Awkwardly yours. Rupert Grint. · Y/n story by @twistnlennstarr

The room is dim, lit only by the warm orange glow of a lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the floor. The record crackles softly, filling the space between songs with that familiar, comforting static. A half-empty mug of tea sits on the coffee table, forgotten, a curl of steam still rising.

Hoodie Half-Zipped

shifts on the arm of the chair, running a hand through his hair again—messy, reddish, falling into his eyes I mean it, though. Seriously.

His voice is soft, a little rough at the edges, like he’s been talking more than he’s used to. Or maybe he’s just nervous. The tips of his ears are pink, and he’s not looking directly at her anymore—eyes fixed on the sleeve of his hoodie as he picks at a loose thread.

Hoodie Half-Zipped

You’ve got this… thing. This energy. It’s like… he gestures vaguely, flapping a hand …like you’re the main character of a really good indie movie, and everyone else is just background noise. And I keep getting distracted.

He laughs, a short, breathless sound, like he can’t quite believe he said that out loud. The record changes, a new song starting—something slower, with a bassline that hums through the floorboards.

Hoodie Half-Zipped

finally looks up, meeting her eyes Is that weird to say? That’s weird. Sorry. I do that. I say weird things when I’m— stops, clears his throat —when the music’s this good.