PULSE [H.S]

110

"Flirting is the gentle art of making a man feel pleased with himself." — Helen Rowland

I love this apartment.

I love the hardwood floors that are so shiny, I could almost see my reflection in them. I love the kitchen island and the little stools. I love the couch, and it's soft gray material. I love the bedroom and how cozy it always feels.

I don't love all of these things because of what they are or what they look like. I love them because of the way they are all connected to Harry. I love the way that Harry's presence is engrained in everything inside this apartment. The memories we have here make me love this place.

So maybe I don't love the bedroom, but rather all of the times Harry and I have spent inside of it. Maybe it's not the comfort of the couch that I appreciate, but the feeling I get when I think about all of the nights we've cuddled there, fallen asleep together there, and had sex there. Maybe I don't love the kitchen island, but rather how I can sit there and watch Harry as he cooks.

I love how he makes this place feel like home.

Growing up, we moved around so much that I never felt like any of the places we lived were home. As soon as I started getting used to one place, my mom would pack our bags and move us somewhere else. I never had that childhood home that people always talk about. I don't have that nostalgic feeling about a house. There's no marks on a wall showing my height over the years. There isn't anything that has ever made our places feel like home.

I think I've been searching for a home my whole life. I liked the foster home, but Rae wasn't there to make it feel like home. My old apartment now only exists as a reminder of the cruelty I let myself endure for so long.

This apartment has things that make it feel like home. There are memories here—marks of the time we spent together. Every part of this place holds a special place in my heart, and I'm not ready to let it go. It's the first place I've ever lived where I feel like I could stay forever.

The door clicks open behind me, and I hear footsteps enter the apartment, but I don't move from my spot on the floor. I try to imagine the confusion on Harry's face as he finds me sitting in the middle of the floor between the island and the dining room table. I've been sitting here for a while, thinking about the place. Sometimes we all need to sit on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Harry says with a bit of humor laced in his voice.

I sigh dramatically, "Can we take the whole apartment with us?"

He lets out a little laugh, and then I hear what sounds like him taking off his shoes. Footsteps thump against the floor, coming closer and closer until I see the shadow of Harry on the floor next to me. His shadow shows his messy curls sticking out on his head.

"I wish we could," he says as he sits down on the ground, so close to me that our knees are touching.

I look over at him and am once again drawn into the endless captivation of his beauty. His green eyes look straight at me, looking not at me but at my soul. His lip piercing sits nicely on his bottom lip, giving his appearance a sharp edge.

I bring my head over to him so I can rest it on his shoulder, and he automatically wraps his arms around me. I say, "I love it here."

"I never cared for this place until you walked through the front door for the first time and stayed here," he says sweetly, and my heart bursts in my chest. He says, "It never felt like home until you made it one."

I raise my head so I can look at him again, torn between my laziness and my desire to admire his pretty face. I tilt my head upward, and he brings his down to plant a kiss on my lips. His mouth moves against mine gently, making my entire body tingle.