Chapter Eighteen

4.2K 115 74
                                    

"You know, you never told me why you were waiting for me at my dorm?" I say while taking a bite off a strip of bacon.

I watch as he shoves a fork full of hash browns into his mouth, chewing the food quickly instead of taking his time to savor it. They only brought our food out five minutes ago and Harry has already devoured over half of his plate. I guess he wasn't lying when he said he was hungry.

He swallows before answering, "I just wanted to see you." He says simply and I watch as his tongue runs over his teeth.

"You seemed a little anxious though... Like you were worried."

He looks down at his now almost empty plate, and I notice how his jaw ever so slightly clenches and then releases. He lightly shakes his head from side to side, the motion being barely noticeable, but I don't know what it means.

My left hand rests on the table next to my plate and I watch as his eyes seem to examine it. He reaches across the table and gathers that hand in his, bringing it slightly closer to him so he can inspect it. I feel my cheeks redden as I realize he's looking at my nail beds, picked apart to pink, irritated, skin and dried blood.

"God, Charlotte. Did you do this to yourself?" He asks.

I pull the hand away from him, feeling embarrassed by his reaction. "It's just a bad habit." I mumble and have to stop myself from picking at the skin as we speak.

He purses his lips at this, his green eyes focusing in on me, "Habits can be broke." He says with a sort of thoughtfulness in his voice.

"That's true," I agree, but with a solemn undertone to my words. "I just happen to be bad at breaking them."

He seems to consider this as he takes a drink of his coffee, his hand wrapped around the actual cup instead of the handle. It's one of those odd things that some people do, but for some reason I find it makes him seem even more endearing in my mind.

"Have you ever broken a habit?" I ask just as he sets his cup back on the table. A half smile fills his lips.

"I used to smoke." He replies without an ounce of hesitation.

My eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yeah," He chuckles, looking up as if he's revisiting the memory, "For four years."

"Woah! That's amazing, Harry. Most people end up spending their whole lives trying to quite." I say with praise and admiration in my voice.

It's odd because now matter how I try and picture it, I can't see the boy before me with a cigarette between his lips. It just feels wrong, like a daisy in a field of thorns. But I push these thoughts aside, feeling grateful that he's since been able to overcome the nasty habit that I'll hopefully never have to see him perform.

"It was easy once I got out on my own... But before that I didn't have a reason to quit." he explains, his voice lowering in register.

"What made you start in the first place?" I ask as I finish off my last piece of bacon.

He sighs and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he contemplates this. His hair frames his face in the most appealing way. The locks are untamed as they curl under his ears and cascade onto the tops of his shoulders. But at the same time it looks rich and put together, a few dark colored ringlets forming in the mix.

"It was mostly a distraction." He says breathily, like the conservation is exhausting him.

I don't ask him the follow up question to that, "A distraction from what?" I know better by now.

Butterfly Keeper // h.s. auWhere stories live. Discover now