Paperboy. (h.s. au)

21.

I'm not too sure how long I sat in that parking lot after Harry went inside. I just sat there. Until my mom texted me, asking me to come back home. My cheek tingled where Harry's lips met it. My mind was fuzzy the whole way home and all night- and even much of this morning.

Of course, I spent the entirety of last night thinking about our evening. The walk to and from the diner, the time spent at the diner, Harry refusing to let me pay for anything, and finally, the small kiss Harry landed on my cheek at the end of the night.

Harry is a huge gentleman, so I guess that's enough explanation for most of it.

As I try not to think too much about the kiss, I think about it anyway by trying not to.

British people do that kind of thing all the time, right? Kiss each other on the cheek? It was all completely and totally one hundred percent friendly.

Right?

But, I can't get away from how his voice sounded, low and meaningful. How his eyes looked in the night with the street lights' reflection dancing across them. How he yelled me a goodbye after he messed up my mind with a simple kiss on the cheek. How his scent filled my every thought and crowded my senses when he leaned in close during dinner. The feeling in my stomach and chest and mind when we were together.

How I want it all to happen again.

I begin to scare myself, as I've never really thought about the night being anything but friendly. I couldn't handle that. I'm too preoccupied with my thoughts to even begin to entertain anything else.

The whole night felt different. More than usual. It felt good. But also, of course, confusing. I'm too tired to go through the confusion, so I find some peace with it.

There was something in the air, it seemed. Something between us as we walked side by side, sat across from each other. When I felt his breath on my cheek and neck, I felt warmth rise in my face. It was all very overwhelming, but pleasingly so.

And as much as I want and need to stay away from anything overwhelming...I find myself wanting to break the rules.

Really, that's a rule I've been given to follow. My therapist told me to steer clear of anything and everything promoting over thinking and stress. Not that Harry necessarily causes stress, it's more like a string of extreme feeling that he causes.

I want to break that little rule because being around Harry makes me happy- unprecedentedly so. And I have a huge want- a need to feel it over and over.

As I sit at my kitchen table, I think of how easy it was to have that make-up conversation with Harry. Should it have been that easy? I don't know. Do I like that it was? Yes.

I'd hate to still be "in a fight" with Harry. It's not fun. It's like being mad at ice cream. Nearly impossible but definitely doable if you have a good enough reason. And good luck finding that reason. Ice cream didn't do anything wrong.

It's almost like he wanted to be out of that argument just as much as I did.

I begin to ponder over how he told me how sad he was that night. And how sad I am that he was that sad that he had to seek out positive attention from his ex girlfriend. I think of how I wanted to tell him last night that if he needed some positive attention, he should have come to me. But then I see how that could be weird. Why did I want to tell him that? How?

I try to push these thoughts away.

I'm not sure whether or not I should talk to Harry today, after last night. Was that night out enough for him, of me? Should I stay away for a little bit? Should I not? I wish I could easily answer these questions as easily as Harry and I resolved our dispute.