.Perfect Fantasy. |H.S.|

Chapter 31. Shifting.

.Natalia.

"Just don't take too much stuff, it's only for the weekend."

I was so deep in thought—in the unexpected plainness of all of my clothes folded across the top of the recently-made duvet, taking me a moment to realize that Harry's voice was cutting through the silence. For the past day or so, I'd tried to be busy coming up with theories about the stalker, but not even my books were helping. I looked up at the taken space; standing just by the door wearing some black band tee I didn't recognize and dark-washed jeans, the fabric tight against his thighs. I noticed that his hair was still wet from the shower, making the messy strands fall on his face and that he was holding his usual black leather weekender bag slung over one shoulder. He did not look happy.

"I just don't get it, Harry, I can perfectly stay in here while you go there and do whatever you have to do."

"Oh, I'm definitely not leaving you behind," He skipped my agreement or whatever argument I wanted to mention, unzipping another bag himself, and reaching inside to set a neatly folded pile of my clothes inside. "Not after that window show, you pulled the other night." I loved how there was a twinge of his accent, even if his tone was a little edgy.

"Thanks for the reminder..."

"You should've seen Sean's face when I told..." I winced at the memory, but he ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it a bit, as one side of his mouth twitched into a huge grin. "Joking, I'm joking. But I still got the mental image," He tilted his head slightly, his eyes practically twinkling, while my mind reeled between the moments of annoyance and then his boyish playfulness. "We really need to get out of here. Catch a break."

He was right, we were already on the verge of claustrophobia. "Yeah, well, so we go to this thing, and then I come back here with your mom, and you'll be ... where?"

"Ah! It took you this long to ask..." All traces of humor faded, Harry's eyes went soft. "London, actually."

"Oh." I remained on the bed, my hand clutching one of my books while I stared back at him, my heart sinking with disappointment. His hands were then closing the bag and carrying them both while walking to the door, where he glanced back at me with sympathetic eyes. "I'd take you with me but its work related, so you'll be really on your own there, and I'd rather have you here with proper company if you don't mind."

"Oh, no I don't, not really, your mom's amazing."

So London.
He was going to London for work.
I suddenly felt stuck with a dreadful feeling.
The room emptying once again with him walking out. The past few days proving that time was somehow absorbed in ordinary little things like having coffee and tea together or making small talk while sharing a bed and waiting for sleep to arrive; the world always seemed slower and steadier when he was around.
It was a fact that he made everything kinder and funnier, fuller somehow. But now, the feeling of him going away was making me come close to a sudden end.

I looked around the house, my sneakers dragging me down the wooden steps, and just staring at the cats filling the seats in the mismatched couches. The entrance door was wide open and the car was already there waiting, making me notice how everything was just quiet and hollow without him there, like emphasizing the physical and symbolic space he already occupied in my life.

I walked to where Corey was laying on the top part of the large cushion, and tapped her head gently, silently laughing at the fact that all of these days I thought she was a male cat when in reality she wasn't. Fuck, that wasn't even her name. Harry laughed at me for a whole half hour, and I really felt the bitterness in that treason because it truly was the first cat that I honestly cared for.