Now We're Both Here

He can’t breathe because she’s still silent. She can’t misunderstand him when he’s confessed like that, can she?

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“Because you’re good with words, but I won’t get swept away again. I don’t want to be a fool a third time.”

“You won’t—”

“I will. It’s a pattern now. One of us has to break it off.”

“What should I say when you deny it with such certainty? You know I’m bad at this.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’ll make this uncomplicated and handle myself.”

“I’ve prepared a lot for you, and I’ve changed too.”

“There’s no point in telling me that.”

“Why? You don’t care?”

“Of course I do. I care too much,” she snaps. “Look, reality’s come. That’s all this is. You were right from the beginning. It’s better not to touch something this emotional—This volatile.”

“So you’re leaving, no matter what?”

“...I’ll see you on Tuesday if you feel like talking.”

It’s Friday. That’s a paltry three days to recover.

Yet, although he opens his mouth to argue, he recalls she had a mere handful of hours following his rejection of her feelings. Bringing up any comparison will rend him into a deeper grave.

“Go then.”

But he can’t bring himself to hang up the phone. He waits two long, agonizing minutes until she does so.

It sets in during the minutes afterwards when she doesn’t phone him back, that he’s been rejected.

***

“Harry!” Malong’s cheery voice echoes through his penthouse as he bolts into his bedroom. “I have everything ready for your big day today! I don’t know who you met, but I’m wishing you all the—Why do you look so dejected? Are you nervous?”

Harry is seated on his bed with his head in his hands.

“Shall I leave the basket on the bedside table?”

“If you do, I’ll fling it at you,” Harry threatens.

Malong flinches. “Why are you in such a bad mood? I thought today was an important day?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Did something happen? You can talk to me.”

“Malong.”

“What’s up?”

“Are you deaf? Get out of my sight before I teach you the true meaning of homelessness.”

“Ahaha...” Malong retreats. “I’ll come back when you feel better.”

Where?

Just where had he gone wrong this time? He thought things would work out.

No, he should be happy that someone’s respecting his boundaries. If she’s had her fun and now she’s bored of him, then so what? What’s new about that feeling? He would’ve confessed to her today. He would’ve made things official. But now it’s her loss.

Yet, no matter how much air he pulls in, or what argument he makes, his chest is unbearably tight. He should be used to this, but there’s an encroaching, unexplainable emptiness overtaking him.

It’s fine.

Being alone is nothing new. He couldn’t have been the person she needed him to be. Selfishness, conceit, callousness, those are his essence. Such a bright person deserves to be with someone as vibrant as she is. Yet, he feels so sick at the thought that he covers his mouth and a cold sweat breaks out over his forehead.

No. He should get a hold of himself. Being so emotional is what leads people to ruin. This is fine.

If she hadn’t tossed aside her feelings for him today, then eventually. That impending day she would’ve truly realized he can’t adore her like a normal person could, it would’ve come. He couldn’t have stopped it even if he’d taken a step to be the person she wanted, this was the final destination.

So...This is nothing.

Harry gasps and tugs at the collar of his shirt.

It’s because of the stiff fabric that he can’t breathe. That he feels stifled.

But...

To be left first? To be so consumed by the chance of more without the ability to bring it to fruition. It’s—

Harry forces himself into the kitchen and pours a glass of water.

He’ll enjoy a glass and move on. He’ll shake this off like everything that’s bothered him in his life. Moving on as normal is as easy as hydrating. He’s free to return to how he was before. Loneliness is his status quo.

“Harry!”

Malong seizes his arm and the empty pitcher. There’s water all over the counter, and it’s spilling onto the floor. The glass Harry meant to drink from is flooded. Water leaks everywhere. Soaks his clothes.

Why did this happen? How could this happen? And why can’t he be numb to it?

He covers his face with shaking hands.

“Why don’t you lie down?” Malong suggests. “Go back to sleep today. Whatever happened, I’m sure tomorrow will be better.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

Because this doesn’t feel like normal, or like anything he’s experienced before. It’s more gripping. More intrusive. As if she stripped him of a fundamental part of himself that was just healing.

Malong manoeuvres a shoulder around him. “I’ll take you back to your room. So just rest, okay?”

***

It’s midnight when Harry’s lucid enough to log into the app. There are no new messages. No calls.

So he taps her contact information. The call disconnects before it rings. Piu Piu’s flapping wings blink on his smartphone.

“Sorry, but that’s a bad idea,” Piu Piu’s voice advises.

“It’s my device.”

He initiates the call, and Piu Piu ends it. 

“She needs time.”

“Having time isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“Harry, go back to bed.”

He sucks in a deep, long breath. “Shall I break you today?”

“E-Even if you do, I’ll fulfil the order I was given!”

Those words cut him.

“She asked you to do this?”

“You got space when you rejected her, so you should reciprocate.”

“If we’re reciprocating, then I should be able to call and send her messages.”

Piu Piu shuts down the third attempt at contact. So Harry throws his phone on his bed and grabs his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“Since my phone’s broken, I’ll buy a new one.”

“It’s midnight!”

“Then I’ll buy one off whoever I see.”

“I’ve spoken to her the most between the two of us! Can’t you listen to my advice?”

“Has your advice ever worked for us?”

Harry has a short fuse today, so the venom comes out.

“We’re here because of you. Don’t forget that. Everything. It’s your fault. You prattled on about love, and pushed, and pushed, and now look where we are? If neither of us ever had these ridiculous thoughts… Then…!”

“Do you really believe that...?”

“I told you from the beginning, since your ridiculous app accosted me, that love isn’t something I’m capable of!”

“Then why are you so distraught?”

He falters, just long enough that something pricks his mind. He seizes his jacket and zips it up hard enough that it bites into his skin. There’s no sense in conversing with Piu Piu. Not when time is of the essence.

“I can reason with her. I’ve had time to collect my thoughts.”

Harry’s palm rests on the door handle. He stuffs his keys into his coat pocket.

“Things won’t go the way you expect if you take the logical approach,” Piu Piu warns. “I’ve made mistakes, but you should believe me on that.”

“I’ve verified something I was curious about.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t comment on my ability to call her without you. This is the second time you haven’t.”

“Ah…” Piu Piu hesitates. “That’s because–”

“And those photos? Were any of them you?”

“I don’t know what photos you’re talking about, but I unlocked the software to do so on both ends since a month ago.”

“That’s all I wanted to know.”

Harry locks the door behind him.

***

The first call goes unanswered, so Harry phones again. When that goes to voicemail too, he dials again. Perhaps it’s crude and crazy, but he’ll try it as many times as it takes. If he could speak with her just once, perhaps things may change.

“Sir,” the pilot shares. “You can’t stand here. It’s a safety hazard.”

Harry dials again with no success as he follows the worker somewhere safer on the tarmac. Once he’s in place, the old gentleman lingers.

