Bad Friend

7- Truth Is

The next time Harry found me was in the library.

Keira had a male friend over, and not wanting to disturb them, I found solace at a small table tucked between book stacks in the library's basement level. It was quiet down here, everything calm and peaceful. It was the kind of atmosphere I needed to work on my sketches. I probably should've been doing schoolwork, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. So I left my textbooks behind and packed my sketchbook, my favorite set of colored pencils, and a new eraser in my backpack before I left to work on the design that had been stumping me for a while now. Normally, I didn't have a hard time creating new designs, but after my dad had tasked me with making something that was good enough to ink on him, everything I drew just felt mediocre or uninspired. Today, though, I thought I would take a break from designing a tattoo for my dad and working on perfecting my flower detailing. After about an hour, I had a bouquet of roses and some smaller flowers with petals flying in nonexistent wind.

As I worked on a new sketch, I heard someone sit down at the seat across from me, but I didn't look up, thinking it was just some other student looking to get work done. I continued to work in my sketchbook, attempting to master the many layers that peonies had until a cough came from the other side of my table. Surprised to find Harry sitting across from me, I jumped a little in my seat.

It was too early for him to be here. Harry usually went months before making a surprise appearance, but it had only been about three weeks since we'd been face to face.

I silently gave him a once over, noting the white button down that was maybe a little too open down the front for anyone but Harry, somehow making it work with his matching swallow tattoos on his collarbones and array of necklaces that sat against his chest. He was still wearing his sunglasses, as if that would somehow mask his identity, and his hair was still the same length, a little on the long side and curling around his neck and ears. He looked good, great even, but that was nothing new. Harry always looked good.

But despite his good looks, I was still mad at him. Turning my head back to my sketchbook, I ignored him, trying my best to fight the urge to sneak another look at him. Harry and I sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, waiting for me to say something. Joke's on him, though, I wasn't going to be the first one to break.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" Harry finally asked. His voice sounded strained, but I didn't look up to find out.

"We can talk here," I told him, picking up a pink colored pencil to start shading in my flower.

"No, I mean—" He paused, and I assumed it was to run a frustrated hand through his hair. "I mean somewhere more private."

I set the colored pencil down for something a little darker. "We can't go to my room right now. This is the best you're gonna get."

I kept coloring, and Harry kept quiet. I meant it when I said I wouldn't be the one to talk first. If he wanted to talk to me, then I would listen, but I wasn't necessarily in a conversational mood. The time I dedicated to sketching and working on new designs was precious to me, and Harry knew that.

The only sound for the next few minutes was my pencil scratching against paper and the low hum of muffled conversation happening throughout the rest of the library's basement. It might have been incredibly awkward or uncomfortable for some, but I was used to prolonged silence, had become used to it growing up spending hours in a tattoo shop with a father who loved one word answers. I could go a very long time without saying a word, and Harry knew that too.

"Could you—" Harry put a hand on mine, stopping me from coloring my peony. "Could you stop? Look at me? Please?"

Sighing, I set my pencil down. I lifted my eyes to his, then back down to where his hand was still on top of mine. Harry quickly removed his hand and sat back down in his seat, a slight furrow set between his brows. Resting my chin in my hands, I gave him my full attention.