becoming {h.s} | {b2}

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

— CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT —

july, year three.

In the month since our first date, I've not slept alone.

This, of course, being at only the tip of small adjustments that are associated and made accompanying the shift in feelings between two best friends into something more romantic. Also born during this time was the question about our behaviors and where they should lie. Neither of us was prepared for practicalities involved in the shift from friends to lovers. Awkwardly, our hands find each other at sporadic moments. Eager for just that feeling of comfort that comes with the other's hand, but laughable in the sense that it is Harry's hand that I'm holding. I don't miss the irony in the fact that it is him: the man that was referred to as Abaddon for months on end due to his tendency to destroy all that he touched is now the man whose touch gives me more comfort than I have the ability to quantify. Displays of affection were questionable, too. Silently we grappled with when and where we were allowed to kiss each other. A glance across a crowded hospital lobby results in any myriad of emotions: sometimes humor, sometimes yearning, sometimes anger and annoyance.

All of this quickly solidifying one conclusion for us: nothing about this transition is textbook.

Yet, in spite of all of our confusion, there is one area in which we are able to find ourselves rather comfortably. Every night, we together retreat into one of our bedrooms for the simple pleasure of sleeping in the company of someone else. It's never planned. Dare I say, it's never even meant to be sexual, not inherently. Prior to even our first kiss all those years ago, we spent plenty of nights curled up in the same bed, fighting for the bigger share of the blankets. In our bedrooms, there is no confusion—there is only the darkness and cool air as it ripples through.

Smaller things have begun to take my notice. Like the way that he leaves his window open until I'm on the verge of melting and I'm damn near begging for him to shut it in favor of the air conditioning unit that we finally installed. It's a small adjustment on his part. Minuscule; almost imperceptible. But then I did notice. I noticed that he would open it on order to accommodate me on the nights when I tiptoe into his room—the first of us to cave.

For, every night we start with the intention of sleeping in our own rooms. For reasons beyond my comprehension, we still feign strength. Reminiscent of our time as interns, a time not so far from now—back when we were the only two living in the house—when we counteracted our loneliness by watching cheesy rom-coms until we physically couldn't stay awake anymore. Only then would we trudge up to our bedrooms and fall asleep. Similar, now, we'll finally retreat to our rooms with no intention of sleeping alone; only the fear of being the first to admit that they want the other.

A half an hour—that's all it takes.

Inevitably, one of us will cave within those critical thirty minutes. Several times over we've caught the other in the middle of the hallway, en route to the other's bedroom for a whispered request of company. Even when only friends, we found something comforting in laying in bed with another person. As two people on the borderline of admitting the depth of their romantic feelings, there is something sweet about the company in bed. Natural, I suppose, would be amongst the best ways to put it. There is just something natural about laying in bed with Harry—my fingers itching to reach his, daring to wrap around the skin, but somehow always just an inch too shy; only, to wake up in the morning completely tangled in him. Apparently, our subconscious minds are not as restrained as we are in our waking moments.

When we wake every morning, there's first a moment of peace. This is a feeling that I am well acquainted with. Old habits die hard, and I am still the first of us to wake. Temporarily, I enjoy my stay in his arms. I enjoy the way that I fit so snugly there. I imagine a world in which I knew this before—before all the hurt and pain and everything else that led me away from him.