Planes take off overhead, and the vicious wind they stir up nearly steals Harry’s jacket. The industrial lights are blinding.

“Did you need anything else?” The pilot asks. “A watch, or maybe–”

“I have what I need, and I’m tending to an emergency.”

“O-Of course. Pardon me.”

The man wanders away, but he has a guilty walk similar to Malong. Harry scowls at the phone he bought. It’s at least ten years out of date.

“I paid him an exorbitant fee, yet he wants more.” He tries to reign in his irritation. He can’t sound like that once he talks to her.

Every call he makes rings and rings.

“Hello?” His heart jolts when she answers. However, her voice is strained. She sniffles once before clearing her throat.

“Your address,” Harry declares. “I need it.”

“Harry? What? How did you–”

“Give it to me. This isn’t my phone. Piu Piu can’t interfere.”

There’s a rustling sound on her end.

“Do you know what time it is? I’m supposed to be sleeping.”

“Then should I fly all over the world for the rest of my life looking for you?”

“You won’t do that.” She’s alert now. “No, don’t do that.”

He lowers his phone from his ear and waves to the team on standby. “Start the plane.”

The sound of the engines is deafening.

“It’ll take me a few years, so stay put.”

“You’re joking, right? You aren’t actually at the airport, are you?”

“I want to see you or I’ll regret it,” he admits. His gaze falls to his mismatched shoes. “I don’t want to make a mistake. I won’t miss the timing again.”

“...If you’re acting on impulse, we’re going to hurt each other.”

“There’s no way for us to be close without that happening.”

“I’m sure what you’re saying is great, but I can hardly hear you over the plane, you loon.”

He signals again. The tarmac falls quiet.

“I’ve never begged anyone in my life. Do you know that?”

“New experiences are good for you,” she laughs on the other side, but that can’t hide the fact she’s tearing up. He doesn’t know what to do when she cries.

“Then give me more of them. Where are you?”

There’s another rustling sound, then punishing silence.

Will she say no again?

At the height of anxiety, he calls her name. He meant to say it tenderly, but it’s a rougher, more urgent sound.

“It’s [System: /address blocked/].”

Harry swallows. His legs feel weak. He leans against the wall for support. 

“I didn’t get it... The system still...”

“Blocked it? I figured.”

She sounds distant now. As if in that single moment, a wall shot up between them.

“We’ll find another way,” he offers. “I have ideas.”

“No, perhaps this is for the best. I should take the time I need and think about this. I promise I’ll speak to you again on Tuesday.”

“Why?” He panics. “Why are you still going? I’m here. I’m–”

“Because I need time. I’ve never stopped thinking about the sentiment you shared before. Our relationship will have longevity if we stay friends. If we stay friends, we won't feel so hurt, longing to meet when it's hard, or expecting things and being disappointed.”

“Don’t you understand the life I’ve lived that led me to say that to you?”

Her breath stutters. He hears the hesitation.

“All the more reason I should respect your boundaries.”

The underlying guilt he hears in her voice makes him call her name again.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll go first.”

The call ends.

***

Time goes by in a daze following that day. Harry spends all weekend trying to pinpoint where she accepted the call to no avail. She’s always on his mind.

When he sleeps, two types of dreams torment him. On good days, she stays with him, but never long enough to soothe his aching heart. On bad days, she vanishes from his life without a trace she’d ever been there.

A delirium about her existence takes over that’s only soothed by screenshots of conversations with her, and the tattoos she suggested that remain on his skin.

The pleasures of life, of another person’s presence, are a curse now that they’re known to him.

So when Tuesday comes and his phone dings, he dissuades himself from answering. But the unknown string of letters awaiting him on his device haunts him.

When he reads the text message, there’s no denying his relief that she’s still contacting him.

They continue to talk, slipping back into their usual pattern. But there are changes. She never says anything flirtatious anymore. And the way he clings to her every word contrasts with the mutual nonchalance they share in their continued interactions.

Because when he’s alone, truly alone, his mind is dominated by thoughts of her.

He remembers her moans from that night like a siren’s song, and without fail, he drops everything he’s doing and gives in. The decorum he prides himself on falls into shambles from longing, desire, and loss. He strokes his cock more in the following months than he ever did during puberty. His sole saving grace is that he always does so at home, even if the fervour strikes him while he’s about.

She prides him on his new ability to disengage from situations without knowing the true underlying cause. He departs so he can be alone and settle his thoughts of her.

Countless times he brings himself to completion while imagining situations with her he’d never in a million years considered. A taste, a glimpse of what’s been unknown to him, consumes him.

Before long, his desires spill over into other aspects of his life. Like a trained dog, he’s instantly affected by the most mundane things she texts, or says while on the phone, because she’s said as much in his fantasy.

The harder he tries to bring himself to heel, to choke down everything he’s feeling, the fiercer it grips him.

He wants her to want him. He misses her blatant affection. But his poker face remains, as ironclad as he’s always presented it to be in his life outside a handful of moments. Even as he spirals deeper and darker.

Harry, I got new socks today.

He wishes he could tug them off. Promises to caress her ankles better than any fabric could.

I tried this cafe lately.

If only he could taste whatever she’d eaten on her lips. To press her into any table and devour something other than food.

It was so rainy ;;;;;

Rainy enough to leave her clothes socially unacceptable? For him to suck chilled droplets off her skin?

The thoughts are as pleasurable as they are tortuous. After all, he’ll never meet her. Perhaps with enough perverse actions he’ll burn out? That’s the only hope left for him. But he’s at his wits’ end six months later and there’s no sign of it cooling off.

He’s at a function with Malong on a Friday evening, trying to get drunk enough to quit thinking. The event is in a high-rise sixty floors up, with massive tinted windows on all sides flaunting the cityscape below.

Unfortunately, he’s been at the party for two hours already, and Malong has ruthlessly monitored his alcohol intake. To the point that a thimble of alcohol would feel like drowning in liquor.

When Harry gives up and approaches the bar, Malong drags him outside.

It’s frigid and dreary. The clouds will break open with thunder and rain in the next half hour. The streets are eerily quiet for a weeknight downtown.

“Harry, quit trying to drink so much! I need you sharp and focused tonight.”

He should’ve drunk at home, but then he would’ve thought of her. These days, he doesn’t trust himself to be alone with his thoughts.

“We’ll celebrate afterwards, so do your job until then,” Malong continues. “If anyone talks to you while we’re here, you’ve gotta pass them my card, okay?”

“What are you peddling this time? I thought you said I only have to stand with you?”

“And you are. Passing out a thing here or there is the same as standing.”

His glare bounces off Malong. His friend leans against the golden statue of a cog-wheel at the entrance and passes him an expensive-looking card.

“We’re here for my business. I’ve got a great one this time! I just need investors.”

Harry scans the print. “On-demand slipper service?”

“Yes.” Malong puffs up proudly. “Think of it like a subscription service for house slippers.”

