicious, quick and easy for him and Fallon to eat. As usual, his fridge resembled Mother Hubbard’s. With his tour schedule and Postmates app, he rarely had fresh food in his house. He sighed, knowing he should have planned better. Fallon seemed like the type who liked homemade meals, not generic delivery.

“Hey.”

Harry peered around the fridge door as Fallon entered the kitchen. She had a shy smile on her face and her cheeks were rosy, but not from the sunshine. She crossed her arms over her chest and she looked down, appearing embarrassed.

“Hey, babe,” Harry greeted, shutting the fridge. “You still cold?” he wondered, noticing her stance.

Fallon nodded. “Do you, uhm… have a… hoodie or sweatshirt I can borrow?” she wondered sheepishly. “I’ll give it right back, I promise!”

Harry laughed. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t give you a hoodie… that you’ll actually probably never, ever give back?” he teased. He tugged on her braid. “Wait right here. I’ll bring you the best one I have,” he told her before darting upstairs. After rifling through his closet, searching for the smallest hoodie he owned, he returned to the kitchen and gave the shirt to Fallon.

“Voila,” he presented. “It’s couture,” he added with a laugh. It wasn’t. He watched as she pulled the sweater over her head, his eyes zeroing in on her chest and her pointed nipples. Now he wished he hadn’t offered her a hoodie, even though she looked adorable in the oversized sweater.

“Thank you,” Fallon said with appreciation. The hoodie smelled like Harry and felt like a hug from him. He was right, she wouldn’t give it back any time soon. “Why do you have so many watermelons?” she asked, pointing to the island counter. Three round watermelons sat in a bowl, and Fallon couldn’t tell if they were food or decoration.

Harry laughed. “Oh, I told my housekeeper once I like watermelon… So she always brings me some from her garden. I feel bad, because I don’t usually have a chance to use them. But…” He shrugged. “She likes to take care of me… Helpless, little me…” he pouted before chuckling again.

Fallon rolled her eyes. “Oh, so helpless…” she cooed. “They kind of look like pumpkins,” she observed, touching one of the melons. “You should carve them,” she added with a laugh.

Harry grinned. “Yeah!” he exclaimed. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a knife. He met Fallon’s eyes, her eyebrow raised. “What?” he asked, handing her a knife. “I ought to cut them up and freeze ‘em anyway…” He wondered if his suggestion was too juvenile, but when Fallon laughed one of her adorable giggles, he knew she liked his idea, juvenile or not.

“You’re a dork,” Fallon laughed, taking the knife from Harry. “You got a Sharpie? Can’t just start carving free-hand!” She smiled brightly at Harry, loving the idea of doing something so ridiculous, so silly with Harry. They could watch a movie, they could make out, they could do more than make out, but she enjoyed being able to be carefree and childlike with him. It was a nice slowdown to the busyness of life.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry answered, saluting Fallon before opening another drawer. He rummaged through old mail and receipts before finding two markers. “You take your pumpkin… err, watermelon, carving seriously, don’t you?” he teased as he slid a marker across the island.

Fallon nodded. “Do it properly or don’t do it at all,” she quipped.

Harry pulled out a Chef’s knife and selected a watermelon from the bowl. “Ah, I live more along the lines of… half way is the only way,” he teased back. His tongue poked out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated on slicing the top of the watermelon without slicing his hand. Luckily, he finished the job unscathed, and set the watermelon aside. “Which one do you want?”

Fallon pointed to the watermelon on the left. “That one,” she answered, watching as Harry sliced the top off her watermelon. “Beautiful,” she said approvingly as Harry nudged the watermelon towards her.

“This is my hidden talent,” Harry joked, passing Fallon a large spoon. “If I ever get out of the biz, I’ll just carve fruit into Jack-o’-lanterns the rest of my life.”

“It’s good to have a back-up plan,” Fallon laughed. “I think if I ever got out of the biz, I would… become a professional Netflix reviewer. I’m almost there, I just… don’t write any reviews, and I don’t get paid.”

Harry snorted. “So you’ve just got the Netflix watching part down, yeah?” he asked with a chuckle. “That’s a good first step,” he teased. “You’re good at it. I mean… I like watching Netflix with you, so… you know what I mean…”

“I do,” Fallon laughed, dropping a spoonful of watermelon into the bowl. “This is so much stickier than pumpkin,” she added, pushing the sleeves of the sweatshirt up to her elbows. “But it tastes better too,” she mused, carefully dropping a piece of watermelon into her mouth.

