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Summary
There he was, all dark clothes and vans- the embodiment of cigarette smoke and deep cologne, and Harry wanted nothing more than to bury his hands into that hoodie. He wanted to breathe him in and feel that stubble against his hands. He wanted to feel those pink lips pressed to his damp skin- he craved it so much he was light headed, could feel the haziness fog his head as he tried to meet his eyes. Tried to will deep blue eyes to meet his own.
Or the one where Harry wants his perfect meet cute, wants to meet his soulmate in the way fate intended, which is why the brunette with stormy eyes and a cigarette dangling between his fingers could not possibly be the one.