“Nobody’s going to use this.”

“Of course they will! Think of all the times you’ve wanted slippers instead of shoes, yet you didn’t have the right kind for where you were going. That’s where I come in! My business will be there for people like that. Eventually, I’ll do themed slippers. I’m also planning to market the health benefits of changing slippers every week.”

Harry sighs very hard.

“Sure. Okay. How many cards are you handing out?”

“Three hundred. I foil-printed every card so I refuse to go home with any. You take two, I’ll take one.”

“Two only?”

“No.” Malong slaps most of the stack into Harry’s hand with a grin. “Two hundred.”

An hour later, when everything but breathing irritates him, Harry wants to go home. He’s weary of pretending to care about the host alongside Malong, who schmoozes for a modicum of the lifestyle he used to enjoy.

So, he tugs out his phone. His thumb hovers over the call button, but it’d be a terrible idea to phone his weirdo. She’s travelling for a few days for work, so they’ve spoken less than usual today. And he’s feeling it.

She said she’d be done with the proposal presentations by ten o’clock, which is about now. Yet, she hasn’t messaged.

“Harry,” Malong calls through gritted teeth. “These people won’t talk to me unless you say something first.”

His friend elbows him as they stand aside at the gala. Then he nudges him again in a gesture Harry understands means for him to glance up and smile, but he can’t be bothered.

“They won’t talk to you because you have nothing to offer them,” Harry replies while scrolling his phone.

When will there be a new message?

“Come on, man. I brought you as my partner for a reason. I need you to address all the people who want to talk to you, so I can talk to them.”

“When are you going to do something worthwhile with your life?”

“I’m trying right now.”

“This isn’t that. You haven’t learned a thing.”

“And you’re the same too! I thought you’d changed, but you won’t help me! You never help me.”

That’s the final straw of the night.

“What? Who’s helped you more than I have? Who?”

“You claim you have, but you haven’t!”

“You realize I bailed you out of jail, but you’re telling me such nonsense?”

“I practically begged you to do that, so don’t lord it over me! You wouldn’t have helped me otherwise.”

“How about you use your brain and think about everything that’s happened between us before you open your mouth again?”

That sets Malong off. “You’ve been especially insufferable lately, you know that? Quit taking your anger out on me!”

Malong storms off post-tantrum. Harry doesn’t have any patience left to follow.

Everyone around him is so ungrateful. Everyone except—He stops the thought there. Comparisons only make him miss her more. He’s meant to shake off his desires for her instead of slipping further into them.

Reconciling with the fact he’ll remain sober until he makes it home, Harry scans his messages again.

“A-Ahem. Hello? Harry Choi?”

He refreshes his messages instead of addressing whoever’s approached.

“Here he is. I told you he was over here!”

“Harry, how’s your father–”

There’re a slew of other voices but he ignores them all. Usually, he’d fake politeness, but that’s truly tiresome at the moment. He wants to drink enough to sleep dreamlessly once he makes it home. That’s it. When will it be appropriate to do that? After he attempts to assist Malong, maybe?

A gathering has formed around him. It’s full of people chatting amongst themselves as if he had spoken to any of them. Ironically Malong is nowhere to be seen, although the crowd he wanted has arrived. Harry reaches into his pocket for the cards and offers one to the person before him.

“Have this.”

The brown-haired woman snatches it up with delight. “Oh, is this your business card? Thank you so much!”

Another person rushes forward. “I’d love one too! Take one of mine.”

“So you know, it’s not my card,” Harry corrects, but it gets lost amongst the bustle of people clamouring over him to have one. As always nobody among them actually listens to him. He was never so sensitive to it before, but it depresses him to no end now.

His phone buzzes while he’s half-heartedly passing out cards.

I know you’re out too, but I’m almost done for the night! Wish me a safe trip back to my hotel! Hope I won’t have to swim there.

His spirits lift when he sees the photo beneath the message.

She’s beautiful in her black dress, posed in a lavish entrance hall. It’s raining heavily behind her.

He’s happy just to see her until he spots something in the background. A golden cog statue.

His eyes widen. A waiter with drinks passes by.

“Take these.”

He slaps the rest of Malong’s business cards into the bewildered man’s palm.

“Huh? Sir–”

Harry dashes out of the ballroom.

Stay put.

Why? I’ve no more work, remember? I’m trying to hail a cab and get out of this rain.

Just stay!

He bumps into someone and hurriedly apologizes without stopping. He slams the buttons for the elevator, but it climbs towards the sixtieth floor at a snail’s crawl.

How far are the stairs? He’s liable to trip rushing down them so it’s safer to take the elevator.

:( Every cab is full. How can I get back at this rate?

Can’t you listen to me and stay where you are?

I don’t want to freeze! Do you want a friend, or a popsicle? Lol

The elevator arrives and from its enormous glass windows, he can see the world outside. It’s dark, and most of the light comes from the city’s various buildings, streetlights, and the few cars that drive by. Rain savagely pelts the world outside, but he hunts for her. There are too many people wearing black, but he doesn’t stop searching while he has the vantage point.

Do me a favour. Look backwards.

What?

He spots the one person on their phone who turns around and glances about. His heart pounds as he tries to maintain his composure on the tortuously slow ride to the ground floor.

No way... Do you see me or something...?

With a chime, he’s free of the elevator. The race across the lobby and out into the rain feels as long as the elevator did.

The same person who’d glanced back tries to hail a cab, and he beelines for her. When he calls her name, she spins around with wide eyes.

The surprise he sees upon her face, the anxiety, it matches his own. Yet he steps forward.

Seeing her in person he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s pictured the moment more times than he cares to admit. Of her rushing over and linking her arms around him, and him doing the same. But there’s too much distance now for such a display. They’re frozen across from one another.

Her step forward breaks the trance. Her arms go around him in an embrace he’d assumed he’d lost. And he squeezes her back. As close as he possibly can without crushing her. Finally being able to touch her feels so good that he buries his face against her cold neck. She smells divine. Whichever soap and perfume she uses is as natural on her skin as air is in his lungs.

The rain has soaked her. She’s horribly cold, and he’s gradually freezing too, yet he’s never felt so warm. Her arms link tighter around him. He suppresses a shiver as one of her hands slips through his hair.

Then she eases away. It takes everything in him not to tug her back against him. Especially when she gives him a brilliant smile that completely disarms him.

He can’t believe his eyes. That she’s real despite touching her already. So he swipes a few water droplets off her cheek. While her skin is cold, it’s also soft. It’s really her.

“I think I used up all my luck for the year with this,” she shares shyly. “Suppose it’s a good thing I couldn’t catch a cab right away.”

“I’m glad you couldn’t.”

“Yes, well, I’m soaked and I’m only getting wetter, but hi Harry. It’s nice to meet you.” She gestures behind her. “I will need to catch my cab now.”

