Titty Sprinkles
“Titty sprinkles,” Harry muttered beneath his breath. His eyes were wide with disbelief, his firm hold on the bags of groceries slackening in surprise.
Harry could hear the faint sound of cans clattering to the ground, the fresh peaches and apples he had just purchased that afternoon making soft thuds as they tumbled to the wooden floor. He should have been worried for them. He did, after all, spend an hour at the store trying to determine whether he wanted them or not. It also didn’t help that they had been absurdly expensive. It wasn’t cheap to buy fruits at this time of year, with the autumn leaves burnt orange and vivid red.
But Harry could not get himself to focus on the bags he had dropped carelessly to the ground. None of that bloody mattered. It was hardly a blip in his mind in that precise second because, of all things he could have expected for his afternoon, he had not expected for his apartment to be completely trashed.
He had left for an hour. Just one bloody hour. Not a few days, not several weeks. Just one hour. And instead of finding the pristine apartment he had labored over for hours earlier that afternoon, Harry was faced with a bloody war zone.
The floors he had scrubbed until it practically glowed, his hands and knees still aching from scrubbing with a fury he only could possess, were no longer the white they had been before. It was now wet, brown and black stains peppering the white tile as though an army had come in with their shoes caked in mud. It could have been shite for all Harry knew, it could have been bloody anything. It was fucking everywhere, and Harry bit his lip until it bled to stop himself from shouting.
And, as if the floors were not enough, there were papers everywhere, sheets upon sheets scattered around the living room as though someone had thrown a parade in his living room. It looked like confetti, except Harry was certain that the shredded paper was likely the remains of whatever books and magazines lying about than anything else.
The papers were on the floor, on the coffee table squeezed between his couches on the right side of room. There were sheets on the couches themselves, and when Harry turned his attention away from the two sets of couches, he noted that even the rug he had lying by the coat hanger for guests to wipe their feet was littered with papers.
What the fuck?
Harry stepped further into the room and kicked the door shut, frowning when he heard something crunch beneath his sneakers. He turned his gaze down, and of course, there was broken glass all over the floor as well. It was a trail of it, as though someone had grabbed all the fragile things he owned and had dropped them to the ground as they explored the apartment.
Harry followed the trail of broken glass with his eyes. He saw porcelain and a different array of shards on the floor, the brown stains Harry had noted earlier smeared across the walls right where his living room ended and the kitchen began. It looked as though someone had smeared shite all over the walls, and Harry had the distinct impression that this was perhaps intentional.
Harry did not even want to imagine what the kitchen looked like. He didn’t want to know what the rest of his apartment looked like.
Who could have done this? Harry thought, his mind buzzing with frustration as he looked into his devastated apartment. He was certain he had locked the door, he was also certain that he had put the deadbolt on the door to keep any sort of intruders from getting in. Just who could have found the time to raid his apartment in the hour that he had gone to buy some groceries for his date that afternoon?
Harry immediately thought of his ex-boyfriend, Draco, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Draco was many things. A tosser with too many paternal issues to count, but a thief? Hardly. Sure, he was rather petty when he wanted to be and he did often threaten to come into his apartment and trash the place. But the git would never actually do it.
Not when he had a rich mummy and daddy that would never accept that their dearest son was gay and a hooligan. He wouldn’t ruin his own family name for some bit of revenge (especially when it was his own bloody fault Harry had broken up with him in the first place).
So no, Draco had not had a hand in this even if his gut had immediately latched onto the sod’s name. But who? Just who had the nerve to come into his flat and just wreck it?
He was fairly close to his neighbors, and he doubted that any single one of them would have done something like this. Harry didn’t have many enemies either, even when he had been dating Draco. He was just a university student trying to get by, living on his own euro while he tried to make sense of what to do with his life.
