Pleasing | H.S.

Harry the PR Nightmare

"And then what happened?"

"Well, we actually...it's sort of embarrassing now, but we...we kind of got stuck up there."

Jimmy responds with a boisterous laugh, as does the entire studio audience, before Harry continues to recall the embarrassing details of the odd story.

"Stuck?" Jimmy repeats, leaning further across his desk and sending a confused look the audience's way. "How did you get stuck?"

"Well..." Harry smiles, readjusting in his seat. "Friend of mine thought it would be funny to see if we could actually make it to the Hollywood sign. So, we did. And...then, we couldn't get back out."

Your TV screen erupts in laughter once more as you smirk from your sofa, spooning another bite of ice cream into your mouth.

"Oh gosh...what did you do?"

Harry pauses, bringing his fingers to his lips as he tugs, avoiding the answer as Jimmy chuckles again. "Uh...we called the fire department."

You can't resist chuckling yourself as you remember the panicked look on his face. The way he was clutching onto the firefighter like a koala bear.

Harry goes on to divulge every detail of that rather adventurous day as you relive each moment. It was just as ridiculous as Harry is describing, but it was truly one of the best days of your life.

And it's one of your favorite moments with him.

Even if he did just refer to you as merely a friend.

Eventually, the subject switches to his next album, and truth be told, you begin to disengage.

You've heard this story a hundred times at least and while you're proud of him, you're also incredibly exhausted from such a long day. You reach for the remote, flipping through the channels half-heartedly until the sound of a throat clearing emanates from behind you.

"Okay, well that just hurts."

You don't have to turn around to know exactly who that child-like complaint belongs to. You smirk, still surfing through the channels as you feel a familiar large pair of hands smoothing over your shoulders and down your arms in a gentle caress.

"You'll get used to it," you tell him smugly, the brush of his lips against your cheek nearly forcing a sigh. "How was it?"

"Good." His voice is soft. A light murmur as he presses a kiss to your neck. "Missed you, though."

"Yeah, well. The couch missed me more." You refuse to fall victim to his guilty touch as you toss the remote onto the sofa once you've settled on something. "How is she?"

You feel the falter of his fingertips along your skin, the sound of his breath hitching almost making you smile. "Good," he repeats, a bit airier before another throat clear. "Fine. It was fine."

Who are you trying to convince, Harry? You or me?

"That's good," you reply, and his lips find their way to your cheek once more. But just before he can finally find that kiss he's so desperately been searching for, you stand from the couch and declare, "Well, I'm gonna head to bed. Night, Har."

And as you disappear into the bedroom, you watch him brace his hands against the back of the sofa, head dropping to his chest as he mutters a quiet, "Shit."

Maybe it's a bit cruel to torture him in such a way. But, truthfully, it's his own doing.

There was a time when you were convinced he'd laugh at the notion of a publicized relationship. Much less one so blatantly deceitful.