And just like that, she turns around and continues what she was doing. He’s drawn forward behind her as if they’re two magnets.

Rain pelts both of them, and he tries to keep his eyes off the way her silken dress clings to her damp skin.

She’ll leave if she gets in a cab. He feels that with certainty. Then they won’t spend any other time together. He can’t let that happen.

But how can he spend as much time with her as possible? The fastest way is to indebt her to him. Nobody who has a debt to repay leaves easily.

So, Harry strips off his coat and covers her wet attire with it. A good choice since she’s shivering.

“Oh, I appreciate it but now you’re getting drenched.” She touches her shoulder and tries to take it off, but his grasp stops her. An unspoken signal to keep it.

“Where’s your umbrella and coat?”

“I took an umbrella, but it was so hot I left my coat in my suitcase. I don’t want to risk opening my luggage in this weather, and I thought it’d be easier to catch a cab.”

His eyes drop to her left palm where the bag’s getting battered by the elements.

“As for my umbrella, the storm killed it.”

She points up the street, and he sees an overturned umbrella with snapped lining billowing further into the distance.

Although he was annoyed with Malong earlier, he’s thankful to him now. “I’ll drive you. Where are you going?”

“That’s kind of you, but it’s okay.”

She steps out of his touch and twists away to hail a cab again. However, she’s noticeably flushed.

Harry glances down at his attire. It fairs about as well as hers. The sole difference is social acceptance.

“Let me give you a ride,” he offers again.

“I have all my work materials with me, I wouldn’t want to burden you.”

“You standing out here freezing is burdening me.”

“I’ll live. Besides, I’m looking forward to putting my feet up after a long day. You want the same, right? Hurry home, we’ll talk later.”

He figured this would happen but not to this degree. All offers in his life have been transactional but that approach won’t work here. She’s an iron wall.

He tries again, “Let me take you where you’re going so I know you got there safely.”

“You hate mess in your car. I’d get water everywhere.”

“You’re more important than some water on my seats.”

“That’s new.” She smiles that dazzling smile again. “There you go tugging my heartstrings. I appreciate the thought, I do, but I’ll do this on my own. Since we’ve met, why don’t we get coffee tomorrow or something?”

She knows he doesn’t drink coffee. It’s a dismissive offer.

So, he takes the last, perhaps most childish route, and seizes her suitcase handle. He stalks towards his car with it.

“H-Hey! Harry!”

She runs after him, so he moves faster. By the time she catches up, he’s already closed her bag in his trunk.

He turns with the passenger door open for her.

“Okay! Gosh, you’re stubborn. Thank you for the ride.”

She eases past him into the seat, and as he closes the door, he relishes in the small victory.

***

Most of the drive is silent, with only the gentle ambiance of the vehicle’s heater and the rain hitting the windows. Harry refuses to turn on the radio as he doesn’t want to miss a single word she says. However, she seems content to sit quietly until they arrive. He has to attempt to start a conversation.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Long and exhausting. I had a transfer, a layover, and then my team had those presentations two hours after we landed. I can’t wait to get to my hotel and eat.”

Seems she hasn’t lost her passion for food.

“So your plans for the evening are eating?”

“Yes. Then I’m flopping right into bed and passing out. I’ve heard the hotel is amazing, I can’t wait to see it.”

Just the hotel?

“Have I sent you too many pictures of my place? I thought you’d be eager to visit.”

“Haven’t you considered that phrasing may be too forward?”

“I know what I said.”

The GPS on her phone tells him to make a right turn.

“There’s not much to do at your place,” she aptly deflects.

“If it’d bore you don’t come.”

She sits up in her seat. “Are you pouting?”

“I’m not. Haven’t I always entertained you?”

“Well, I’ll go if you say please.”

He looks at her, then turns back to the road.

“What’s this?” she giggles. “I thought you were a good boy, so I’m surprised you didn’t say it.”

“Please come over at least once during your trip.”

It’s momentarily quiet, the effect of his words landed. Yet, she turns and stares out the window.

“As far as I know, I don’t have much free time off from work, but I’ll try for you.”

His hands are tight on the steering wheel. Being in her presence is far more effective than thinking about her. Despite the innocent interaction, his skin feels tight.

“Pull up here,” she says. “That’s the place on our right.”

He can’t believe the drive is over. It was hardly a whole ten minutes. Still, he parks the car. All the while trying to figure out another way to stay with her.

“Thanks for the ride. I’ll message you later.”

Harry shoves off his seatbelt and leans across to unlatch hers. Her hands are faster.

“I’ve got it. Thank you.”

The latch clicks. Cold air sweeps over him as she leaves the car. The rain is so much harsher than it was ten minutes ago.

She taps the trunk, but he gets out of the car instead of popping it. He removes her suitcase and gestures towards the hotel.

There’s nothing subtle about his stubbornness. He can tell as much from the look she gives him, but he pretends not to see it.

The hotel sports a vista of trees, foliage, and flowers, yet its quaint arched, glass vestibule opens up into an expansive modernist lobby. Gleaming marble, pristine lights, and a respectable mix of wicker and fabric furnishing promise every patron both comfort and luxury. It’s utterly ordinary to him, but his weirdo gasps once she’s inside. Her glittering, awe-filled expression is as adorable as it is enchanting.

She buttons his blazer across her damp clothes as she approaches the front desk. Harry stands back to give her some privacy.

However, twenty minutes later when she hasn’t come to collect her bag, he wonders if something’s gone wrong. He glances at her.

“Please, can you check again?” she asks. “The company I work for guaranteed my accommodation. My name’s spelled…”

He shouldn’t eavesdrop. Yet, from the sound of it, she may need to stay somewhere else tonight. He folds his arms and taps his foot to keep himself occupied.

If she can’t check in, would she stay with him? How long should he wait before it’s appropriate to suggest that?

And if she stays at his place...

He clears his throat. Now’s not the time to get carried away. He can’t rush home as easily as before. Not while she’s here.

Another ten minutes go by before he approaches the counter and stops beside her.

“Is everything okay? If you’re having trouble checking in—”

She flashes him her hotel keycard with a smile. “All good! I’ve got it settled. They found me.”

It’s a good thing, yet a strange sensation burns his throat. His eyes flick over the important information on the key. Her room is on the twelfth floor. Number 1207.

“As I’m practically freezing to death, I’m heading up now. Thanks again, Harry.”

He means to go with her as he still has her suitcase. The kiss she plants on his cheek is unexpected. He lets go, and she snatches it from his hand then retreats into the elevator. When he recovers he follows her, but arrives just as the elevator closes.

Without a keycard, it’s impossible to interact with the elevator to go anywhere except down. So, he lingers feeling possessed. 

“I’m soaked too. Isn’t it too cold to leave me here?” he grumbles. But with his senses returned thanks to her disappearance, he can head home and shower.

Though thanks to the lingering sensation of her lips on his skin, he knows that won’t be all he does. 

