Viral Summer

29 Come Through

Please tell me, boy
Can you get a clue?
Or come through 'cause I just want to be with you
Falling For U- mxmtoon, Peachy!

In the two weeks before the concert, nothing gets better with Harris. He does try, I'll give him credit. He stops with the cute little comments, the unnecessary touching. And as much as I miss those things, I know that it's for the best. Things aren't getting better though, because there's still the intense sexual tension there and even when we're not trying, sometimes we get caught in it.

We'll get trapped in each other's gaze or a hug will linger too long. Even when we're not trying, it's hard to avoid any moments at all. They're inevitable and they're driving me crazy. I'm addicted to those little moments and whenever I'm around him, I'm wondering when the next one will appear.

Taking away the comments and touching didn't do anything to help my affection for Harris. If anything, it made it worse because I'm aching for something that I don't have. Now that I know how good it can feel to be seen by Harris, to be touched by him even in the smallest ways, it's driving me crazy that I can't have them back and it's starting to become all I can think about.

I'd be lying if I said he hasn't popped up in my dreams a couple of times now, a replaying of the Brent Becker party where he pinned me against the wall by my room without even touching me and whispered drunkenly in my ear that he wanted to know what I was wearing underneath. In the dream, it doesn't stop there though, and he ends up pushing me back into my room where he lays me on the bed and... well...

"Jensen?" Heather interrupts my train of thought by waving a hand in my face. "Hello?"

"Sorry, what?" I snap back into focus as she's waiving a shirt in front of my face.

"What do you think of this, with my skirt instead of the red shirt?" she asks me.

"That would look good," I tell her.

"Where's your outfit?" she asks, looking around my room. "I'll pack it with mine."

"I don't think it's finished yet," I admit to her, which I know is so bad because we leave for the venue in an hour for sound check and everything. I've been so bad at preparing for this concert because whenever I think about it, I feel like I'm about to break into hives or something.

"What do you mean?" she looks at me frantically.

"Look, I have this white tank, and the skirt," I hold up both pieces from where they're resting on my dresser. A normal white tank top and a leather pleated skirt. "But it feels incomplete, right? Like it needs something more."

"A cardigan? A bomber jacket?" she suggests. "How have you not figured this out yet?"

"Heather, I know I look so calm, cool, and collected right now, but if I think about tonight for too long at a time, I'll vomit," I warn her, but then I get an idea and say, "I know what it's missing. I'll be right back."

I leave her in my room to find Harris in his. He's at his desk, shirtless, messy bed hair, humming along to the music playing from his laptop.

"Hey," I greet him, looking anywhere but his body.

"Aren't you supposed to be on your way to sound check?" he spins the chair to face me, cocking his head to the side. "Don't tell me you're chickening out last minute."

"I'm not," I assure him. "I'm doing this, we're not leaving for another hour. You have a red flannel, right?" It was a rhetorical question, I know he has a red flannel because the last time he wore it, he had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and I couldn't stop staring at his sexy forearms and I was so confused because I didn't know that forearms could be sexy.