ENDURANCE + STYLES

six

I sat up and looked around the small room for the second time. The lingering smell of Harry—musky cologne, maybe even shampoo and whatever else—filled my senses as I moved within the sheets. After realizing I'd left my watch in my car, the time on my phone read a little past noon. Disregarding the thought of pants, I left the bedroom to find a sprawled-out Harry with an arm slung over his eyes on the couch he was definitely too big for. The floor creaked desperately as I passed and made him wake up. He stretched and blinked a few times before looking up but remained silent.

I entered the aged kitchen in search of food—if I were going to be dealing with Harry this early I'd need energy. It wasn't a big space but it was pretty worn down. The wood was chipping off of the light tan cabinets, the tile was peeling in the corners, and the dingy white tint of the appliances had dents and scratches. I could see why Harry was so hesitant about letting me come over, but at the end of the day it was a home and that's more than a lot of people have.

The cabinets were nearly empty, only holding an oil-separated peanut butter, protein powder, and various canned soups. I checked the fridge and saw milk, a half-full Gatorade, and some take-out from lord knows when. Sighing to myself, I closed the refrigerator door and leaned against the counter.

Reminds you of something, doesn't it?

Harry walked in scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah there's uh, there's not much in here."

I nodded, glancing at the compression wrap around his frame. "How do you feel?"

"Sore but decent enough to walk." He ran his hand over the silky black material.

"Hm. You still look like shit."

"Gee, thanks." He mimicked my mocking face.

I pushed myself off of the counter and started for Harry's room. He followed, laying on the gray comforter beside where I sat. The worn-out springs groaned beneath our combined weight.

"You know, I think the rules are you're supposed to sleep with the person to be able to wear their clothes." He looked up and motioned towards the t-shirt as he spoke.

I made a gagging noise to which the pervert raised his eyebrow. "You're sickening."

"Thank you, I try."

My stomach growled as a reminder that I hadn't eaten since my early lunch yesterday. "Okay, how about I cook. Name anything you want to eat and you got it."

"Anything?" He sat upon his forearms. "I can think of a few things."

My interpretation of his words was exactly how he'd intended. Pervert. "I'm gonna hurt you."

"I'm counting on it." He winked before lying back on the squeaky bed. "All jokes aside Stone, no offense—you know I have the highest respect for your father—but if your cooking is anything like his, I think I'll pass."

"I—" A snicker escaped me as I searched for my words. "You got me there. Rest assured, you won't die from my cooking."

"Then let's go." Despite his words, neither of us moved.

"I'm stealing pants." Gathering my energy I strolled over to the sliding door closet. "Where are pants?"

In place of speaking, he responded to my improper grammar by pointing to the horizontal dresser on the opposite side of the room. With no more guidance from Harry, I was left to search through the drawers on my own. My options were limited to jeans, shorts, sweats, pajama pants, and one pair of slacks. I settled on soft grey shorts completing my baggy attire. They were snug around my waist—thanks to the flat drawstring—and stopped just above my knees.