Stories we already told | Larry Stylinson

Chapter Eleven

January 1st 1978, Gillmoor Woods, Greentown (UK)

I woke up with Harry's arm around my waist. We hadn't changed clothes the day before, so I was still wearing his shirt and the blue tie was hanging loosely from my neck.

Harry shifted in his sleep, hugging me tighter. His body was warm against mine, it was a nice sensation. My head hurt a bit because of the previous night's drinking.

The previous night. It had been... a lot.

Harry would have bloody kissed me if I hadn't stopped him. Did he remember that? Would things be weird when he woke up? Would he regret trying to do it or would he still want it?

I tried to move, but his hold tightened even more. I decided to lay there for a while, after all the damage was already done: I would think about what happened non-stop for the next month anyways. I didn't think I could easily forget the sound of Harry's voice whispering my name. Or the way he looked at me while pushing me on the bed. Or how he asked me to stay.

Harry woke up an hour later.

"Oh God, my head!" he muttered, but he didn't let go of my waist.

"Morning, Haz."

"Good morning, professor. Nice beginning of the year?"

"Yeah..."

"I drank too much, did I do something stupid? I don't remember much after the countdown."

Not at all Harry, you just pushed me on the bed and then tied our ties together, before asking me if I wanted to kiss you.

"No," I replied, "you just didn't want me to sleep on the couch."

"Oh," he said, noticing his arm around my body. He quickly let go of and put some distance between us. "Sorry."

"No problem. Do you want breakfast?"

He slowly nodded, rubbing his eyes. I got out of bed and untied my tie. I tried to flatten some of the wrinkles on my shirt, but I was unsuccessful.

I went to the kitchen, opening the cupboard's door, looking for something to eat. Harry joined me a few minutes later.

"It's nice to see you in my kitchen again?"

"What?"

"It looks like you are still living here," he explained.

"I liked living here," I admitted, while putting the moka pot on the burner.

"Why did you leave then?"

Because I spent half of my time wanting to kiss you.

"Because I didn't want to abuse of your hospitality and people in town were getting the wrong idea. I got weird looks all the time at the restaurant," I replied instead.

"Did that bother you? People getting the wrong idea?"

He lowered his eyes, waiting for my answer.

"No, it didn't. I just thought it would be easier for both of us if I left."

The coffee was ready, so I poured it in two cups.

"Greentown coffee."

Harry smiled. "Greentown coffee," he repeated.

We spent the rest of the day together, cleaning up the cottage. It was hard not thinking about what had happened the previous night every time our eyes met. Harry, on the other hand, acted like nothing happened, like everything between us was friendly and platonic. For some reason I wished he didn't, I would have gladly sacrificed normality to discuss that missed kiss. I would have given everything up just to know what he was thinking the night before.