Why does this have to happen to me? And today of all days? Harry felt his eyes sting with angry tears, but he held the emotion back. He hated when he cried, especially when he was mad. It never fixed things and it always gave people the wrong impression. He was angry, not upset. He hated that his tear ducts were somehow connected to his anger.
He inhaled deeply before walking further inside. He knew it was only going to be worse the more he saw, but he needed to know what else the arsehole had ruined. It didn’t look as though someone had stolen anything, but Harry had to be sure. It wasn’t uncommon for thieves to trash the place when they were looking for valuables.
But if that had been the case, why was the flat screen still on the wall near the couches?
Harry clenched his jaw each time glass crunched beneath his feet, when the broken fragments screeched against the tiled floor as he moved.
There was no way that Harry could get this all cleaned up before his dinner date. Not when he needed to mend nearly half the flat and cook dinner for the both of them.
With a sigh, Harry passed through the open entrance way into the small kitchen. He only had a small kitchen table and a space to cook dinner. It was nothing out of this world, the cabinets a strange-beige color and the oven, dishwasher, and sink nearly ancient. They all worked, but it was definitely not a dream kitchen.
Though, Harry sincerely doubted the kitchen looked any better currently. The plates and cups he had left in the sink to dry were now small pieces on the ground, glinting brightly beneath the off-white light above his head. It was just what Harry had expected. A disaster just as the living room was.
Harry had hoped it would not be the case, that the arsehole would have just left his kitchen alone. It wasn’t an impressive place, it was already sort of ugly. It didn’t need any more abuse than it had suffered through the years.
That certainly hadn’t stopped the arse, though. It was a disaster, and now there was no way Harry could cook anything. There were no cups or dishes for dinner. There was nowhere for Harry to put the food on to eat.
Whatever vestige of hope Harry had about dinner were thoroughly crushed in that second.
This was a bloody nightmare.
And it only just got worse the further Harry went.
The dining table and chair set he had purchased when he had first moved in was smeared with more of the brown substance (something Harry noted with relief was not shite, but just mud) and the bookcase he kept tucked at the right by the doorway to his bedroom was notably empty of all books.
That would explain why there was a mess of papers all over his flat, then.
Harry wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream or cry, frustrated and angry. His eyes burned once more, and he had to bite harshly on his tongue to keep himself from shouting to the tops of his lungs.
Ginny was supposed to come over today!
Harry had labored all afternoon in anticipation for his date, and now, now, he would have to cancel. There was no salvaging his apartment. It would take him not just hours, as he had hoped, but days to repair the damage.
This ruined everything. This was supposed to be the first time he would have Ginny over after months of trying to take her out. They had just started seeing each other, and now, it was going to look as though Harry was trying to stand her up. It didn’t matter the reason, it just never looked good to cancel an hour before the date.
She could already be dressed, she could already have done something in anticipation. Even if it was a little get together at his flat, it still sucked.
Great. Just the impression I needed to make.
“What am I going to do…?” Harry groaned before pressing his hands to his face, a scream threatened to spill from out of his throat. It was a Friday. He had an hour. And he needed to call the police to square away this matter to at least get this incident on the books.
He had already canceled on Ginny once already too, he doubted there would be a third time if he did so again. There was no amount of begging from his end that would make this okay. Even if he actually had a good excuse this time (not that he hadn’t the last time, it wasn’t his fault he’d gotten sick with food poisoning!)
This is perfect, Harry. Just perfect. You just manage to move on from your dirtbag ex and now your chances are ruined because some arsehole decided to--
The sound of three, distinct knocks drew Harry away from his thoughts.
Harry paused, eyebrows screwing together in confusion. He was not expecting Ginny for another hour. It wasn’t like her to arrive early, and she had yet to shoot him a text that she had left her own flat to come over. He had been in a rush earlier to get the groceries just because of that, needing to grab all that he needed to cook dinner before she arrived.
He had given himself an hour to determine just what he would make and to gather the ingredients he would need. So he knew for a fact that it couldn’t be Ginny standing outside his door with his grocer--
The groceries!
