(DISCONTINUED)

○ 1.9 :: Making Up (and also out) ○

Dedicated to @gingercarisle who's from Canada wooo

I KEEP WRITING STUFF TO DO WITH HARRY'S EYES AND THEN REMEMBERING HE WEARS SUNGLASSES ARGHHH.

Check out:

♥ Become My Enemy by GeorgetteMarokian

♥ Imperious by palatialstyles

DON'T ADVERTISE YOUR STORIES IN THE COMMENTS GUYS BUT IF YOU TELL ME ABOUT THEM THEN I WILL TELL PEOPLE TO READ THEM.

*

Somewhere in-between all the nervous glances and awkward silences, we had migrated to the back room. I was curled up in the same beanbag I always sat in (which earned me a strange look from Harry when I sat down), cradling a cup of hot chocolate. It wasn't as good as Anne's but it was still nice, and a welcome distraction from the Cheshire-born man sitting a few metres away with his knees up against the wall opposite me. He'd refused hot chocolate, content to just rest his head against the wall, every now and then looking at me before he frowned and repeated the routine. After a few minutes, I noticed that his gaze wasn't exactly placed on me, but lower. At first, I had my suspicions, but right when I was about to call him out on it, I realized that his gaze wasn't on me at all; I couldn't feel the burn of his eyes. He was looking at the beanbag I was currently sitting on.

"Is it because it's fluffy?" I finally blurted, immediately regretting it because it sounded undeniably stupid, but I'd tried and failed to come up with another reason for his odd glances.

Harry took his head off the wall again. "What?"

"The beanbag," I clarified. "You keep looking at it. Is it because it's fluffy?"

He dropped his head back with a very quiet thud, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "No," he denied. "And whenever you say the word fluffy it makes me want to do some very unmanly things to you."

I blinked. "What?"

"Like tickle you or some shìt," he explained, making me chuckle at the way he'd phrased his answer. "Where the hell are you from?"

It seemed safe to put down my mug now. Harry and I were talking, so I didn't need the excuse not to look at him anymore. The hot chocolate had simply become chocolate a long while before anyway. "My... Theresa," I quickly corrected, "is from here, but my dad's a real mutt. He's Irish, but he only lived there for a couple years before he moved to America. Then he went back to Ireland for secondary school, and then afterwards he moved to England and met Theresa, so he's been here ever since." I tucked my feet further under me and pushed some of my hair behind my ear, Harry listening intently to my every word. "Plus, Edna was Russian and had quite a strong accent, so who knows what my accent sounds like now, seeing as those two raised me. Apparently, my accent turns slightly Eastern European when I'm with Edna, but the American and Irish comes out when I'm talking to my Dad."

"That's..." Harry paused, searching for the right word. "Wow."

I giggled. "Yeah."

"So, uh, outside..." He hesitated. "You heard... everything?"

I was pretty sure he was referring to him announcing that he loves my laugh, considering that he blushed slightly when I giggled. "Yeah. But for the record, I love your laugh, too," I assured him. "Even if I don't hear it nearly as much."

Harry flushed some more, looking into the crackling fireplace rather than at me. He'd lit it when I was making myself my hot chocolate, and somehow it made the atmosphere seem a little less... tense.