He’s halfway to the door when a hand seizes his arm. He glances back. She’s the one holding him. Her expression is genuinely worried.

“I thought you knew I was joking. You aren’t really leaving like that, are you?”

***

Her hotel room is a one-bedroom apartment equipped with everything from a sofa to a kitchenette.

As her guest, she tells him he can shower first, but he declines. He’d rather she were warm. Besides, the cold keeps his deplorable thoughts at bay.

When he showers after her, the ulterior motives of his mind grip him. She used her own shampoo and soaps, so it smells richly of her inside the tall stall.

His cock stays hard although he washes his body innocently. He grits his teeth to keep himself in check, lest he truly pass the point of no return.

Thankfully, he’s flaccid once he’s dried his hair, but the ache settles in his stomach like stones. He tugs on his boxers and somewhat dry pants doing his damndest to ignore inappropriate thoughts. His shirt, unfortunately, is too far gone.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Harry, I’ve left a shirt for you on the dresser once you’re done.”

That solves the problem then.

He steps out. She’s adjusted the heat since he got in the shower. It’s warmer in the bedroom than it was before.

A large men’s-sized shirt awaits him on the dresser as she said. It’s well-worn. He blocks out any notion of another man in her life who gave her the shirt she’s lending to him.

But then whose shirt is it? 

“Before you misunderstand, I have a variety of shirts like that for different summer outfits and pyjamas.”

She leans, arms folded, against the doorway. Her new attire, dark leggings, and a hoodie, look vastly comfier than what she had on before.

It also hides virtually all of her skin and her figure. A miracle. Perhaps he can survive the visit without doing something foolish.

There’s a deliberate effort from her to keep her eyes on his face. He remembers he’s shirtless.

“I’m the only one who’s ever worn that,” she says. “So change comfortably.”

“I wasn’t assuming anything.”

“Uh-huh.” She points at her brows. “That’s why that crease between your brows vanished suddenly, right?”

“It’s there.”

“It’s not, but nice try—Oh. There it is.”

“Why are you standing there?” He’s flustered and refuses to look in her direction. “Shouldn’t you leave your guest to change in peace?”

“Sure. You were just taking a while, so I came to check on you. I’ll make us something to drink. Meet me in the living room.”

Harry slips on the shirt. However, when it comes to the last button he’d usually snap shut, he leaves it loose. After all, you have to look at least once to intentionally ignore what you choose not to see.

He sinks onto the sofa in the living room as she finishes making two warm drinks. Scanning the hotel room again, it’s decent enough to live in.

“Seems you work for a fine company?” Harry remarks.

“Don’t get me started. I’ve had enough chatter about work for the evening.”

“Just an observation.”

“Yes, well.” She hands him a warm mug. “We can observe more interesting things, can’t we?”

His mind whirls at the suggestive sentence although she likely didn’t mean it like that. So, he maintains a straight face.

She settles beside him on the sofa. He takes the swaying cup out of her palm, passing it back only once she’s comfy.

“I said it earlier, but I’m happy I’ve met you, Harry.”

His name always sounds so good coming from her lips.

“The feeling is mutual.”

She smiles. “Maybe it sounds cliche but I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“I’m real. You aren’t dreaming.”

“Yeah? Maybe I should affirm that?”

“Go ahead.”

He holds her gaze, even as uncertainty causes her to pause.

So, when she sets her drink aside and reaches out, his breath shakes.

She touches his face. Her fingers slide over his skin. His eyes slip closed. Such a simple touch makes his heart quiver. Her thumb sweeps across his cheekbone. Two of her fingers tuck under his chin. It goes on far longer than appropriate, but he’s longed for her.

“Are you still checking?”

“No...”

He opens his eyes to see what face she makes, but she forces her eyes elsewhere. Her hands retreat, wrapping safely around the beverage she sips at. Harry’s left with a pleasant, hazy feeling.

She must feel it too. The attraction. Otherwise, why would she be so quick to turn away? Why would she have reached out, to begin with?

“Are you nervous?” he asks.

“Honestly? Yeah. I’m trying so hard not to be awkward.”

“Don’t feel pressured. Just sitting here with you is enough.”

“But I want to talk to you,” she fidgets. “I’ve always thought about all the things I could tell you once I see you.”

“Talk about anything. I’ll listen to everything if it’s you.”

The silence between them feels electric.

“I’m still surprised. I don’t know how to act.”

“However you want.”

She stares at him again, but her expression is tragic. Saddened. Such honest affection, such care, he’s starved for it.

“You look tired. You know that? Are you sleeping okay?”

“No. Not lately.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yes.” He could tell her everything he’s struggled with at this moment, but the timing isn’t right. “Talk to me. Tell me about your day.”

“That’s so simple.”

“I like simple.”

And so, she talks. She recounts in great detail her flights over, how the layover was, and every mundane thing that happened in between that. The things she saw that led her to message him, and the interesting things she saw.

All the while, while Harry listens, he studies her face. Commits every unfamiliar expression he sees to mind. At one point she props her feet up onto the coffee table, and he shifts them across his lap instead. She stays there with him.

For the first time in months, he’s at peace.

It’s well past midnight when their cups are empty and a natural lull falls in their conversation.

The frequency of her sleepy blinks and the growing delay in her responses betray her tiredness. He’s drifting off too when her thumb rubs the second button on his shirt.

“I can’t believe you did these all the way up.”

“I’ve left one.”

“Still. I never fasten that many. Aren’t you stuffy?”

The beautiful image his mind provides floors him.

He’s aware of her proximity. If she leaned in and undid more buttons, he’d let her. He’d let her do anything as long as it keeps her around longer. But the night is drawing to an end. She’s too sleepy to keep him company.

“Stop fighting it,” Harry suggests. “I’ll leave once you’re asleep.”

The room needed a keycard to open, so she’ll be safe when the door shuts behind him.

“That’s why I don’t want to sleep,” she admits. “It’ll be sad to wake up without you.”

“Do you know what you’re saying? How sleepy are you?”

“Sleepy enough to test my luck.”

There are so many things he wishes to say then. But of those things he feels he should say, there are extremely few.

No matter the depth of their closeness, they’ve each taken a step back. A line exists that he fears to cross lest she drift farther away. So he relents.

“...Then I’ll wait a while.”

Her palm settles on his arm, then she doses off.

He examines her as respectfully as he can despite the desire building inside him. Caresses her cheek as she did to him, amazed she’s so close.

His mind is blissfully empty.

This hunger for the touch of another person, he hopes this will be the first and last time he struggles with it. But perhaps, it’s because he’s unaccustomed to feeling anything from contact with another that this is so addictive.

He’s spent his whole life denying himself, but he doesn’t have to do that with her. Or at least, hadn’t had to until the rejection. Yet still, he’s here tripping over himself to catch her interest.

She still feels something for him too, doesn’t she? In person there’s no hiding it like she can in calls and messages.

