boys don't cry. [h.s]

twenty six

June

They sat in horrifying silence, staring at each other until Isabel finally squeaked: "Are you sure?"

Harry dropped his hands from her face, resting them in his lap but keeping his eyes trained on her, his expression blank. "Yes," he said. "I'm in love with you."

He said it like he was telling her the sky was blue, or that it was a Saturday. It was factual, with no slight intonation that would make it become a question, or a plea for a matching response. It was simple, and it was honest, and it was so unlike Harry, who stumbled over everything he said and could never admit to anything, that she was entirely shocked into silence.

He waited patiently for her to say something while she squirmed under his gaze, horrendously aware that most parts of their bodies were touching and that they were both nearly naked and, most of all, aware that she had no idea what to say.

"Right, okay," Harry said eventually, his voice cracking slightly and he coughed and let out a breathy laugh. He clambered out of the sleeping bag, picking up a jumper from the floor, and his hands were shaking so much that the jumper rippled in his hand. "Just...just forget I said anything."

"Where are you going?" Isabel asked him, and her own voice sounded miles away, completely alien to her.

"I just need to be on my own for a bit," Harry responded, not looking at her as he scanned the dark tent for his jeans.

"Harry, listen –" Isabel started, trying to grasp his hand.

"To what?" he cut back loudly, and when he looked at her she realised his cheeks were stained pink, his eyes so humiliated that a lump formed in the back of her throat. He pulled on his jeans, the top of his head brushing against the upper canvas of the tent as he yanked them up his legs.

"I think you might be confused," she said, her voice an octave higher than usual as she wrestled out of her cocoon, suddenly much too hot in the stifling sleeping bag and the small, cramped tent with Harry.

He blinked at her, his hands balling up into fists by his legs, before he replied calmly, "I'm not confused."

"But you haven't ever even liked anyone before," she rambled, horribly aware she was only in her underwear and that the air was freezing cold but she was absolutely boiling. "You never even said that you liked me, Harry, and I told you so many times and you never said it back. I just – I think you might just be misunderstanding it, because I know that maybe, if you don't know the feeling, it could be easy to –"

"How would you know?" Harry interrupted, his voice barely louder than a mumble. "You've never been in love with anyone. How would you fucking know?"

It took a moment for that to sink in, and Harry was already moving to the door of the tent, stepping gingerly over her legs. She threw herself forward, grabbing onto his hand tightly, terrified that he'd leave like this. "Harry wait, hold on!"

He whipped around angrily, yanking his hand from hers. "How could you think I - I'm not fucking confused, all right!" he snapped, and she flinched, her hand falling to her lap. "Don't you think I would have thought about it before I just said it? Don't you think this is something I've been trying to make go away for fucking months?"

"Harry, I –"

"It won't go away, okay? You always say I'm brave, but I'm not brave at all. I'm fucking terrified of this feeling. I hate it; it makes me feel sick every time you're not with me because I'm so, so scared that you don't want me. It's fucking killing me and I've tried to tell you so many times but I couldn't and I'm trying to stop feeling it but I can't."