becoming {h.s} | {b2}

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

— CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE —

january, year three.

When Harry returns from his run I'm in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea.

Tea has always been one of the more integral and consistent aspects of my morning routine. For the past several years of my life, that's never changed. Several, of course, referring more closely to decade, or so. The warm beverage has always soothed me. Never into coffee, I found it comforting and energizing enough to use as a morning substitute. Besides, few things are better than drinking from a cup of tea while watching the morning rain. Peaceful and serene, I find it one of the most natural ways to start my day.

Today's cup is a green tea. Every couple of months I'll shift through different varieties of tea that correspond with my different moods and desires. Presently, I'm in the midst of a green tea kick. Not only does it taste good, but there are plenty of associated health benefits that are enticing enough.

To be fair, I hadn't noticed that Harry had left. The night before, I didn't wait for him to return home from work. I'd been feeling a bit under the weather myself—a cold left me feeling particularly tired. When I woke up this morning, he was already gone.

Harry offers me a different type of security than I am used to. When I wake up in the morning and don't immediately find him there and I am not immediately aware of his location, there is no panic. There is no instantaneous acceptance that he has left me. Between the two of us, that fear does not exist. It does not matter to me when I can't place his location within minutes. Instead, I am able to resign to a seat in my kitchen with a cup of tea and a book.

My kitchen it is, exactly.

Once I moved back in full time, Harry sat me down and informed me that he would be returning the house to me. All along, he figured that he was just holding on to it until I returned. He told me that he gave it a genuine go at first, but quickly realized that this house would never feel like his. Not so long as I was not there, too. In his mind, this house is more so mine than it would ever be his. Seeing as we are living here together for the considerable future, he figured that now would be good a time as any to return the house to its "rightful" (in his eyes) owner. I accepted, happily. It felt good to have a definitive sensation of home again.

"I didn't know you ran," I say, putting my book down as he pulls out his headphones. Sweat drips from his entire body as he fills up a cup of water for himself. Hardly a few days into January, it's obvious that he is attempting to stick to one of his resolutions for the year: apparently, to exercise more. For the first time in a while, I'd even set some goals for myself. For example, I want to find ways to be happier and more content with myself as I am.

Arguably, such goals are more beneficial than simply going to the gym.

Harry shrugs his shoulders as he movs closer to me. He's panting when he sits down opposite me in the breakfast nook, his fingers wrapping around the full glass of ice water before he brings it to his lips. He's always been in shape in my opinion, but this might be the first time that I've ever seen him return from a run. In my experience, I've seen him do a lot of biking and some sporadic yoga. "I'm just working out so I'll look good for when you finally decide to go out with me. I'd hate to be in one of those couples where everyone assumes that you only like me because of my money."

The insinuation behind the frontward comedy of his comment is clear—his words addressing that he finds me out of his league. Untrue as the words are, I can only roll my eyes as laughter dips from my lips. It's been a while since I've found him to be so light and playful with me. Not in this flirtatious way. Since Kiera entered our relationship, I've noticed that such things fell through the cracks.