But how can he coax that out of her? Directness, suggestiveness, she’s danced around it all. So what’s next?

Coming onto her? Pressing her at every opportunity hoping she’ll cave and reciprocate? Or perhaps throwing caution to the wind and tugging her against him?

He can’t stay here any longer. Illicit thoughts fill his mind, and he’s still pent up from earlier.

So, he extricates himself from under her and fetches a blanket from the bedroom. He drapes it over her gently before gathering his things.

“Harry…? Wow. It’s really you.”

He’s tugging on his shoes when he hears that. She stands behind him bundled in the blanket. However, she doesn’t seem entirely lucid. It’s like instinct more than anything else prompted her over.

He smiles. “You said that already.”

“I’m amazed again.”

Would she hug him again if he makes the offer?

“Is that why you’re standing so far?”

“Yes,” she tugs the sheets tighter around her. “I shouldn’t do anything else inappropriate to you.”

His disappointment is heavy on his shoulders.

But what else would she say? There’s a line between them. Now the only place he can have her is in dreams. The same dreams where she haunts him as much as she delights him.

Still…

He straightens with his shoes on. “Did I say you couldn’t?”

Harry opens his arms following that, and she steps into them. He squeezes her far longer than the first hug they shared. Her fingers comb through the hair at his nape. Goosebumps travel down his back.

“I’m glad I could see you,” she whispers. “Have a good night.”

It’s harder to pretend the words don’t affect him in person.

“Don’t you have more time for me while you’re here?”

“You’re cute. Very cute. I’d be a terrible host to keep you while I’m this tired.”

Another dismissal. Especially when she eases out of the hug.

It’s an unbearable goodbye. That thing he’s always found so simple before.

“Drive safe.”

She won’t bend. He has to leave.

Did he send her off in such a similarly brusque manner before? Is that why he’s paying for it now?

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks. Then corrects himself. “I want to see you tomorrow. Tell me when to be here.”

“Two o’clock. We can have lunch somewhere around that time. I should be done with work by then.”

“Okay.”

He can’t stall anymore.

When she smiles brightly, a vicious envy of her co-workers ensnares him. They’ll see her before he does. He hopes she doesn’t smile like that at others.

When the door closes an idea comes to him. There’s at least one way to encounter her even if all she does is work the rest of the weekend.

He heads downstairs.

***

The next day they meet for lunch as agreed upon at a new-age restaurant well known for its paninis and salads.

His weirdo arrives in a sundress and Harry wears something casual he knows he looks good in. She excitedly goes over her plans for the rest of her afternoon now that work is done. She’s got the rest of today and Sunday mostly to herself unless she’s called in since the proposal went through.

Thanks to that information he knows when she’s leaving. By early Monday morning she’ll be flying back home.

Last night, once his mind was clear, he vowed to make the most out of their time together. So, unlike last night, their atmosphere is tension-free. He follows her flow, although he can’t perfectly match her energy.

Lost in conversation, the server stops by four times before they finally look at their menus.

While he’s deciding which salad to order, a foot touches his ankle under the table. His date is the only one across from him, and it was likely an accident.

But the touch comes again and lingers. He glances at her but she’s reading the menu in utter nonchalance. Under the table her toes knead and stroke. His heart pounds. The foot play continues as high as his calves. He wants more.

The menu crinkles in his grip as he tries to maintain his composure. Whenever she presses down, he pushes into her touch. The higher her foot travels, the harder it is to keep his breaths relaxed. Before long his menu is forgotten. All he does is stare at her. Yet, she doesn’t glance up once.

Whatever relationship they have, it doesn’t include something like this. However, he doesn’t intend to stop her. Not now that her attention’s returned to him. The soft presses, although nice, aren’t enough. He laments that there’s an entire table bolted into the ground between them.

Harry eases his legs further into her reach so she has better access to his body. Her foot pauses. He awaits the next touches with bated breath. His pants are tight. Something so innocuous shouldn’t entice him, but that seems to be his new reality.

Too bad she draws her feet away.

“What are you doing?”

The question escapes him before he can think about it. But it’s less direct than his following thought, which is to demand she come back.

“Sorry, I’m absentminded today,” she turns the page on her menu. “I’ll mind my manners.”

This is how it usually ends. A slight push, a momentary respite, but never complete fruition. Even in his dreams, she’s like that. Pushing him as close to the edge as possible without relief.

If she keeps dipping her toe back over the line, then he can do the same, can’t he? That way they’ll continue such an amicable meal together, although he’s jealous of the very water passing through her lips. If he can’t push too, then how can he manage his sanity?

“You don’t need to.” Harry asserts.

“To what?”

“Mind your manners.”

She meets his gaze. A subtle red tint colours her cheeks.

“Whoa, Harry! What are you doing here? Who’s that?”

He swears inwardly when he hears Malong’s voice. And swears again when his date glances at Malong so easily when it took so long for her to look at him.

Malong invites himself to their table, sliding in right beside her. The same place Harry hadn’t dared sit.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Malong, right?” she finishes.

“Oh, you know me? Haha, I feel shy.” Harry glares at Malong. “You two out for lunch? I heard you left the gala early last night, Harry, and I wondered why, but I suppose I know now.”

“Did I take him from you?” She giggles. “I won’t apologize though.”

Malong pauses, momentarily astonished. Harry’s mood plummets through the floor.

“Ahem,” Malong clears his throat. “You’re the one who’s been chatting with that grump these days, right? Tain mentioned it before.”

“That’d be me, I hope? I think?”

“It is,” Harry affirms.

Malong leans in. “We’re practically friends through this cantankerous guy, so, why don’t we exchange contact information?”

“Oh, um—”

“Please?”

“Absolutely not.” Both of them turn to Harry. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I’m on break from one of my jobs.”

“Then get going. Your break shouldn’t affect others.”

“Are you properly employed now?” she inquires.

“Quit talking to him. He won’t go away otherwise.”

“You’re being mean to your friend who’s just worried about you?” Malong turns back to her. “Come on, I promise you’ll want to know at least one other person he knows if he goes off the map.”

Malong tugs out his phone and slides it towards hers. Harry snatches up her device.

“Enough Jo.”

“Are you her dad? She can answer.”

“I appreciate the offer,” she starts. “But I’m fine without it. Harry and I already have a mutual acquaintance.”

“Like who? Tain?” He abandons her phone with Harry to press more on what she’s shared. “Even if you have him, think about it. Don’t you need an emergency contact for this guy? He’s always disappearing.”

“Then she knows better than to pick you.”

His weirdo’s watch buzzes. So does the phone in Harry’s hand. She stands upon reading it.

“Sorry, I have to take this.”

She excuses herself and Harry’s left at the table with his friend.

“If you stare at her any harder, you’ll punch holes through her face.” Malong remarks.

Harry sips his water, then measuredly sets it down. “Why are you bothering me when you stormed off yesterday?”

