Liam arrives first. He's right on time. As usual. At least lately.
He's not mad at the rest of the boys for being late. He just stays in his car for a little while longer, hands on the steering wheel.
The heating has stopped and he can now see steam coming out of his nose every time he exhales.
A couple of minutes later, or so says his watch, because it really feels like an eternity as well as a second, a motorcycle parks next to his car.
The driver takes off his helmet and frees his long brown hair. It's not as much curly as it's wavy. Cut a little under shoulder length, it rests on Harry's black coat's collar.
Harry ties it in a loose bun mid-height of the back of his head.
He forgets a couple of locks, one on his neck, behind, and a short one under his temple just above his ear, curling and pointing at his clean shaved jaw.
He wipes his eyes, scratches his cheek where the lose strand of hair bothers him, like a small insect flying too close and causing light shivers and goose bumps.
He opens the seat and puts his helmet under it before stretching his arms. He's wearing a dark flowery silky scarf only resting on his shoulders without covering any part of his throat.
Liam gets out of the car quietly except for the door closing and walks to the other man. The cold bites his forehead and cheekbones and ears and nose. He buries his hands in his pockets.
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