This Was Home [h.s.]

| 8. IMPULSE |

Harry had dropped the bags on the ground and was in the process of removing the branches that had fallen on top. I assumed it was from the rain storm earlier. His truck didn't look in the best condition, but I figured that was independent from the storm's damage. I wasn't one to judge though.

I followed suit, my bags dropping from my hands as I walked over to help. He had a pair of those bright red dice hanging from his rear view mirror. I laughed to myself, not pegging him for the type. Luckily he didn't notice my laugh because he was too focused on getting the bottles of gas out.

I lost track of how many he used, but I assumed it was about half of them given what was now left. He chunked the rest of our bags in the back of his truck before climbing into the front seat.

I watched him from the outside passenger window. He closed his eyes for a moment as if he was doing a quick and silent prayer that his car would start. He turned the key and it sputtered to life. A true expression of happiness was plastered on his face. An expression I hadn't ever seen from him thus far.

He looked over to me, "Well come on! If we wanna make this shit last let's not waste it just sitting here, yeah?"

I sarcastically rolled my eyes and hopped in. I reached over to put my seatbelt into place and by the time I looked over I noticed his hand. It immediately reached for the back of my headrest and this new level of proximity caused my breathing to stiffen.

His face was only about a foot away from mine with his other hand still on the wheel. The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.

"What?" He asked, pretending to be dumbfounded.

He was so close I could smell the cigarette he had smoked previously. Before I could reply, he already turned his gaze behind us as he backed up. His face kept the same amount of closeness as before.

My heart didn't ease back up until he finally released his hand from my headrest and began to drive forward. The smirk still wasn't completely gone, but he said nothing. He didn't have to.

I shifted in my seat, taking a deep breath. I desperately tried to think of something to talk about—anything at this point. Anything to get my mind off the fact that I liked the closeness or the fact I liked the smell of his leftover cigarette making my nose tickle.

Even though I would hate the smell in any other circumstance or with any other person.

Shit. What was I doing?

"I, uh-" I stammered and pulled my attention to the gas gauge. "How much gas did it fill up?"

"Little over a quarter tank." He must have already checked earlier because he didn't look down before answering.

"That good or bad?" I fidgeted with the sleeve of my jacket. I almost didn't want to know because I had already dealt with enough bad news recently. I couldn't handle anything more.