Stupid, stupid, stupid. How on earth could he have been so stupid?

She'd given their friendship another go and the chance to let it blossom into something more, and he'd ruined it within the first few hours.

"I really am sorry, babe." He shuffled his feet in shame, and looked down.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, pretty boy." She grumbled, clearly irritated. "Now let's get you a dry t-shirt."

Moira crossed the living room and he followed her. In the first place, he'd felt bare and cold in his soaked clothing, but the sideway glances Moira had been shooting him made the suffering so much more tolerable. The wet fabric of his shirt outlined the toned muscles of his upper body, and clearly, she enjoyed the view.

When they started ascending the stars, she glanced over her shoulder, making sure he was sticking close. Harraël kept his eyes trained on his surroundings, admiring her stylishly decorated apartment. He'd only been to the second level once before, and during that time he hadn't had the chance to inspect it thoroughly.

Stepping into what he assumed to be Moira's bathroom, he was faced with a modestly sized yet beautifully furnished space. He walked towards her bed and flopped down onto it.

She cast him a stern look, presumably because her previously made-up bed was now and creasy mess.

He threw her a big grin in reply,

Disappearing behind a door, she came back seconds later with a neatly folded cable knitted sweater in her hands. "I hope it fits, but I'm pretty sure it does since I grew about seventy sizes." She said, handing the sweater over to him.

He stood up, and without even waiting for Moira to turn around or exit the room, he pulled his wet shirt off and threw it on the floor. She froze in place at the sight of his naked chest, not able to take her eyes off of him. Harraël gloated over the attention she was giving him, smirking cockily.

Instead of averting her gaze like he expected her to do, her eyes kept burning into his skin, letting her stare wander all over him.

"You have tattoos." She blurted, surprised. And it was then that Harraël realized she hadn't been checking him out, she'd been staring at his tattoos.

"A few." He shrugged.

"A few?" Her voice held a mocking tone, "You have at least 20 of them!"

"Much more than that, actually."

Hesitantly, she beckoned him towards her, wanting a closer look. Surprise crossed his features, though he didn't wait a second for her to change her mind. He crossed the short distance between them and came to a stop in front of her.

There were two swallows inked below his collarbones, an enormous ship tattoo on his torso just below his chest and an anchor inked on his left hip. Both his arms were literally littered in tattoos, some bigger than others. There were so many that she could hardly believe her eyes. How had he managed to hide this all?

They were all rather odd tattoos as well, she didn't know what they meant or what half of them were supposed to be. She noted how none of them included colors, just black ink.

Her gaze once again fell upon a big ship. "It's beautiful." She complimented, quietly, pointing at the ship.

"Thanks," He answered, watching her. "I like the old tattoos, the sailor kind."

Without thinking, she brought her hand forward and touched his tattoo. Sparks shot throughout Harraël and he wondered if she'd felt it too. She traced the dark ink with her finger, following the pattern as if in trance.

"Do you have any tattoos?" He asked, making her snap out of it.

Clearing her throat, she pulled away. Aware of him staring at her in.. fondness?

"Yeah, I have five." she retaliated, uncomfortably pulling on the sleeves of her sweater.

"Can I see them?" He asked with a casual tone, but she could see the curiosity in his eyes.

"I don't know, they're kind of private..."

"Please?" He fluttered his eyes at her, in attempt to look cute.

She sighed, "Alright, but only because I've seen yours."

She slipped off her sweater and he held his breath in shock, presuming she was wearing nothing underneath. But a tank top appeared and he exhaled. She lifted her hair, revealing a black and white tree tattoo at the back of her neck. It was very small, hardly the size of a golf ball and something Harraël had never encountered before. You could see that the tattoo artist was very experienced, having paid attention to all the details.

Pulling up the leg of her pants, she pointed at three small, black dots on her ankle, formatted into a triangle. Next were two crossed arrows, at the back of her arm. And the words 'it's worth fighting for' were inked just below the crease of her left elbow.

Picking up her sweater, she was about to put it back on when Harraël stopped her.

"Wait," He pointed at her fifth tattoo. "what about that one?"

If he thought the tree was small, this one was even tinier. Maybe 1/10th of the tree's size. It was a question mark, and ironically, it raised questions.

"I'd rather not talk about that one."

"Why not?" He questioned gently.

"It means too much to me."

"I'll tell you about my tattoos if you tell me about this one." He tried to negotiate.

"Umm I don't-"

"Come one, babe! I'm dying to know here, stop being so mysterious!"

She ran a hand through her hair, obviously distressed before mumbling, "Harry-"

"Pleeaaaaaaaaase!"

"Fine!" She snarled angrily. "Fine! Just stop talking."

Childishly, he dragged his finger along his lips, sealing them before tossing the imaginary key across the room. Despite his annoying, persistent behaviour, it made her smile a little. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment.

"I got it a year ago." She started, "To honour someone."

"Who?" The anticipation made him lean closer.

Contemplating whether to tell him the truth or not, she kept her mouth shut. There was a pregnant pause.

"Ollie's dad."

And when the depth of his irises began swirling with more curiosity, Moira knew she'd given the wrong answer.

"What?" He croaked, his voice notably quieter than usual.

"That's all I wish to say about it," She said quickly, whirling around and taking her sweater with her as she existed the room. Leaving Harraël confused, and full of even more questions.

******

Later that evening, after eating a light dinner, the two of them were perched on the couch with a fluffy blanket covering them both. Moira flickered through the channels of her flat screen television, but there seemed to be nothing that caught her interest.

Harraël had tried bringing up the question mark tattoo but Moira cut him off every time. After the third attempt, he got the message. She really didn't want to talk about it.

He decided not to press the matter for now, but not for forever. Promising himself that one day, he would get the answers to his questions.

"Hey I've been wondering..." He trailed off.

"No, Harry!" She turned to him with a deep scowl on her face, "I said I didn't want to talk about it!"

"Calm down, princess." He murmured dryly, though amusement was clear in his facial expression, "I want to ask something else."

She immediately turned her full attention to him, muting the television. And not paying any attention to his newfound nickname. "Well, enlighten me then."

"Do you earn a lot of money with interior designing?"

Moira paused. Not because she found the question odd, but because she wasn't sure whether sharing this kind of information was a smart move.

She shook her head; what does it even matter. It's just money. Not like he would rob her bare.

"Depends on the amount of house jobs I get, but around 27k a-month. Why?"

"It's just that you live in quite an expensive apartment building." He cleared his throat.

"Yeah it's 8k on rent a month, but as long as I work at Starck & Co. my boss pays half of it. This building is his and he would've paid for my apartment anyways if I'd chosen to live in a less pricey place."

"That makes sense."

"What about you?" She was fully turned to him now.

"Oh, I bought the penthouse."

Her jaw dropped. "What?! But that's at least 6 million, how did you pay-" She began before realizing the answer. "Oh right, you're a popstar."

"Rockstar."

Rolling her eyes, she huffed. "Same thing, pretty boy."

Harraël chuckled huskily, his chest rumbling from the low, earthy noise. Two big dimples breaking out as he smiled, which seemed to light his entire childish. "It's good to have you back, sweetheart."