don't call me that

12: Confiding

I'd set my alarm for ten o'clock that morning because I knew if I left it up to Harry to wake us up we would arrive in Cheshire just in time for Gemma to say "I do". So when my phone buzzed from the bedside table, I was ready to wake him from the dead.

"H," I grumbled, pushing myself into a sitting position and then falling back on top of Harry. He was laying on his side with his back facing me, and didn't even seem to notice when my body weight hit him. "Harry," I repeated.

"Mmm," he grumbled into his pillow, shifting so my elbow wasn't digging into his ribcage anymore. "Off, Blue."

I hooked one arm around his chest and rolled him over onto his back. Harry's beloved Rolling Stones  t-shirt had ridden up his stomach and I could trace each muscle that stood out from his winter-white stomach. That woke him up real quick.

"Hey!" His voice cracked dramatically and I watched as his cheeks flushed. He tried again. "Hey." I giggled and kissed his sleepy lips.

"Wake up," I told him, scooting off the bed and quickly dressing and pulling on a pair of Harry's huge smartwool socks. "We leave at noon, okay?"

"Mhm," he replied, rolling back over and burying his face in the blankets. He didn't reappear until 11:07, his curls rumpled out of place and sweatpants hanging so low on his hips I could see his v-lime disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. Biting my cheek, I forced myself to look back up at his face, which was grinning.

"And you say I don't wake up in the morning," he sassed, coming up behind me, circling my waist with warm hands, and kissing my shoulder.

I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck, pretended to go and kiss him, then slapped him lightly across his fresh out of bed sheet-imprinted cheek. "That's because you don't,"  I informed him monotonously, turning back to the fruit I was cutting on the counter.

Harry pouted and sat on a barstool. "Are you all packed?" I asked him. He nodded, then seemed to reconsider.

"What else do I need, bedsides a toothbrush and your favorite sweatshirt?"

I thought he was joking, but the pause was so long I soon had to accept that he wasn't. "H, we're going to a wedding..."

He cocked his head. "So?"

Deep breath. "So...what do you wear to a wedding, Harry?"

Another pause. Harry glanced at the ceiling for a second too long before his jaw dropped and eyes filled with embarrassment. "Shit. Right. I'll go pack up my suit." Shaking his head to himself, Harry went to the kitchen, leaving me in peals of silent laughter.

When he returned, my face hurt from smiling. He glared at me almost immediately and I was taken aback. "What's with the evil eye?" I asked.

Harry shook his head, smiling reluctantly. "You're still making fun of me in your head."

I tried to hold back a giggle, but he was completely right. "I am not!"

Harry closed his eyes and chewed on his lip, still laughing. "Blue, I know your face like the back of my hand. I watch you listen to Niall talk and try not to make fun of his accent. I hear you talk about your math teacher and try not to criticize everything his says. I can tell when you're making up fun of me." He sighed, but I couldn't hear him over the sound of my laughter.

"Harry," I crooned, trying to steady my breathing.

He looked at me, trying to be expressionless but I could see the smirk crawling up his face. "What?" he challenged, giving me a look that said 'try me'.