“That was yesterday. Today’s today! Besides, I thought she’d catch fire or something if I didn’t sit down.” Malong leans back in his seat. His eyes glint with mirth. “You want something from her, don’t you? Judging by how casual your conversation is, you two aren’t dating. I can’t believe I’m seeing this. Someone as stiff as you—”

“Focus on Audrey. Don’t bother me.”

Malong stiffens. “Why are you bringing her up?”

“You know why.”

“I won’t take that to heart since I’ve seen something so interesting–”

“Malong, since you won’t understand from context, get lost.”

“But if I do that nobody’s here to tell you about things, right?” His eyes flick over Harry’s shoulder. “You might want to collect your date. She’s pretty and someone other than me noticed too.”

Harry glances back. Although she left for a call, now she’s talking to some guy near the entrance of the restaurant. The stranger is showing her something on his device but she shakes her head. Her turned posture tells him she’s trying to leave the conversation, but the stranger’s in her personal space.

Harry arrives at her side. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, Harry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you look for me. He says he’s lost.”

His eyes flick over the stranger and the man straightens away from her. When he takes a step back, Harry understands that being “lost” is an excuse.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take up her time.” The young man sweats.

“Then leave.”

“Aha, well I’m just lost so—”

“Then ask the staff.” Harry seizes her hand. “Come.”

He leads her back to the table. Unfortunately, Malong’s still there, shifting guiltily in his seat. Harry surveys the table suspiciously but nothing seems out of place. He’s about to tell Malong to leave again, but he stands before there’s a chance to.

“My break’s nearly over so I have to head back. Thanks for having me.”

“We didn’t.”

“Don’t be like that. I’ll put in a good word for you with the chef.”

“Wait, you work here?” she gasps.

“Yeah! Temporarily. Which is why I thought Harry was here to see me until I saw you.”

Then as fast as he came, Malong’s gone. Unfortunately, so is Harry’s appetite.

“I didn’t know he worked here,” she apologizes. “I picked this place because of the reviews.”

“You couldn’t have known. I didn’t know until just now.”

“Well, we haven’t ordered yet. Want to swap restaurants?”

As much as he wants to, they’re already here. So he shrugs.

“He’s already seen us. Hopefully, he won’t come over again.”

Resigned, Harry reaches out for the menu but her grasp stops him.

“Come.”

She tugs him to his feet, and he stumbles behind her before he gets his bearings.

“Where are we going?”

“To eat somewhere else.”

“We don’t have to.”

“You’re bad at it, you know? Telling people no, that you’re uncomfortable, and meaning it. I’d like you to enjoy your time with me. You don’t have to sit here and bear it.”

Ah. So, that’s it. That’s why he feels as strongly about her as he does. Why it’s been nigh impossible to shake off his feelings.

Because she notices and responds to him. Because everyone else he’s ever known has told him it’ll be over after some minor discomfort. Everyone. Rachel. Tain. Big Guy. His parents. Everyone.

Yet, now that he understands, now what? How can he ever be the same again? Just because he knows doesn’t mean she’ll stay.

The free spirit and the puppet—The travelling merchant and the merman—The bird and the scarecrow... Such diametrically opposed concepts coexist together in fiction and in fiction only.

He’s glad she’s striding ahead of him because he doesn’t know what kind of expression he’s making.

***

Following lunch, Harry walks her back to her hotel. She says goodbye to him in the lobby, but they head in the same direction. When they’re on the elevator together, and he remains after she’s scanned her keycard, she turns to him.

“Harry?”

He reaches into his pocket, taps his keycard on the elevator keypad, and clicks the highest floor.

“I’m also heading back to my room,” he says. It’s nice to see her flustered. She wears it well.

“Were you staying here this whole time?”

“I’ll leave that to your imagination. Fantasizing is what you excel at.”

Her blush deepens, but she turns away. “I doubt I’m the only one excelling at that lately.”

He arches a brow wondering if he heard that right. But she doesn’t comment again and her gaze remains stubbornly forward.

They arrive on her floor, but he steps off with her.

“Why are you leaving?”

“What? Haven’t I told you to think about how things come across before you say them?”

“I do. Aren’t you free the rest of the day?”

“I thought we finished our plans with lunch, but if you have time, I’d love to be with you.”

“Then come up.”

Her phone rings for the second time that morning and she apologizes as she steps away to take the call. When she returns her expression tells him something’s called her away.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been called in. I’m sorry to vanish so suddenly.”

Time’s likely of the essence for her, so he opens his arms instead. Unlike last night, she hesitates a second, before stepping into them. Her arms come up, and his settle around her waist.

“Let me know when you’re done.”

“I will.”

She moves away but Harry holds onto her. Vividly imagines himself dipping forward and dragging her into the elevator. Instead, he slides his extra key card into her back pocket. Only then does he let go.

“Come up later. It’s on the forty-fifth floor. I’ll wait for you.”

Her phone rings again. She sighs but answers it.

“Yes? I’m on my way.” She waves at him one last time before stalking away to her room. “I left it in the joint file for everyone to access but if you need another copy...”

Eventually, she’s too far away to hear. He calls the elevator and leans against the wall on his ride up.

His hotel room is more extravagant than hers, yet as he stands alone in it, it feels vacant. Empty and unlived in despite the luxury.

She’ll be a while regardless of how he feels. There’s no sense in standing around aimlessly. So he strips off his clothing and unzips the overnight bag he’d haphazardly tossed onto the recliner after booking the room last night.

The private balcony has a pool, and it’s about time he used it.

***

Post evening shower, Harry finishes dinner alone and has several drinks. The room service is impeccable considering he booked the suite on such short notice.

Although he has a good buzz going, he’s spinning ice cubes around in his third glass of whiskey while he checks his phone. He hasn’t heard from his weirdo, and his message has no response. They got back to the hotel around four in the afternoon. It’s ten now. Shouldn’t she be done with whatever’s occupied her?

He sets his glass aside. “When did I become like this? It’s frustrating.”

“I can keep you company if you’d like?” Piu Piu chimes from Harry’s original smartphone. “We could play a game? Or what about a roleplay? You can be you and I can play—”

“I don’t need that.”

“Are you sure? You can get practice in for—”

“I just forgave you, but you’re testing your luck?”

Piu Piu’s dead silent.

It’d be better to take a night stroll than stay here any longer. A run would be better but he’d have to pick up a change of clothes to do so.

“Stay here. I’ll be back.” He scoops up his keycard and wallet.

“I can’t believe you keep going places without me,” Piu Piu shouts. “At least plug me in you meanie!”

The night is quiet, and the air is warm. Harry walks the length of the hotel’s secluded, man-made beach. Sand slides over his feet and sandals. The gentle lull of the water, the dark navy sky transitioning into blackness, it’s as tranquil as it is picturesque. The entire beach is his to roam. Not another soul crosses his path.

