Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter twenty-five

harris

I feel like I should feel more awkward than I do for freaking out in front of Seb like that. Somehow, I don't feel bad at all. Actually, I feel fucking fantastic. I don't think I've ever had a conversation like that, one where I felt taken care of and listened to and, I don't know, validated? Is that what I'm feeling?

I really like this boy.

Seriously, this is bad. I like–like him, which is so not good. From personal experience, when you have a crush on your friend with benefits, things can tend to go awry pretty quickly. Which is terrifying, because that's the one thing I don't want to happen. Losing Seb? I couldn't do it.

We're curled up on the couch, watching movie two of the night—the second How to Train Your Dragon due to what I guess is becoming a mini-marathon, although I don't know if I have it in me to watch the third. His head is on my lap, and I'm trying hard not to think of all that we did earlier. It was perfect though, way better than the first time Liam ever gave me head. This was smoother. Better. There was an actual connection. Also, Seb asked first. Always a plus.

I returned the favor afterwards. I hope he liked mine as much as I liked his.

My fingers tug through the occasional tangle in his hair, undoing every miniscule knot and admiring the silkiness of his freshly-washed hair. It took a while to dry after his earlier walk in the rain. We waited until there was a break in the weather to grab our Paco's, but outside now, I can hear the distant rumblings of thunder, signaling the on-coming of another storm.

Seb sighs. "I'm getting so sleepy," he says. "I don't know if I can stay up longer."

It's not that late, but I'm tired, too. "I'm exhausted," I tell him, still running my fingers through his hair.

"Do we wanna finish this...?" he asks, turning to look up at me. His shoulder digs into my thigh, just a little, but I don't mind it.

"I mean, are you too tired? We can head downstairs." I move my hand from his hair to his arm and rub little circles over the T-shirt I lent him, because his grey shirt was too soaked. He's wearing my basketball shorts too, although I can't see them under the blanket he insisted upon covering up with.

He sighs through his nose. "Yeah, maybe."

He doesn't say anything for a minute. His eyes are focused on Hiccup Haddock on-screen, but I'm watching him. He's got a few pimples on his temples, reaching onto his cheekbones, but the breakup is clearing up. Even more so now than at the start of the summer, his face is all freckles, blossoming across every inch of pale skin. There's not enough sunscreen in the world for this boy, I swear.

"Well," I tell him, "we can head down then. Did you bring a toothbrush?"

Seb sighs again, stretching in my lap. His head presses down in a not-terrible spot, but I ignore it. "Yeeeep."

"Cool, cool."

"Why? Does the thought of my morning breath perturb you, McCammon?" he asks, looking back up at me. His irises look almost black, what with the only source of light in the room coming from the blue-hued ice on-screen.

"Oh, most definitely," I tell him, then bend my knee up. His body goes limp, just to fuck with me. I grin. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

He groans as I lift his shoulders and stand up. "Do I have to get up?" he asks, pouting. "I'm so comfy."

"You can stay there," I assure him. "Enjoy sleeping on the couch."

"Uuuuuuuggggghh. Fine."

Seb picks himself up off the couch with yet another grumble, standing and rolling his head from one side to the other. "You better spoon me so hard," he says.