Reckless {HS}

forty-six

Harry's Pov

I woke up to the soft sound of snoring. My eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the early light filtering into the room. The first thing I noticed was the warmth next to me. My gaze shifted to the side, and there she was—Delilah—still lying in my bed, wrapped up in the blanket, her face peaceful in sleep. For a moment, I just stared, trying to reconcile the fact that she was still here.

The more awake I became, the more I realized something else, something that threw me off completely. We were holding hands. When the hell did that happen?

I stared down at where her small hand was intertwined with mine under the sheets. Did I do that? Did she? Or did it happen sometime while we were asleep, a natural reflex? My heart started beating a little faster, not because of what it meant but because of how incredibly awkward it felt now. I had no idea what to do. If I moved too suddenly, I'd wake her up. But just laying there, holding her hand like some kind of... boyfriend or something—it felt strange.

I carefully tried to slip my hand away from hers, attempting to ease out of the situation as gently as possible, but just as I started to pull back, she stirred. Her fingers twitched, and I froze. If I moved anymore, she'd definitely wake up. So, I did the only thing I could think of—I stayed completely still, letting my hand rest back into hers, as if it belonged there. Awkwardly, I lay back down, staring at the ceiling, pretending like I hadn't just panicked over a hand-holding situation.

Delilah shifted again, and I could feel her waking up beside me. Shit. In a flash, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep, hoping to avoid the inevitable awkwardness that would come with her realizing what was going on.

I heard her breath hitch as she sat up slowly. Our hands unlocked, and she pulled hers back. I fought the urge to glance over, curious to see if she was as embarrassed as I felt. She was quiet as she slipped out of bed, her footsteps soft on the floor as she padded across the room toward the bathroom. I didn't dare move until I heard the door click shut behind her.

Once she was out of sight, I sat up, leaning back against the headboard, my mind racing. What the hell had just happened? Was that normal? Did she think anything of it? Or was it just as meaningless to her as it probably should be to me?

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the mess of curls on my head. When did things get so complicated with her? This wasn't how I'd planned for any of this to go. I didn't plan for her to stay, for her to get involved in all this... for me to end up in my bed with her, of all places. I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the morning.

The bathroom door opened, and I looked up as she walked out, still wearing my t-shirt. The sight of her in it did something to me that I wasn't expecting. My brain immediately tried to push those thoughts away, but the image was hard to shake. She looked... comfortable, like she belonged here. I didn't know what to make of that.

"Morning," I said, my voice still rough from sleep. I tried to keep my tone casual, but I knew I probably sounded groggy. My hair was a mess, and I could feel it sticking up in all directions.

Delilah paused, glancing over at me, and I swear I saw a blush creeping up her neck. She gave me a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Morning," she mumbled back.

I tried to gauge how she was feeling, but she was hard to read, as always. I ran a hand through my curls again, trying to tame the wild mess on my head. "How'd you sleep?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, though I wasn't sure why I cared so much about her answer. Maybe because I wanted to know if this morning was as awkward for her as it was for me.

Delilah shrugged, avoiding eye contact for a second. "Pretty good, actually," she said softly, her fingers fiddling with the hem of my shirt.

I nodded, trying not to let my thoughts spiral. There was something about seeing her in my t-shirt that sent my mind in a million directions. She looked good in it. Too good. I forced myself to look away, to focus on anything other than how comfortable she seemed in my space. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be thinking about her like this. I was supposed to be the one in control here.

Delilah cleared her throat, and my attention snapped back to her. She shifted her weight awkwardly, and I could tell she was about to say something important.

"I really should be going home," she said, almost too quickly, like she needed to get the words out before changing her mind.

My stomach dropped a little. So she was leaving. I don't know why I expected her to stay, but hearing her say it stung a little. I thought back to the conversation we had last night, about not wanting to be alone after a job like that. I'd hoped maybe she'd feel the same.

Delilah shifted awkwardly, glancing toward the door like she was preparing herself to walk out. But then she stopped, glancing back at me with a look of uncertainty.

Harry, stop being such an idiot, I told myself. Don't let her just walk out.

"You, uh," I started, my words slow and unsure. "You could stay here if you wanted. You know, if you still don't want to be alone."

She blinked, clearly surprised. I couldn't blame her. I sounded just as awkward as I felt.

She stood there for a second, the awkwardness between us palpable, and then she nodded toward her bag near the door. "I should probably head back to my place."

My stomach dropped a little, but I kept my expression neutral. "Yeah, makes sense," I said, trying not to sound disappointed. She had every right to leave. Why would she stay?

I watched her as she moved toward the door. The room felt emptier already, and she hadn't even walked out yet.

As she reached for the handle, I couldn't help but think back to last night. The things she'd said in the dark, when it felt like we weren't even talking to each other, just to the air around us. Her voice had been softer then, vulnerable. She'd told me things I didn't expect—about how unsure she was, how she didn't know where she fit in anymore.

I sat there watching as she prepared to leave. I couldn't shake the thought that maybe she didn't actually want to go. Maybe she just felt like she should.

"Delilah," I called, my voice barely above a whisper.

She paused, turning to look at me, her hand still on the door. Her eyes met mine, and for a second, I thought about telling her everything—how last night, when she opened up, it made me realize I wasn't alone in this. That maybe, just maybe, we were both lost in our own ways, but together... things felt different.

But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I just swallowed the words and gave her a small nod. "Take care of yourself."

Delilah smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You too."

And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I sat there for a moment, staring at the spot where she'd been, the emptiness of the room sinking in. The quiet was louder than I expected, like something had been taken out of the air itself.

My mind wandering back to last night; the darkness of the room had made it easier for both of us to speak freely, to let our guards down. But now, in the harsh light of the morning, things felt different.

She'd told me about her fears, her uncertainty, and I'd listened. But what had I said in return? Nothing, really. I hadn't told her about my own struggles, my own doubts. I hadn't mentioned how every time we pulled off a job, I questioned if this life was really mine. How I hated that my dad's approval still felt like the only thing that mattered.

I leaned back against the headboard, letting out a sigh. There was so much I hadn't said. So much I wanted to say, but couldn't. I had no right to keep her here.

But damn, it was hard to let her go.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind replaying her words from last night. She didn't feel like she belonged anywhere, and somehow, I got that. I got her. The thought that she felt lost struck a chord deep in me. Because honestly? I was too.