I Don't Want to Keep a Secret

Chapter 8: Calm

Notes:

New Chapter!!! This one has a lot of hidden little things that mention what's to come, so keep an eye out.

I want to take the time to mention that as this goes on, mental health does become a pretty major problem, so if that's something that may trigger you, I think it's a good time to be warned. As much as I love having so many readers, I care too much to not give proper notice.

Triggers in this chapter are mentions of abuse, night terrors (that I probably didn't write in the most accurate sense oops) and abandonment issues.

I hope you all enjoy the chapter and thank you so much for reading!!!

Harry's POV

God, my life just got confusing.

In the course of about five hours, my best friend asked if I was gay, I almost kissed him, and my dad hit me.

Like, how does that happen?

Right now, Peter’s asleep next to me as I lay awake, trying and failing to fall asleep, unsure of what to do, starting with my father. I mean, this isn’t the first time this has happened, but it doesn’t make it any better. Every time it happens, it makes it harder to go back; harder to brush off to some mental illness. Abuse is abuse and he lingers too close to the border of that. Sometimes I have hopes that he’ll get better and then something like this happens. He just snaps as if I’m the cause to his problems.

I mean, I know he blames me for my mother’s death, but that’s no excuse.

It’s not like I don’t think about that myself.

Then there’s Peter, lying next to me. The way he just swooped in as if he didn’t care if he’d get hurt. It was… surprising. And when I fell on top of him, I almost couldn’t stop myself. He just looked so shocked and he was so close and I swear he looked at my lips and…

God, I almost kissed him. And that would’ve been so, so stupid.

In my lab, where my father could walk in, kissing a boy I know my father would never approve of, right after a lab explosion.

Then there’s the fact that I don’t know how Peter would’ve reacted. He’s my best friend and there’s no way he likes me like that?

Right?

No. It’s not possible. There’s that other boy he wrote the poem about. The boy with blue eyes.

I have blue eyes.

Nope, I’m not going down this route.

I’m brought out of my thoughts when I hear a faint whine next to me. I turn to Peter to see him drawn into himself, still asleep. He looks pained, as if he’s hurt by his own dreams. I sit up. I’ve never noticed that Peter has nightmares. Maybe it’s not a regular thing, but right now, it looks worse than just a regular nightmare as he whimpers to himself.

Are you supposed to wake people from a night terror?

He groans just a little and I decide it’s worth a shot.

I put my hand on his shoulder and shake it just a little and he jolts up, nearly hitting his head against mine. His eyes are wide as he takes heavy breaths, staring at me.

I’ve never seen Peter like this before. He’s the most emotionally collected guy I’ve ever met. Even through all of his dysphoria and transitioning. Even when his parents and his uncle passed. He keeps a level head at all times.

So as one of his hands go to cover his eyes as he pants, I’m surprised to say the least.

“Are you…”