He has time to think. Yet, no matter how much he searches within, or how he pictures his future, he sees his weirdo there. The unbearably colourless, monotonous path he’s walked throughout his life is coloured by her. He smiles and laughs so effortlessly in her presence that he’s terrified how he’d ever gone without.

He wants to take the risk and confess again, even if it leaves him open to heartbreak. Maintaining the status quo isn’t what he wants to do with her. She means more to him than that.

He can’t stand aside and watch her be with someone else if that person cannot be him.

If such a horrible future comes to pass, then he knows how disastrous it’ll be. Whether she has a partner or spouse, he’d drop everything and rush to her side as if he were that person. He’s not strong enough to do otherwise.

If he stays in this nebulous relationship, the real harm will come. Because he knows deep in his soul, he’ll go to her when she’s low and she’ll do the same. The mistakes will pile up, and so will the resentment. Undeniable attraction will bring them together and tear them apart just as many times.

He already sees the beginnings of it. What will it be like five years from now? Twenty years? Or perhaps even forty?

It’s eleven at night when his phone goes off.

She asks where he is and fifteen minutes later she arrives wearing a simple cover-up and a skirt. His eyes fall to the run in her pantyhose, just hardly visible where her skirt clothes her thighs.

“The beach closed half an hour ago,” is her opening comment. “We shouldn’t be out here.”

He hadn’t known. No wonder it’s so empty.

“We can go inside.”

“It’s okay. I’ve always wanted to walk like this with you. As if we’re the only two in the world.”

“And if we’re caught?”

“We’ll run,” she insists. “Though I’ve worked all day, so you may have to carry me.”

“Should I check if I can handle that?”

He reaches for her but she squeals and darts away. He chases her across the sand and scoops her up. She’s the perfect weight in his arms. They’re face-to-face.

“I can handle it,” Harry whispers as he smiles.

“So you can...”

The spark between them sets his heart aflame. He leans in closer, but she taps his shoulder.

“Can you set me down, please?”

Reluctantly, he does. He’s ready to head inside, but she initiates a new stroll. They walk up and down the beach. She dips her toes in the water.

“Is it cold?”

She splashes his ankle playfully with the tepid water instead of answering. It’s a pleasant temperature. The water’s cooling off from the day.

He wonders how secluded the beach is. Sand is easy to wash off. If only it were more difficult, he could wash up with her. How soft would her skin be sliding over his in the shower?

He swallows.

“Say,” she begins. “If I asked, would you take me somewhere?”

“Yes, but we’d have to hire a car.”

“That’s fine. There’s a place I’ve always wanted to see.”

***

It turns out the place she’s always wanted to see is Harry’s home. 

“I’ve seen plenty of pictures but it’s surprisingly exciting to be here.”

“Watch your step. Your feet are wet from the beach.”

“I’ll grab onto you if I’m about to fall.”

She wobbles while taking off her shoes, so he settles an arm around her waist.

“Don’t wait until you’re falling. Avoid it to begin with.”

She frees herself and wanders away. As she enters and gazes around in awe, he wonders if she’ll complain about how empty it is now that she’s seen it.

“Thanks for the invitation. I didn’t want to be another person barging in and making themselves at home in your space.”

“You’re always welcome.”

“Am I?” She grins back at him. “Then what’s your code?”

“Your birthday.”

“Oh.” She looks away. “You should probably change that.”

“I won’t. It’s too troublesome.”

He hangs his coat up, and his heart jumps when he turns to see she’s vanished. He finds her in the kitchen staring into his fridge.

“There’s actual food in here.”

“You told me to eat better.”

“It’s still nice to see that you are.” He steps close. She moves out of reach. “Can I look around some more?”

“Look around to your heart’s content.”

She explores about taking in his space.

“Is it that exciting?”

“Everything’s an extension of you, so yes. You can tell a lot about a person from their surroundings.”

She pauses when she reaches the piano. Her fingers pass over it affectionately.

“Will you play for me? I’ve always wanted to hear you play in person.”

He hasn’t touched the piano in a while, so he’s bound to be rusty. Yet, he wants to meet her expectations. So, he seats himself on the piano bench. She sets the lid down and takes a seat on top of the instrument.

“I’ve got the best view from here.”

“I’m a soloist. The lid should stay up.”

“I plan to accompany you, hence lid down.”

“Do you have an instrument?”

“I’m feeling good. Maybe I’ll improv with my voice.” She clears her throat. “As long as you don’t tease me.”

With that in mind he picks a song she’s most likely to know the lyrics to and sets about playing a slower, piano rendition of it. His fingers travel along the keys, gentle, and light, although he plays with passion. The vibrant music fills the space.

And when he realizes she won’t sing, the piece transitions into the piece he worked on for her. However the melody is slower, an elegantly building crescendo. He delivers the piece based on the emotion he wishes to convey. It surpasses where he’d left off in his composition.

The delicate tune becomes something grief-stricken. Loud. Commanding. Something faster. And at its peak, following a second of silence, it sinks into something consumed by longing. A tale of unfulfilled wants and denial. Of madness. And then, an exquisite tale of affection. Every note speaks of a chance for something beautiful that’s always been unknown to him.

A healing song that conjures a symphony’s worth of instrumentation across a single instrument. The emotional piece is as much a story as it is a serenade.

Then the last note rings out. He releases himself from the music with a breath.

He meets her mesmerized gaze. “In the end, you didn’t sing.”

“I thought about it, but your playing was too beautiful to interrupt.”

Her eyes are dewy. He stands to move her off the piano, but then they’re as close as they were when he lifted her earlier. Her gaze shakes, and after a time, she looks away.

It’s been the trend since they met. He can’t stand being crushed by it anymore.

“Is there something more interesting over there than me?” Harry asks as he leans closer.

She rests a hand against his chest to make space between them. He’s never given someone the power to destroy him, and yet she has it all. One sentence, one gesture, can grind him into dust.

“I’m hopping down now. Can you step back please?”

But he doesn’t.

“Harry?” Her breath is uneven when she calls him that time. “Please. I’m trying to maintain the line.”

“Is that why you haven’t been as forthcoming as you usually are?”

“...Do you blame me? I tease you but, getting hurt once changed me. Although I try not to dwell on it. It’s late. I’ll get going–”

“It’s too late to say you haven’t crossed the line. Or are you the type that dines and dashes in relationships?”

Her face heats. After so long, he has his answer. That she remembers.

“...I wasn’t in my right mind then.”

“Good. Stay that way.”

His hand slides up the back of her neck and into her hair. She blushes but doesn’t pull away.

He wants to tease her, but he’s at his limit. Has been for some time. Yet, if he can push a little more, if she loses her composure while her dewy eyes give him an indignant look, he’ll feel so satisfied.

He needs her, and surveys her with that blatant fact on display.

Between her legs is a perfectly spaced gap for him...