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plot by me 770 words
When he'd finished making our drinks we went out onto the front porch of our rental cabin. I listened to Harry strum his guitar and jot down chords until the last streaks of sunshine had vanished into that deep Canadian blue, one at a time, the stars pricking through it like poked holes, one at a time. When our stomachs started to gurgle, I went back into the cabin for the rest of our pizza leftover from dinner and we ate it cold, our legs outstretched, feet resting gently on the porch railing.
Look, Harry finally spoke and pointed up at the deep blue sky as two trails of silver light streaked through the stars. His eyes were doing the thing, the Harry thing, at the sight of them, and it made my chest flutter almost painfully. I loved that vulnerability and excitement when he first caught sight of something that made him feel before he had the chance to cover it up.
He looks at me like that sometimes.
I jerked my focus back to the falling stars in front of us. Relatable, I said flatly. Harry let out a half-formed laugh. That's basically us, he began again. On fire and just straight up dropping out of the sky.
He looked over at me with a dark, fervent gaze that undid the careful composure I'd been rebuilding for the whole night. My eyes slipped down to him, and I scrambled for something to say. What's the big blob about? I found myself asking. I tipped my chin toward the updated tattoo on the back of his left bicep.
He explained to me it was a constellation of some sort. I was only half listening. My eyes were torn between watching the falling stars, but more importantly, watching his eyes follow the stars. It's good to see you, he told me after a few moments. My cheeks flushed again in embarrassment. He had totally caught me staring at him. It's good to see you too, Harry.
His dimples deepened. Harry's hand skimmed up the side of my arm and down across my collarbone. The big blob isn't nearly as interesting enough as you are, his breath tickled the side of my face as he spoke. His fingers drifted to my chin, and he tilted it up to kiss my throat. His other hand came up and he caught both sides of my jaw as he kissed me deeply, slowly, and drank me in. When he pulled back, his fingers threaded through my hair, his thumb roving over my bottom lip. He asked, are you happy?
Extremely, I said. My voice was barely a whisper. Are you? I asked Harry. He gathered me against him and kissed my temple. His voice crackled against my ear, I'm so happy.
We kissed for a while until the stars began to disappear above the lake. It was getting eerily late and even the bugs and the animals had made their way back to their homes for the night. I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, Harry noticing me.
One of us said something along the lines of, it's getting late, we should probably turn it in. The other agreed and we rose from our seats in the rocking chairs, staring at the wooden flooring unsure of how to best say goodnight. Harry left the glasses on the sideboard and came to open the door for me. I stepped further onto the porch but hesitated at the sound of my own name. When I looked back, his left temple was resting against the doorjamb.
He was always leaning on something like he couldn't bear to hold all his weight upright for more than a second or two. He lounged, he sprawled, he hunched and reclined. He never simply stood or sat. I first thought that he was lazy about everything except music. Now I wondered if he was simply tired of life had beaten him into a permanent slouch, folded him over himself so that nobody could get at that soft center, the kid who dreamed of running away on trains and living in the branches of a redwood.
Yeah? I said. It's good to see you, Harry told me. I laughed to myself and looked up at the sky again. You said that already.
Yeah, Harry smiled at me with that crooked smile and that left dimple. I did. I fought a smile, and stifled a flutter in my stomach. A smile and a flutter weren't enough for me. Goodnight, Harry. Let's do this again sometime.
