Roses [h.s]

Chapter 21

I don't know how long we lay there, in the middle of a crumpled twister mat, with our hands intertwined. We lay in silence, we talked and laughed, we might have kissed a few more times. We were comfortable there, comfortable to just spend as much time together as possible. The only reason we moved from the floor was because Chloe came home.

Chloe somehow managed to time opening the front door so that it was in the middle of one of those few kisses. My hands are intertwined in Harry's curls, while his rest on my lower, lower back. We didn't hear the front door open, but we do hear Chloe exclaim "oh my god" over and over again, even after we separate. My cheeks practically throb with how quickly I start blushing, and I sit up hurriedly as if I could move fast enough to prevent Chloe from seeing something that she's already reacted to. The three of us are silent for a moment, Chloe glancing between the two of us with our red cheeks and sheepish expressions, a subtle smile on her face.

"Sorry for interrupting." Chloe finally says, although I can tell by her smile that she isn't as sorry as she makes out to be. "Just ignore me, I'll be heading to my room."

Harry and I sit in silence, watching her leave the room and not look back, and after her footsteps cease, we still sit there looking at everything but each other for a minute. When we finally lock eyes, we simultaneously begin to giggle, like two school kids giddy with their first requited love. It's such a difference from the beginning of the night, a complete turnaround, and whereas before it was hard to even make a sound, now it's hard to stop laughing. I have to turn away from Harry to even catch a breath, because every time I catch sight of him laughing, each time I see his eyes crinkle and see him shake his head as he chuckles, and each time I see him press his lips together to try and keep quiet, I can't stop myself from laughing again. Finally, we lapse back into silence, and I wait a beat to be certain that I won't start laughing before turning back to him.

"So, uh, I guess we should probably get going to bed. Don't wanna keep Chloe up."

Harry's smile slowly fades before he nods in agreement. He moves to start folding up the twister mat and I watch him blankly for a moment, wandering why he's gone so silent before I start helping him. It's not until we squeeze everything back in the box and he starts gathering the other games that he finally speaks.

"Well, I guess I should leave then."

I glance at him quizzically, seeing the way he stands awkwardly with the boxes stacked in his hands. I thought it had been obvious that I didn't want him to leave again, that I had meant for him to sleep over like before but apparently it wasn't clear to him. Maybe he just wanted to leave, maybe today was too much for him, and despite how many times he had assured me that he loved me still, my heart sank at the thought that maybe he was just trying to be polite. That he was just waiting until he had a valid excuse to leave. But then I remember the way his smile had faded when I had spoken, and it crosses my mind that maybe he thought that I was the one asking him to leave. A small smile pushes its way onto my lips as I think about this, about the idea that Harry was sad about having to leave me.

"I – uh, I meant that we should go to bed. Like here, together." I say, my voice still quiet and shaky because I still couldn't quiet the part of my mind that was adamant I had read his emotions wrong and he actually wanted to leave. The longer he stayed silent afterwards the more that thought seemed to encompass my mind, until he practically dropped the games onto the coffee table. Harry walked towards me, or straight past me is more accurate, grabbing my hand and practically dragging me towards my bedroom. It takes me a moment to fully understand what's happening, but by the time we reach my room I'm giggling lightly.

I give him the same clothes I had given him last time, without having to be prompted. After I'd washed them, I had laid them off to the side in my drawers, as though I subconsciously knew that Harry would be back again, or that I had at least hoped he would. Unlike last time though, Harry doesn't joke to me about looking away, and I catch a glimpse of the tattoos scattered over his torso; the way they move with his skin as he takes of his shirt makes my heart beat faster for just a second before I turn away and climb into bed, not needing to change since I haven't gotten out if my pyjamas in two days.