Harry laughed. “It does,” he agreed, helping himself to his own bite. “What can we make with all this?” he asked. “You’re the chef, babe… any ideas? I mean, if it was up to me, I reckon I’d just blend it up with some tequila, but…” he trailed off and offered her a shrug.

“I think… you can make a salad with, like… cucumber and feta and some basil but…” Fallon matched his shrug. “Tequila sounds kind of good…” Surprisingly, it did. But she was fast realising that anything with Harry sounded good.

“Really?” asked Harry, her agreement surprising him. Before she could change her mind, her opened a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of tequila. “We’ll make some nice, summer drinks to go with our nice, autumn Jack-o’-lanterns,” he determined, abandoning his watermelon activity to prepare the slush drinks.

“Maybe we should… decorate a Christmas tree and hunt for Easter eggs too,” Fallon said, dropping more watermelon into the bowl. “Get a whole year’s worth of holidays in one day.”

“But then what would be do next time?” wondered Harry, pouring a bit of tequila into the blender. He would have liked to add more, but he wasn’t about to get Fallon wasted or sick. He hoped she knew he would take care of her if she did – and perhaps tease her the next day – but he assumed a hangover would humiliate Fallon, so he intended on nipping it in the bud before it happened.

Fallon shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to use your imagination,” she told him, watching as he poured some tequila into the blender. With a quiet sigh of relief, he poured in far less than she expected. She trusted Harry and knew she was safe drinking with him, but she’d never had a hangover and didn’t want to experience one. Especially not while with Harry.

“We could decorate a Christmas tree with Easter eggs,” Harry suggested, snagging the bowl from Fallon and dropping a few scoops into the blender. “But I don’t think I even know how to make Easter eggs. And it seems sort of wasteful, I reckon…”

Fallon shrugged, standing up and joining Harry at the other counter. “You just make hard-boiled eggs, and you don’t peel them, so you can still make egg salad or something with them,” she explained, rubbing her hand along his back before taking the bowl back.

Harry reached for Fallon’s hand, squeezing her sticky fingers between his, and tugged her closer to him. “See, you’re the chef,” he murmured, pressing his lips against hers. He lightly nibbled on her lower lip, tasting the remnants of watermelon on her mouth. “You taste good.”

“So do you,” Fallon answered with a giggle. She touched the side of his mouth, gently wiping a piece of watermelon from his lips. “Oh, you’re a slob…” she teased. She wiped her hands on the back of her shorts and snagged Harry’s lips with hers before he could argue with her statement.

Harry scoffed, swatting Fallon’s bottom as she turned back to her watermelon. “Hush,” he instructed, attempting to sound strict. But, as Fallon had told him several times, he was too soft to sound strict and wound up letting out a chuckle instead. “This’ll be loud for a sec, babe,” he warned Fallon before he turned on the blender.

The loud pulsating hum of the blender filled the kitchen for a few moments as Harry watched, his brow furrowing into a confused frown. He stopped the blending and removed the lid. “What the hell? It’s like juice!” he complained. “I hardly put in any tequila. Why’s it so… watery? I mean, yeah, it’s watermelon, but…”

Fallon joined Harry and peered into the blender. “How much ice did you put in?” she asked him. She rolled her eyes as Harry looked at her, a sheepish smirk on his face. “You dope!” she laughed. “If your goal is just to get me drunk, shots might be easier,” she teased. She rubbed his back to show she was kidding.

“Shots are too manly for me,” Harry teased back, reaching into the freezer for a bag of ice. “I need something pink and fruity, in a fancy glass… maybe with a lovely floral garnish…” he mused. He grinned at Fallon as he dropped a few handfuls of ice into the blender.

“Should have had flowers waiting for me,” Fallon quipped. “Could have pinched some petals from them.”

Harry rolled his eyes with exaggeration. “You should have shown up with flowers for me,” he argued. “I’m the one who travelled, leaps and bounds, over mountains and oceans, just to get back here to you!”

Fallon laughed as she matched Harry’s dramatic eye roll. “Oh, don’t give me that,” she chastised. “You were coming back here, anyway!”

