Pirouette [h.s.]

chapter 16

// Your little hand's wrapped around my finger

And it's so quiet in the world tonight. //

"Never Grow Up" -Taylor Swift

Harry's POV

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I knew the very moment that I heard the trolley roll through that I was fucked. I knew the very moment she asked if I was at Lombard that I was fucked. I knew the very moment she looked disappointed when I said I was busy that I was fucked...

I am so fucked.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to reel them right back in. Blowing up is not at all what I intended to do; not how I intended to tell her. Especially not when she's celebrating her fucking birthday. Phoebe's a smart girl, she knows that she saw me; I'd be stupid to think she didn't. I felt her pull and I know she felt it, too. That's why I had to get up and walk away - I wasn't ready to explain.

God, Tate is going to kill me.

We had been sitting at his house a few days ago, Maisie's head resting in my lap while I pet her ears.

"Bro, have you told her yet?" He asked, as if it was the easiest, most casual thing in the world.

I grimaced, "No," and spoke up before he had the chance to butt in, "I'm going to. I know I need to."

"Man, c'mon. You can't just keep him hidden from everyone."

We'd been talking about how different Phoebe feels. How she makes my stomach knot up from afar, but the moment her delicate hands are on my body, I evaporate into thin air. How her voice echoes in my ears, replaying over and over, first thing in the morning, in the middle of the afternoon, as I lay in bed at night. How I crave the taste of her lingering on my lips, the feeling of her soft, soft skin below my fingertips. I want to memorize her - commit every inch of her body, her voice, her essence, to memory so that it never goes away.

Okay, so I didn't tell Tate all of that. But we did talk about how quickly I've fallen for my siren girl. It wasn't even a fall at all; more like a jump. Willing. Adrenaline rush.

I pushed back the curls from my forehead with a sigh and Maisie hopped down to escape the rising tension, "I know, Tate. I know. I'm just scared how she'll react. What if she's disgusted or something? I'd lose my shit. There's no way I could take that again."

Tate rolled his eyes and I found myself subconsciously reaching out to poke his side as if he was the pretty little thing constantly swimming around in my mind. I stopped, thankfully, before I made an absolute fool of myself.

"You gotta give her more credit than that. What makes you think she'll be disgusted?" He asked, as if he was disgusted himself by the insinuation. Rightfully so.

I shrugged, "You just can't be too careful."

"No, you're just hiding him away because you're too scared of being open." He sounded nearly angry, an exasperated sigh falling raggedy from his lips, "Because all of your shit is trivial until it comes to him. He's the one real thing and you're a fuckin' coward." A finger got jabbed into my chest, "But guess what, boss man, that's not fair to him. You hide him away from everyone and everything. How do you think he'd feel about that?"

And to think a few days later I'd accuse Phoebe of not opening up. Fucking hypocrite.

Tate was right and I knew he was right. That doesn't mean I responded well to his accusation, though. We had sat in tense silence for entirely too long before we both stood up, him storming to his room, me storming out the front door.