Lonely Nights // H.S

10.

double update - don't read before 9!

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'I don't wanna be your friend I wanna kiss your lips'

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Harry

[13:22] Please, just answer me.

[13:24] I know I fucked up. Please just let me talk to you.

[13:24] Sorry won't fix it. I know. But I'll keep saying it because I mean it.

[13:27] You are the most important person. I'm not just saying that. You are. You always have been. You always will be. If you want me to stay away, I will, I just want to see you one last time.

It's been like this since the incident. Multiple texts sent at the same time, all of the same tone. Never angry, never frustrated, just sad and apologetic. Which is what he should be, but somehow it hurts that he feels he has to be sorry for kissing me. I know he's saying it because he never meant the kiss in the same way I did.

I wish I could be the type of person that can forgive and forget, and maybe I would have been if I didn't start to accept that what I felt for Harry went beyond friendship. But since that strange realisation, it doesn't seem possible to go back to the way things were before. Not when I had spent so long following him like a lost shadow, hoping he'd want it as his own. Because he never did. He had one, and he didn't need another.

A pointless thing to want, still I waited for so long.

Time seemed to run slower in those years that I watched him from afar, like it was never really mine to live in. Every day spent thinking about the one thing I couldn't have, beating myself to the ground over such silly delusions, wishing and praying it would stop.

But then he kissed me. He kissed me and it seemed so real, so worthwhile, until it wasn't. That is the part that hurts the most. Years spent dreaming of something, only to waste my time.

So, I don't answer him. I continue to ignore him. It's been 3 weeks now.

Harry

[13:48] I'm outside.

[13:50] We're going to talk about this, and then I will leave you alone. I'll be gone. But we can't leave it like this.

Hardly an option. Never a choice. He always has the power, even when I feel like my silence and my ignorance grants me some leverage. It felt like I was controlling the situation, like for once he was begging on his knees for my attention after I'd been doing it for so long with him. Yet, it still lies in his hands. An object that wasn't crafted for the way my palms dip or curve, the prints of my fingers or the warmth of my touch. It's always been his.

Three knocks on the door.

"Will, I know you're in there."

A tear falls from my eye. A quiet trail, solitary.

"Please..."

I hate that I'm so weak.

"I'm sorry."

He's sliding down the door. He might be crying too, and it reminds me of that night all those years ago where he seemed so scared and fragile, locking himself away in a room he thought no one would hear him. But I heard him. I found him. I helped him.

My feet lead me towards the door before I even realise where I'm going, hand hesitating for a few minutes until I open it. On the floor, he looks up at me, some daisies from the grass next to him pulled apart in his hands, the fragile petals dotting his legs. It reminds me of the game kids play. He loves me, he loves me not. Perhaps he was doing that.