Harry stepped closer to Fallon and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Yeah… but you’re the best part of coming home,” he told her, dropping the teasing act as he nuzzled her neck. “I mean it. Never mind the good weather or my sick cars… you…” He kissed her cheek before turning back to the blender. “Well… actually, maybe… cars, you, weather…”

Fallon huffed indignantly but the sound of the blender chopping through the ice muted her scoff. Harry met her eyes and grinned wordlessly over the noise. He was such a dork, but she was massively smitten. Plus, he did have an amazing car collection.

“You think you’re so funny,” Fallon sighed once Harry turned the blender off.

“I am funny,” Harry corrected. He stepped behind Fallon to retrieve glasses for their drinks, but before he opened the cupboard, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed a sloppy, sticky kiss against her cheek. “Don’t tell my cars, because they can be quite sensitive, but you’re number one.”

Fallon smiled and turned around to face Harry. “I know,” she confirmed, and she did. “I just like to make you grovel a little,” she told him with a cheeky shrug.

It surprised Harry to hear Fallon say she knew she was number one. He thought she might reply with a sigh and a light “if you say so”, but perhaps she was finally understanding how strong his feelings were for her.

**

“I feel like this is a bit of an invitation for wasps…” Fallon told Harry as she stood in the doorway to the patio a few minutes later. She looked down at her hands – a watermelon drink in one and a carved out melon in the other – and raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Don’t you think?”

Harry set his own drink and melon on the outside table and looked up at Fallon. “Are you allergic?” he asked her. When she shook her head no, he scoffed and gave her an animated signal. “Get out here then. You’ll be fine. And besides,” he added, gesturing to the bright sky surrounding them, “we’re wasting daylight inside!”

Fallon rolled her eyes and joined Harry on the warm patio. “You sound like a farmer,” she informed him, placing her items beside his. She was not sure why she agreed with Harry when he suggested they drink their drinks and finish their carvings outside, but he could he very convincing when he wanted to be.

Harry pressed a kiss onto Fallon’s cheek as she sat on the floor beside him. “No, I sound right,” he corrected. He watched as she picked up her glass and took a tentative sip of her slush drink. “What do you think?” he asked, an amused smirk on his face as she took another sip.

“Watermelon-y,” Fallon answered with a laugh. “I think… I don’t… I can’t even really taste the tequila,” she told him, sounding surprised. She watched him only pour in a small splash, but she thought the strong alcohol would be more prominent against the light fruit.

“I can put more in,” Harry suggested teasingly. He probably wouldn’t, even if she asked. He wanted to protect her, and that included protecting her from a nasty piss-up and an even worse hangover. But she wouldn’t ask, so it didn’t matter.

Fallon wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think this will taste as good coming back up,” she pointed out. She suspected her almost-teetotaller ways may be boring, but she also appreciated Harry respecting her boundaries – all of her boundaries, not only regarding alcohol.

“You’re probably right,” Harry agreed, dropping a kiss on the top of Fallon’s head as she rested against his shoulder. He took a drink from his own glass and bumped his knee against Fallon. “Why’s your melon’s eyes so high up?” he wondered, nodding towards Fallon’s uncarved watermelon. Her Sharpie markings were dark and neat against the green skin. She had done a much better job than Harry had, and they hadn’t even begun to carve. “And… wait, he’s got two eyes? I mean, two sets?”

Fallon lifted her head and peered curiously at Harry. “Those… are eyebrows…” she told him, pausing for a moment before laughing.

They were the size of two dimes side-by-side. “They’re bloody massive!”

“Big eyebrows are in! My pump – my watermelon – is a trendy chick!”

Harry shook his head. “Well, mine is going to be regal. Like the Queen,” he decided, tracing his finger along his own Sharpie marks, wobbly and light compared to Fallon’s. He looked up at Fallon. “Does the Queen have big eyebrows?”

“I don’t think she’s a real trendsetter, frankly,” Fallon told Harry. “But what do I know? You’re the British one.” She pulled her watermelon off the table and placed it on the floor between her knees. Her nose crinkled as she examined the eyebrows. Were they really too big? She decided Harry didn’t know what he was taking about and grabbed her knife.

