Desolate - h.s. ✓

° five °

Opening the front door, I almost instantly noticed Harry sitting on my front porch the way he had said he would be. I had truly expected him to be sitting on one of the steps that led up to my porch, but instead he was simply sitting on the doormat in front of the door. I had no idea how it was comfortable, but he looked relieved the moment he had glanced up, his green eyes focusing on me immediately.  It was clear to me that he was upset, his eyes red, puffy, and glossy. I was almost certain he still had tears brimming in his eyes so it was clear something was incredibly wrong.

He stood up, wiping his eyes quickly. I watched as he tried to glance anywhere but my face for a few moments, Harry staring down at his hands as he stood in front of me. Something between us felt different than I was used to. Or, so I thought until he began speaking.

"You said two minutes," he told me.

"I did," I agreed.

"It's been five."

His breathing was slightly rigid when he looked at me. I wanted to feel bad, and I did, but I soon started to get overwhelmed at the idea that I was somewhat exposed to him as he did a quick glance over my body. My shorts suddenly felt way too short, and my T-shirt suddenly feeling far too tight.

"I forgot that you had to put pants on," he started to say. "I had no idea what you were worried about. Your shorts are so short they might as well be underwear."

"Harry, if you don't—"

"I'm kidding."

"Whatever," I muttered. "Just be quiet." 

He nodded, walking inside.  I watched as he took his shoes off, his body seeming fidgety as I locked the door.  We headed upstairs, and I felt odd bringing him into my bedroom at three in the morning, though brushed it off.  My mother had been asleep for several hours now, and I knew she wouldn't care if she saw that it was Harry I had in my room.  Once he was in my room, I shut the door behind us. It didn't take long for me to turn on the lights that decorated the perimeter of my room, quickly picking up the couple of clothes I had carelessly thrown on the floor throughout the week. 

"Do you want anything to drink?" 

"I've had plenty to drink," he stated.

Blinking several times at his vague response, I stared at him.  After dumping my clothes into the hamper, I neared the boy, seeing that maybe the red eyes hadn't been from crying, but drinking too much alcohol a few hours or so before.  Then again, maybe it was from both.  I wasn't really sure, but I decided that I would let him explain if he wanted to do so.

"I had some water too before I left," he said quietly.  "But I'm just so fucking sad." 

He was sitting in my comfy chair, leaving me to climb onto my bed.  I pulled the blanket over me, but then decided I wanted to turn on some music so the quiet wouldn't be so quiet.  Getting out of bed, I grabbed a record I liked, placing it on the record player easily.  Making sure it started properly, I lowered the volume, the room becoming encased in the gentle sound of Jesse Rutherford's voice. 

"Why are you sad?" I asked, sitting on my bed again.  "I mean, you don't strike me as the type to be sad." 

"I'm always sad." 

That was a shocker.  Even if it seemed sarcastic, it genuinely wasn't.  Harry seemed overly enthusiastic for the most part when he was hanging out with my brother.  Sure, he could be moody and boring but that was just when he interacted with me in particular.  He was the captain of the baseball team, and almost everybody loved him.  Everybody excluding me anyway.  If Harry wasn't excited, then he was just a rude jerk, but I didn't think that he had room to be sad all the time.  He got up from his seat, looking around the room.  I watched as he picked up picture frames of my brother and I from when we were little, one including Harry in the photo just a few years ago.