PULSE [H.S]

037

"Sometimes we avoid speaking our fears aloud because we fear they will become true if we give them voice." — Unknown

We fell asleep on the couch together.

I knew it the second I opened my eyes and saw the faint glow of the TV screen, still on from the movie we were watching last night.

My head is on Harry's chest, and it slowly moves up and down with the rise and fall of his breathing. My arm is draped over his body, and his hand is holding onto my wrist. His other arm is wrapped around my waist, and his hand is flat against my stomach, under my shirt.

Our legs are mixed together under the blanket we are sharing, and I'm pretty sure half of my body is on top of his right now.

We've been doing this recently.

A lot.

We started getting into the habit of watching a movie or a show at night, usually accompanied by popcorn—sometimes sweet, sometimes salty. The movie goes late into the night, and we end up dozing off at some point.

The part where we start cuddling isn't clear to me, but I'm pretty sure it happens subconsciously as we are falling asleep. I've been waking up next to him every morning, confused about how we ended up there.

We don't talk about it when we wake up in the morning. We don't even acknowledge that it's happening. When we wake up, we just get up and carry on with our morning like nothing happened. But this is the fifth night in a row that we've been curled up together.

I don't move; I'm too scared to wake him. He usually wakes up before I do, and I don't know how long he's awake before I am, but imagining him staying still to not wake me makes my stomach flip.

I'm not sure what time it is, but it's still dark outside. The only light creeping into the room is from the screen, which is stuck on the credits to Grease. It must be like two or three in the morning. We've probably been sleeping for a few hours.

I don't know if I should let myself fall back asleep here, this time consciously choosing to do so, or if I should get up and go upstairs, to my actual bed. The latter would require waking Harry, and he's sleeping so peacefully right now. I don't want to leave his arms, either.

I can hear his heart beating inside his chest since my ear is pressed against it. I feel the faint breeze of his breath as he exhales, hitting the top of my head. His chest is hard underneath my head, but he's somehow the perfect pillow.

In this moment, I'm just with him. There are no guards up or boundaries to be careful not to cross. I don't have to worry about stepping over the line or scaring him away. We are just existing together, like two normal people who don't have a very fucked-up reality.

I wish I could move my head to look at his face. I want to see what his features look like when he's sleeping and completely relaxed. I want to see his long eyelashes fluttered closed and his jaw not tense.

Cuddling with him like this feels intimate. More intimate than when we kiss or have sex. This is different. It isn't driven by a lustful need for each other. We are just drawn to each other naturally.

I've always been drawn to him. He's like a magnet, and I'm the pathetic metal. I want to be like this—close to him—all the time. There's never been a place I feel safer than when I'm with him.

It scares me. The feeling I get in my heart when he touches me, looks at me a certain way, or does anything at all ready. That feeling is more terrifying than anything I've ever felt before, because I know it could be ripped away from me at any moment.

I'm living in an illusion right now. We are not together, and we will probably never be together. Harry wouldn't want that, and when he realizes I'm getting too close to him, he's going to rip me right out of my fantasy.

I'm too attached to him. It already hurts. Losing him is something that I wouldn't be able to survive right now, and I'm willing to have him any way that I can, even if that means just being friends with him. It's better than nothing.

I think it's natural for me to feel attached to him. We've spent so much time together the last few months; how could I not feel that way, at least a little? I've gotten used to my life with Harry in it.

"You're awake," Harry says.

I jump, the sound of his voice so close to my ear scaring the absolute shit out of me. I scream too, just completely embarrassing myself. He laughs a little, the sound of it echoing in my ear through his chest.

I say, "How'd you know?"

Being awake while we are cuddling makes it suddenly seem very different. We're both now aware of how close our bodies are, and I'm not sure what he's going to do.

He rasps, "Your pulse kept climbing."

How did he even manage to do that? He squeezes my wrist that's draped over him, as if reading my mind, and that answers my question.

I wait for him to move, to untangle his legs from mine, and to throw my arm off of him. I wait for his arm to unwrap from my waist and for his hand to leave my stomach. I wait for him to stand up and trudge upstairs, leaving me behind.

But instead, his thumb starts moving in circles on my stomach. It makes my stomach erupt with excitement, and I love the attention.

I ask, "How long have you been up?"

"Little bit," he says, his voice sleepy. "What time is it?"

I say, "I don't know. It's not morning yet."

His hand on my stomach moves upwards, exploring my skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. I'm not sure how I'm ever going to fall back asleep now. His finger rubs the bottom of my breast, and I squirm a little.

He runs his hand back down my stomach, lightly scratching my skin with his nails. His fingers make me melt underneath him. Then he runs a finger along the band of my underwear, teasingly.

I feel the pressure of his hand on my wrist.

I say, "Are you trying to raise my pulse right now?"

"Mmm," he hums. "106 and climbing."

I shake my head against his chest, not believing him right now, but I can't shake the smile off of my face. His hand flattens against my stomach again, stilling.

He says, "I love the way your body reacts to me."

My body reacts to him like he's a god. It worships him, even when my mind doesn't want it to. But the way his body makes mine feel is undeniable. I don't have a problem admitting I'm attracted to him. The problem comes when my body feels more than just an attraction.

"We should go to bed," I say quietly.

If I'm the one to rip off the Band-Aid, maybe it will hurt less. I won't be blindsided.

"Mhmm," he says, but doesn't move. "We should."

His grip on my waist tightens, and he pulls me in closer to him so that every inch of my body is in contact with his. I curl into him, not objecting.

But this is confusing. This messes with my head and with my heart, and it's not good for either of us.

But I let myself fall back asleep with him.

And I have the best sleep of my life.