Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter three

Harris

Sebastian feels fragile in my hands somehow. Like if I squeeze him too hard, he'll snap in half. I internally flinch at the thought of pulling him in too close. But, at the same time, it's impossible to not want to. I don't think I've ever wanted to feel someone up against me as closely as I do Sebastian right now.

His hands are pressed up against my chest, his mouth against mine. We keep having to pull apart to catch our breath, and honestly, the waiting to feel his lips on mine again is torture, even if it's only a few seconds. His hair is still damp from the lake. We haven't been out here on the road for long, although it's felt like ages. I know we're going to need to get out of here soon; it's not as if we can stay haphazardly parked in the middle of the gravel road, fogging up the truck windows.

Even though I wouldn't mind fogging up the truck windows with him.

Sebastian pushes lightly at my chest and says, "I think we need to get going."

And, fuck, I know he's right, but I don't want him to be. "Mm, do we have to?"

"Yes." I think I hear a slight smile in his tone, but I'm not sure. "You should go clean up that cut on your forehead."

Now that he's mentioned it, I can feel the throbbing in my temple once more. I'd blocked it out completely—let's be honest, I had a pretty terrific distraction—but I probably should go clean it up, stick some honey and a bandaid on it or something. I don't think it will warrant any stitches, which is good, because I'm used to stitches by now, but I still hate them.

"Fine. But ... if you're down, maybe you could come help me clean it up?"

He hesitates, staying silent for a few moments while he mulls it over, so I add, "I'm stupid. We know this. I could potentially accidentally maim myself further. And then you might feel bad."

"Would I really feel bad?"

"Yes. I'm deciding for you right now, yes."

He goes quiet again, and I wait for him to decide. My head stopped bleeding on its own. I think he knows that, if we go back to my house, there will be more making out. And, if he'd like, maybe more. Because I know I for one would definitely be down to do more. But I want him to choose that. The last thing I want to be is pushy.

"Yeah," Sebastian whispers.

"Yeah?"

He doesn't sound sure. I'm about to tell him that he seriously doesn't have to if he doesn't want to when he says, "Yes. Yeah. Are ... are your parents home?"

"Nope. My mom is at work."

"And your dad?"

Pretty sure he only asked about my dad to be polite, unless he really does live under a rock.  "Uhhh, I don't really have one. So we're all good on that front." I still want to make sure that he's okay with this. With the connotations of coming over to someone's house late at night with no parents after a semi-intense makeout sesh. "If you'd rather come over some time when she is home, you—"

"Nope. I just figured that maybe we'd be doing some things that you ... well, you wouldn't want your mom to overhear."

I smile. Not just smile, more grin, really. "You're kinda cute, Sebastian Krause."

"Gross. Just call me Seb. Sebastian makes me feel like a crab."

I pick up his hand closest to me, resting on the center console, and press a small kiss against his knuckle. I'm surprised by how easy he is to banter with. "You'd be a cute crab, too."

He jerks his hand away and runs a hand through his hair. I'm sure his face is bright red right now, which, yeah, that's pretty satisfying. "Shut up," he mutters. "Let's just go."

I laugh as he restarts the engine and pulls off down the road into the night.

—

"This is it," I tell him, pointing to the small two story house with its peeling grey paint and the dingy yellow porch light that turns the cracked sidewalk a goldenish pewter. It's not that our house is beat up or run down or anything, it's just old. All the houses in this area of town are, but I kinda like it. They have this rustic charm about them that I've always appreciated.

Sebastian pulls up along the steep curb and kills the engine. Now, all I can hear are chirping grasshoppers and the rustling of leaves in the slight summer breeze. "I knew this was your house."

"You knew?"

"Well," he says, taking his keys out of the ignition and turning off the headlights, "you do cross country and track and stuff. You expect me not to notice when you're always running around shirtless and toned and sweaty? I've noticed you going inside."

"Wow, were you stalking me?"

"Not intentionally? But, you're hot. It was hard not to pay attention. I'm not sorry."

I smile at him, even though I know he can't see it, and open the passenger door. "Y'know, I think that's the most confident I've ever heard you sound before."

He trails behind me up the sidewalk, pausing before the porch steps to look left and right, as if he expects someone to be watching us. A mosquito lands on the soft, exposed skin of his neck, and he smacks it without a second thought. "Shut up, McCammon."

"Make me."

"You are incorrigible."

"I don't know the meaning of the word." For a second, I worry he won't get the reference and will just assume I'm an idiot. Sebastian is the one who has some big scholarship to an out-of-state school, unlike me, who only got a scholarship to Mankato because of cross country. That's probably the thing that Sebastian is known for, is being one of the smartest people around. Him, and Saanvi, who's Princeton-bound. But I'm not stupid. My mom and I used to read together every night. I do, in fact, know what "incorrigible" means.

But then Seb says, "Scott Pilgrim?" And I'm pretty sure I just beam at him.

I'm standing on the porch steps, and with the extra half a foot, I've still only got about an inch on Sebastian. His features are more angular in this lighting, his cheeks a little sunken, a little sallow. There are bags beneath his eyes that I've never noticed before, but they match the disheveled look of his hair. He's probably the only person on the planet who looks like they just rolled out of bed after not sleeping a wink, and legitimately manages to make it look good.

He's not looking at me. Instead, he's staring off down the street. I always forget the warmth of the summer nights here, a heavy kind of humidity that is a complete contrast to the snow that was still melting just a month ago. With the dark night sky that appears to want to swallow the entire block, but can't, not with the faded gold of the street lamps illuminating the asphalt and blades of grass slowly shooting up through the dead lawn left behind by several feet of snow.

"You okay?" I ask. I'm worried that he's changed his mind. And that would be okay. Seriously. I have no idea just what we're doing here. I'm excited, but I'm also not an asshole. I feel bad enough about forgetting that we kissed. I don't want him to feel rushed or something—because, this really is fast.

His head swivels around, and our eyes meet. He's always had this wild, untamed vibe about him. And that's what I see in his expression now. But I don't think it's fear, so, hopefully that's a good indicator.

"I'm good," he says, not moving.

"Are you sure? We seriously don't have to...." My voice trails off as he takes one step forward, then another. I swallow hard despite myself.

Another step forward, and he's standing right in front of me. His gaze trails up my body, seemingly soaking me in. I'm surprised with how breathless I am, how breathless he's made me.

"Harris," he murmurs, and I suck in a breath. His eyes are so piercing, almost amber in this light. I can't make myself look away. "Aren't you going to invite me inside?"

a/n - no thoughts, brain empty