Reticent (h.s fanfic, punk Harry)

Chapter 36

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Harry was depressed, and Harry was wet, and most importantly: Harry was naked, laying on his bed, on his back, simply staring at the ceiling. I could say I was surprised, but I'd have to talk for that, and I simply couldn't open my mouth. Foreign to the sight of a nude man, I kept quiet.

I didn't know if he could sense someone in the room, but his head turned towards the window, a small sigh escaping his lips while his hands tangled in his hair and pulled, hard. I didn't know what was happening. Was he angry at someone, or simply sad? Louis had only enlightened us about the passing of Anne and that 'Harry hasn't been feeling well, and I thought we could make him dinner,' and of course at that moment Connie had forgotten about how smitten she was with Louis and started firing questions at Louis who huffed and puffed, trying to answer them all after she asked. We'd left for only an hour to buy groceries for the night. while Connie had the chore of chopping the green peppers, and Louis gave himself the task of slicing mushrooms, I was sent to call Harry for the dinner preparations.

And I was here, with absolutely no indication of how to grasp his attention. Did I call him? Walk up and poke his shoulder. Get out and knock once more, or simply wait until he noticed me. I decided to go with the latter. Wait; I'll wait until he notices me. Oh joy, I'll simply stand here like some wax figure. "Jesus."

His head snapped to the side. I'd thought he'd cover himself up with the blankets, or at least use his hand. His face, however, stayed frozen, stuck in a bland expression. Nothing even flinched. A calm sea or Harry looked back at me, the viridescent eyes held me in its acrimonious gaze, giving me angst. I wanted to do anything to make him stop looking at me. I wished at that moment I held any bravado to stare at him in the same bitter brusque manner he performed. My mind remained in a disheveled state while we both stared at each other; Harry laying on the bed, completely naked of clothing or shame, and I stood here covered with a red blush that probably made me resemble a ripe tomato. I had no idea if he really felt no shame or simply filled with equanimity. I wish I could tell, but from the start Harry had always been an esoteric, only seen through by Louis, and of course his mother.

I didn't say anything, and neither did he. I simply waited for a euphemism to take over, anything to make his energy or his look not appear so hostile. I's thought at some time that we'd come to a fait accompli, and now it seemed like a complete fiasco. But looking at all the factors, it seemed completely normal to have him like this.

"Why are you staring at me as if I've committed the ultimate sin? Is all of this a little too lurid for you, dear Ophelia," he raised an eyebrow, and looking at it upside down somehow made me feel something. I took a deep breath and simply shook my head, not accepting of his accusation nor going against it.

I didn't know how to respond, and I couldn't simply start with his mother, he seemed on the edge of maudlin. I certainly couldn't comment on any disturbed nirvana. "You've taken out your piercings," I told him, fully aware it was a blaring non-sequitur.

"Every time I see you I just feel peevish," he rolled his eyes, the small wink the piercing would give, now gone. 

"What have I done?" I tried to keep my eyes on his, but somehow, they were trying to travel elsewhere. I looked at the window just beyond him. Watching the snow twinkle around the street lights.

"It's not what. You're always trying to be someone you're not. And it's really getting on my nerves." He brought his hands away from his hair, a single petal grasped between his finger and thumb. 'You're such a fucking people pleaser. You're always after making people proud of you just for a few minutes of gregarious with people you shouldn't even give a shit about."