The One Where Harry Styles Sneezed On Me

Day Nine: The One With The Talk

Her head was pounding. No sunlight lit the window and Elise buried her head into the pillow.

Into the sand.

God, she had initiated a kiss. She had kissed Harry. And he'd kissed her back. She could still feel his big body over her and the way his hips had fit between her thighs, tailor made to her measurements. Maybe they were cut from the same cloth?

Who was she kidding? He was like the sheets she laid upon.  High quality and expensive. Her own nubby comfy flannels on the bed she hadn't inhabited in over a week in her own room, that was her level.

Was it only a week?

It felt like much longer. Days or months, Elise needed to figure out how to go about today. Did she do down and pretend nothing had happened and hope Harry said nothing? Maybe she took a page out of somebody else's book entirely and went down with "We should talk," on her lips. Did she want to talk?

Only if it meant they went back to the place they had been last night, with less clothes, and no alcohol.

That was why Elise had said no, to stop. They were both drunk. Inhibitions were lost, completely socially lubricated, honestly all over lubricated for her. It had felt good, so good and somehow despite the calendar like a long time coming. That's how it had felt to her, at least. She just had no idea how Harry had been feeling. The moment could have come to its natural conclusion, aided by spirit and enforced intimacy, but the fear that she'd have to go back then, to just his quarantine buddy, made her hang her head. She needed to find out where he was. Because if they went there and he wished they hadn't, she'd not come back. Elise didn't want to have him so close only to reverse and see any shade of regret on his face. Not the blue of letting her down easy, the green of regret, the gray of indifference, or the black of disgust.

That inverse rainbow would end her.

If she got to be with Harry, not the guy she had a crush on as a teenager, but the lovely, thoughtful, funny, and vulnerable man downstairs. She didn't want to see any dark colors afterwards, she wanted soft shades, painted like Easter eggs, light and happy. Giddy and ready to do it again, not write it off as a mistake.

Worst case, then they would have to survive the next several days, down to 5 before she could go home to isolate there, in a constant state of tension. She supposed they were in a state of tension now, but it was hopeful. It was leading somewhere good, or compelling. And still safe. There had been no catalyst so far, and she'd turned down the Bunsen burner last night. Sexual chemistry meant there could be a reaction anytime. She just needed it to be a good one.

So, alcohol induced sex was out.

Even if it would be the only sex she had really had besides that one time with that one guy just before she left Arizona, or her sister's scheming boyfriend once they'd made the first mistake and then just kept
on doing it.

She wanted it to mean something, a good something.  Not just be the hook up that happened because of proximity. Because Harry lacked another choice. The other times, she knew one had been because it was the end of the night and she had reciprocated interest. She didn't really know Bryce's reason. To see if he could, maybe? To hurt her sister when they were fighting? He said he liked her and he couldn't help it, and the attention convinced her it was mutual. She was attention starved, she'd realized, easy to manipulate with a little focused listening and sympathetic noises. Even fake sympathy and compassion, any human touch.

Elise wanted to be sure she wasn't just responding in the way she feared Harry would. Her response needed to be genuine. Were her feelings even genuine or just left over pieces of a crush? It would be easy to call it more while it was simply a teenage dream come true.