“She’s all right, but not really my type of gal,” Harry remarked. He stretched his foot out and poked Fallon’s leg. “I like my chicks to be… American, and… you know, twenty…”

Fallon snickered, only half listening to Harry as she carefully sliced into her melon. “What are you going to do after my birthday next week?” she wondered. “I won’t be your type anymore…” she added, glancing up at Harry with a scrunched grin on her face.

Harry realised Fallon’s scrunched-up nose smiles were his favourite of her grins. “Reckon I’ll just have to change my ways for you, woman,” he told her, matching her grin. He leaned across his watermelon and met Fallon’s lips, snickering as he noticed her eye roll just before they connected.

“You’re such a charmer,” Fallon mumbled against his lips. She felt him grin and popped one eye open to look at him.

“Mm-hmm,” Harry agreed, meeting Fallon’s gaze. “What’s that from?” he wondered, touching a small scar under her eyebrow. It was hardly noticeable, but with their close proximity, he could see the tiny bumps.

“Chicken pox,” Fallon answered, breaking their kiss and touching the spot Harry pointed out. “Got ‘em when I was six or something. Bunch of us had ‘em at the same time. I only had a few spots, but I was pretty dramatic and wanted attention so…” She trailed off and shrugged. “I picked and picked at every spot I had, and now I’ve got gross scars.”

Harry snickered. “Yeah, super gross,” he agreed teasingly. “How many was a bunch of you?” he asked, hesitant with his questioning. Fallon told him he could ask whatever he wanted to, but he knew if he asked the wrong thing, she would clam up and change the subject. He didn’t think asking how many of her siblings had chicken pox would be the wrong question, but Fallon’s response could quickly prove him wrong.

“Uhmm…” Fallon trailed off as she tried to remember Chicken Pox Saga 2000. “Probably all of us… except maybe the babies. Actually, no… I think Beckett had them at the same time. So… ten? Or more?” She shrugged. “I don’t… really remember…” she told him, looking down at her hands. She pressed her lips together, ready to move the conversation away from her. But then she remembered she told Harry he could ask her anything. It didn’t make it any more comfortable for her, but given the vast amounts of questions he could have asked her, chicken pox queries were as mild as his questions could be.

Harry let out a soft sigh as Fallon looked down at her hands. It was only a question about chicken pox. He didn’t ask about her religion or her father’s rotation schedule or how close she was with her siblings – questions he really wanted to ask. It was an innocent query and, considering Fallon spent much of her life keeping mum about her siblings, he thought she would want a safe place to talk about them. Evidently, he was wrong.

Fallon looked up at Harry as she heard his sigh and offered him a small, sheepish smile. He was so patient with her silence, but she supposed even Harry had his limits. “I, uhm… I do remember it was a madhouse though…” she told him. Years of conditioning to not tell antidotes about her childhood were difficult to overcome, but she had to try.

“All of us covered in that… pink, lotion stuff?” Fallon continued, forcing the words to sound light as she pushed them through the figurative bricks around her. “And everyone home from school. We had to wear mittens so we wouldn’t scratch, but we… uh…. This is gross, but we would use our feet to scratch each other’s spots. Face and everything.”

Harry laughed, louder than he intended but he was pleased Fallon didn’t shut down like he thought she would. “That is gross,” he agreed. “But… whatever works, right?”

Fallon nodded in response but didn’t say anything. She tuned her attention back to her watermelon carving, methodically poking her knife along the drawn lines. She wanted to tell him more, and she didn’t want to shut down, but her parent’s influence on a young Fallon years ago was stronger than she realised.

“We don’t do that anymore,” Fallon added after a few silent moments had passed. Her voice was wry, her words an attempt at humour to rid the tension she felt had crept into their air.

Harry snickered. “Good to know,” he teased back. He reached out and covered her hand with his, squeezing her fingers. “Your face smells like a foot,” he deadpanned, attempting to quote Mean Girls and get Fallon to smile at him.

“Your face smells like peppermint,” Fallon corrected, a smile creeping across her face. She squeezed Harry’s hand back. “I was obsessed with that movie when it came out… Thought that’s what high school was all about…” She chuckled. “Not even close.”

