despite the early winter weather he is barefoot, wearing only a long, baggy shirt, belted low on his hips. He’s looking down, raking a dirty hand through his hair to dislodge the pieces of straw from it. His shirt is a mess, almost translucent with wear and badly torn at the shoulder. Then he looks up, and grins as he sees Harry. Harry’s breath fails him. Iain’s hair has been cut. His face is exposed to view, no longer hidden behind dark, matted locks. Harry’s heart fails him next, skittering strangely in his chest. Iain is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Haha Harry has a crush