Harry scrambled quickly to the door, just recalling that he had not brought them inside when he had come in. God, I cannot believe this, Harry thought before clasping onto the doorknob and yanking the door open with more force than was necessary.
Harry winced when the blasted thing slammed into the wall. He hoped he hadn’t cracked the plaster. The landlord would have his head if she knew that he had again broken a small hole into the wall.
There was the sound of a throat clearing, and Harry was forced away from his thoughts.
Harry’s breath caught, surprise coloring his cheeks when he caught sight of the most handsome man he had ever seen. Easily more handsome than all of the male models on the cover of a Vogue magazine.
“C-can I help you?” Harry said, noticing that he’d been staring for lord knows how long.
The man smiled at him then, dark eyes glinting brightly underneath the fluorescent light emanating from the hallway. It made him look rather pale, his skin almost waxy looking. But it did not detract from the sharpness of his cheekbones, in Harry’s opinion. Nor did it truly overshadow the smoothness of his skin, or the way his wavy hair was tamed into submission with only one curl pressed against his forehead.
The man looked like a fallen angel, pale skin contrasting sharply with dark eyes and hair. The shitty light did nothing to mask that sort of beauty, and Harry found himself, once more, struck dumb by his appearance.
“My name is Tom Riddle, I just moved in. I’ve been acquainting myself with everyone that lives on the same floor.”
Harry furrowed his brow for a moment, unsure of what to say to that.
New neighbor? He didn’t recall the manager telling him about that. Heck, he didn’t recall anyone moving out recently. The set of flats wasn’t numerous and Harry was fairly close to everyone here.
Harry scrambled for something to say when the man then raised his brows at him, the smile stretching wider on his handsome face.
Shite. Stop staring, Harry.
“Um, nice to meet you, then. I didn’t know someone new was moving in. You can call me Harry, just Harry. None of that surname nonsense,” Harry said, unconsciously opening his door further as he tried to fight off a wave of embarrassment. This was a new neighbor, not someone he’d just met at the gay bar.
Get it together.
“A pleasure to meet you--” Riddle tried to say before abruptly stopping, dark eyes widening in shock.
Harry blinked, confused at Riddle’s sudden reaction. Had he done something?
“Is something wro--”
“What happened to your flat? It looks horrid.”
Oh.
Harry sputtered for a moment, recalling just then the shite state of his flat.
Oh god, my flat.
Ginny.
Harry felt like his heart might fail. He needed to fix his flat somehow. He needed to do something, like let Ginny know just what happened. He needed to call the police.
“I...don’t know,” Harry finally said after a long pause. He shot his gaze down to the groceries he had dropped outside, and groaned aloud. He crouched lowly then, grabbing onto his bags hastily before rising.
It was a miracle none of the contents had fallen out of the bag, but really. Harry had had just about enough with the bad news. He supposed this was the only good thing to come out of the whole fiasco.
Unbruised fruits.
Bloody perfect.
Harry was just about to ramble about heading back inside, to get started on the cleaning and shoot Ginny that dreaded text, before Riddle pressed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
Harry paused, glancing up at Riddle’s face in surprise.
“Would you like some help? My things have yet to arrive and it certainly looks as though you could use some assistance.”
Harry swallowed, staring intently at Riddle’s face in search any sort of pity and mockery. There was none of those emotions on his face, his dark eyes looked bottomless and his lips were no longer smiling. He looked serious, and it was perhaps in that earnest expression that Harry found himself relaxing underneath Riddle’s sudden offer.
“Thank you. I appreciate it, really. You don’t have to do this,” Harry said instead, shooting Riddle a grateful smile before turning his back to the man and heading back into his hellhole of a flat.
“It’s the least I could do, Harry. After all, we are going to be seeing each quite often,” Riddle said softly, his warm breath fanning against the back of Harry’s left ear.
That was certainly true. They were neighbors, after all.