Harry shook his head. “Not for me either,” he assured her. “But, I mean… hey… doesn’t the best shit come after high school?” he asked. He leaned towards Fallon and wiggled his eyebrows. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather carve watermelons with me than slow dance in a school gym with Aaron Samuels?”

Fallon laughed and leaned towards Harry, resting her forehead against his. “Any day,” she whispered. “Besides… Aaron Samuels is gay in real life…”

“Hmm…” Harry mused. “I’m pretty sure I’m not,” he teased, tickling his lips against Fallon’s. “Actually… I know I’m not…” he decided, kissing her again.

“Good,” Fallon smiled. “’Cause that would be bad news for me…”

“And me,” Harry assured her, tugging on Fallon’s ponytail. He met Fallon’s eyes and pressed a kiss against her chicken pox scar. “Tell me about another scar,” he murmured. He ran his fingers along her bare knees. “Any gross bike scars? Animal bites?” He let his hands trail further up her legs. “Lightening bolts?”

Fallon snickered, feeling goosebumps prick along her skin under Harry’s soft fingers. “Only a few lightening bolt scars,” she joked. She stretched her legs out, her feet resting on either side of Harry, and examined her knee. “Nothing real major, though…” she told Harry thoughtfully. His query had to be just a way to get her to tell more stories about her childhood and her siblings – surely he didn’t care about the scrapes and bumps from her youth. She had to give him more.

“I wasn’t very adventurous, but…” Fallon shrugged. “We did live on a farm, so there’s always some kind of dangerous trouble to get into.” She took Harry’s hand and moved it from her thigh to her knee. “Feel that?” she asked, pressing his finger along her kneecap. She felt the cartilage move as he pressed against her knee.

“Ugh, that’s… that feels kind of gross,” Harry laughed, though he kept his hand on Fallon’s knee, methodically pushing her kneecap around. “Sexy gross, I mean…” he added teasingly, grinning at Fallon. He rubbed his hand up and down her leg. “What happened?”

Fallon laughed. “Sexy gross?” she repeated, shaking her head. Still, she blushed at the silly compliment. “Uhm, well… I kind of being a brat and jumping on Tim’s bed. He’s my… brother who’s only a couple… well, his birthday was actually just last week.”

“Oh, wow… so you’re almost like twins, huh?” Harry asked, surprised by the fact. He pictured her family more like step-stair siblings, not one after the other. “That’s pretty cool,” he added, stopping himself from using the word ‘crazy’ instead of ‘cool’.

“Yeah, well… uhm… well, Gentry was born just a couple months after me, so… Uhm, we were actually ‘the triplets’ growing up…” Fallon told Harry, using air quotes. What an awkward thing to say. It was such a secret, something she wasn’t to say out loud. Her gaze dropped, focusing on Harry’s hand, not his eyes.

Harry squeezed Fallon’s wobbly knee. He wished she wasn’t so uncomfortable but he was happy she was sharing more with him. “That must have heaps of fun,” he told her honestly. Having just one sister, the idea of growing up with a houseful of playmates sounded like a dream. “So, what happened to your gross knee?”

Fallon rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I thought it was sexy gross,” she teased, tickling her fingers across his knuckles. His lack of judgement regarding her unusual upbringing still took her by surprise. “But I, yeah… I was a brat, jumping on his bed. He kicked my feet, and I fell off. Landed on just one, stupid piece of Lego, but I hit it just right, and…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Fucking hurt…”

“Babe…” Harry snickered, shaking his head. “That’s pretty bad… I mean, you need to come up with a way cooler story than that!” He tickled her thigh. “Like a… uhm… samurai fight or… base jumping with a bit of a rough landing. Not Lego!”

“Shut up!” Fallon laughed, unaffected by Harry’s teasing jibes. She kicked her feet against his hips. “You’re a little shit.”

Harry nodded. “I know,” he answered, moving Fallon’s watermelon out of the way before tugging her feet to pull her closer to him. “Thanks for sharing stories with me,” he told her, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. “I know it’s not easy…”

“It’s not…” Fallon answered quietly. “But… it’s getting easier. I promise,” she added for good measure. “I’ll get there… one day you won’t be able to shut me up…”

Harry grinned. “Good thing I know how to do that,” he teased, silencing her with a kiss. But even though he knew how to shut her up – and loved shutting her up – he didn’t think he would ever want to stop her from sharing with him.

Notes