(DISCONTINUED)

○ 5.1 ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Torn ○

I hadn't told Harry about seeing Des in the cinema on Sunday. How could I, when he seemed so happy? Our date was in two days and Harry's excitement was almost tangible, dancing at the corners of his smile and in his twinkling eyes and in his relaxed shoulders. Even now, as I sat in my dorm's communal kitchen and Harry cooked me dinner, I could see it in the way he waltzed around the room, and hear it the happy little tune he was humming under his breath. How was I supposed to destroy that by telling him that Des was most likely onto us? How was I supposed to bear losing him again?

"You okay?"

I jumped a little at the sound of Harry's voice, blinking up at him. "What?"

"I asked you if you were okay," he said slowly, more slowly than usual.

I plastered on a fake smile that I hoped looked vaguely realistic and nodded my head. "I'm fine."

Harry looked sceptical. "Just fine?"

"I'm great," I corrected, smile becoming more and more real with every moment he spent standing there looking concerned.

"Okay," he said finally, swooping down to kiss my forehead before he went back to making dinner. He shot me one last look over his shoulder as he stirred the tomato sauce, which I returned with a smile that seemed to satisfy him. He'd been so affectionate over the past couple of weeks, so much so that I wondered how he'd managed to hold all this inside him before. Nowadays it seemed like he was constantly touching me whenever possible, in any way he could. Sykes' lectures now consisted of him holding my hand or touching my thigh as we took notes, making me forget what I was doing whenever he squeezed.

How could I ever end this?

"Dinner is served," Harry announced, sliding a single plate onto the table. My mouth watered at the sight of the sauce-covered spaghetti and meatballs, delicately sprinkled with tiny flecks of cheese.

"This looks amazing," I breathed.

"You look amazing," he countered. My eyes drifted down to my tank top and fluffy leggings, wondering what he was seeing. "You always look amazing, baby."

"You are cheesier than this spaghetti," I teased.

"Whatever," he dismissed, tapping my shoulders. "Up."

My brow furrowed in confusion as I stood, watching him slide into the seat I was previously occupying. "What are you-"

He tapped his thighs with both hands. "Okay, now you can sit down."

"You want me to sit on your lap?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You're so strange," I muttered, lowering myself onto his legs.

He wrapped his arms around me, hands splaying out across the entirety of my stomach. "Just want to be close to you," he shrugged. "Eat."

With my hair up in a bun he could freely nuzzle into my neck, which is where he apparently decided was his home as I ate. He stayed silent throughout, oddly well-behaved apart from almost causing me to almost choke a couple of times when he kissed my jaw, or behind my ear, or nibbled at my neck.

"Good?" he questioned once I was done.

I pushed my bowl away, resting my hands over his. "Perfect."

"I try," he joked. I scoffed, leaning back so my head rested on his left shoulder, and his chin rested on my right one. "This is a pretty good view," Harry commented after a while.

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped staring at my cleavage," I replied.

He didn't answer for a few moments. "Does that door lock?"