eight: happy

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Happy
adjective;
feeling or showing pleasure or contentment

I don’t know how, or why, but I ended up falling asleep, with Harry still cuddled up behind me and his arm still on my waist, holding me to him tightly. I’m not even sure how long I’d been asleep for, or if Harry had even slept at all.

Quietly, I turned around, to see him – just in time – flutter his eyes open and look at me. The smile that spread across his face was one of pride, and his eyes shone with happiness. Why? I don’t know.

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

“How do you feel, Porsche?”

“I feel good.”

“Do you mean that, truthfully?”

Did I mean that? Yes. One hundred per-cent yes, I felt good, great, even.

“Yes, Harry. That was the best sleep I’ve ever had, I think.”

If possible, his smile grew larger and his face showed just how happy he was. He gripped me tighter and hugged me, and this time, I didn’t push him away, I wrapped my free arm around his waist and hugged him back with an equal amount of strength as he held me with.

“I feel happy.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.”

“It probably won’t last, though…”

His face deflated then, when I said that, even though I was telling the truth, I still felt a pang in my chest when he let out a sad sigh. I didn’t mean to cause him to be unhappy; of course, I mess up everything.

“You gotta believe.”

“I don’t know how.”

“This is where I come in, Porsche. I’m going to show you what it’s like to be happy, and I truly believe that you will believe, too.”

“You’re very annoying, did you know that?”

He pulled a face, and I giggled. I actually giggled; something I hadn’t done in years. He looked surprised, which made me blush immensely. Had he never heard a girl giggle, or what?

“Yeah. Did you know you have a cute laugh?”

“Are you… flirting with me, Harry?”

“Would you kick me out if I said yes?”

“Yes…”

“Then no, no I am not flirting with you.”

"Good answer, Harry."

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