Reckless {HS}

forty-seven

Delilah's Pov

I couldn't stop thinking about Harry as I walked home. My mind kept circling back to the moment I woke up next to him, holding hands without even realizing it. It felt too intimate, too close. I don't even remember how it happened—did he reach for me, or did I reach for him? I didn't dare ask. My heartbeat sped up as I replayed how quickly I'd pulled away, rushing to the bathroom like it would fix everything.

But the worst part was what I said last night. Those quiet, whispered confessions in the dark. What was I thinking? It was too easy to speak freely when the room was so still, when his breathing was slow and steady beside me. I'd let my guard down and said more than I should have. Now that it was daylight, I felt exposed.

As I walked, I could still feel the warmth of his hand in mine. It lingered, a phantom sensation I couldn't shake. And then there was that look he gave me when I said I should go home—like he didn't want me to leave, but he wasn't going to stop me either. It was almost like we were both playing a game, waiting for the other person to make the first move. And neither of us did.

The street stretched on endlessly, each step away from his apartment making my stomach twist. I tried to convince myself I made the right choice, that putting some space between us was what I needed. But deep down, I wasn't sure. Every time I thought I had him figured out, Harry would do something that surprised me. Last night was no exception.

I finally made it back to my apartment and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted from the walk but even more so from everything else. The silence of my place was deafening after the energy of the last few days. I stared at the ceiling, feeling more restless than ever. I should've felt relieved to be home, but I wasn't. I felt...unsettled.

Maybe it was because of the heist, or maybe it was because of Harry. I wasn't sure anymore. The adrenaline from the job had faded, leaving behind this nagging sense of confusion. Was I really getting involved in all this, or was I just playing along for the thrill? My mind raced, jumping between last night and this morning. The heist, the plan, the rush of excitement when I slipped the necklace into my pocket—it all felt so distant now. But what stuck with me was Harry's voice in the darkness and the way he looked at me when I left.

I needed to get my mind off of him. Standing up, I started cleaning around the apartment, wiping down counters and picking up clothes. It was mindless work, something to keep my hands busy while my thoughts spun in circles. But no matter how hard I tried to distract myself, my mind kept drifting back to Harry. I could still see him sitting up in bed, his hair a mess, his voice rough from sleep as he asked me how I slept. I could feel the awkwardness between us, but there was something more under the surface, something neither of us had the courage to say out loud.

After cleaning, I tried making lunch, but I wasn't really hungry. I just picked at my food, pushing it around my plate, my phone sitting on the table next to me. I glanced at it more times than I'd like to admit, hovering over Harry's name in my contacts. Should I text him? Maybe something casual, something light. But every time I went to type something, I froze. What would I even say?

Hey, thanks for letting me crash at your place and for holding my hand while we slept. Totally normal, right?

I groaned, dropping my phone onto the table. This was ridiculous. Why was I overthinking this so much? It was just Harry. Except it wasn't just Harry anymore, was it? Something had changed between us, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. And the more I tried to deny it, the more obvious it became.

Sighing, I stood up and paced around my apartment. Now, everything felt so complicated. I didn't know what to do next. Did I stay in this weird in-between space, or did I actually confront these feelings head-on?

By the time the sun started to set, I was back on the couch, my phone still on the coffee table in front of me. I'd been staring at it for what felt like hours, trying to decide if I should message Harry. The longer I sat there, the more the urge grew. But at the same time, the fear of what he might say—or worse, what he wouldn't say—held me back.

Eventually, I picked up my phone and opened our text thread. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, my heart pounding in my chest. But before I could type anything, I sighed and tossed the phone aside again. Maybe I was overcomplicating things. Maybe I just needed some space to clear my head.

Still, as I lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't help but think about how close we'd been last night, and how much I'd opened up to him. The darkness of his room had made it feel safe to share, but now, in the harsh light of day, I wasn't sure I was ready for whatever came next.