More than a Melody (H.S) ON HOLD

14

fourteen

Saturday came sooner than I would have hoped. I was excited to be with Harry, but the anxiety sadly outweighed the joy.

I hadn't stopped thinking about our dance, how something so foreign came to feel so natural to me. I could still feel his fingers grazing my hips, guiding my movements with a gentle urgency. It was yet another memory that would inevitably wither away within the walls of the diner.

By the time I manage to slip out of bed, the time reading nearly noon, it's only Miles and I in the apartment. I inwardly groan as I shuffle past him standing over the sink, rinsing dishes.

"You got home late." He comments, the water shutting off.

Great. Now it's completely silent.

"Yeah," is all I say, hardly interested in maintaining a conversation with him.

"Did you go somewhere after work?"

"No."

"Just decided to hang out until two in the morning then?"

I scratch my forehead out of annoyance, staring at the almond milk to keep from giving him the finger. I didn't want to argue with him, but I found it amusing how he seemed to care where I was but not how I felt about his one sided decisions.

"Is that a problem?" I attempt to sound forceful, but the question comes off more genuine and soft than I would like.

"No, but I noticed you weren't alone."

"And is that an issue too?"

He turns around, a smirk on his face, "No, it's not. I'm not upset if that's what you're thinking. I just checked the cameras last night to make sure you were there and okay."

We both stare at each other, my eyebrows are raised and his arms are crossed. I have a poker face while he struggles to hold back a smile.

"This is the first time you've had an actual conversation with me since Sunday."

"And why is that amusing to you?"

His face falls, "it's not. It's just nice."

"Wasn't nice when you took it upon yourself to sell the diner without informing me, wasn't nice to take your own frustrations out on me and hold my anxiety against me. None of that was nice, Miles."

"Olive, I'm sorry. I don't know why it took me so long to say that, but I am. I'm sorry about not involving you. I'm sorry about using your anxiety as a way to hurt you. I was super stressed and I fucked up and I know that's no excuse but I wish I could take it back more than anything. I know how much you struggle and it was wrong of me."

I fiddle with the cap to the milk, aching to touch something, to distract the uneasiness I felt with his stare and the uncertainty of what to say.

I didn't want to say it was okay, because I still didn't feel okay and saying everything was okay created the assumption that I was too. And then I would have to force myself to be.

When I think of a month ago, though, what I want to say next becomes clear.

"What changed?"