Suicidal **CURRENTLY EDITING**

Chapter 8

Megan's POV

There's clothing scattered on Harry's bed, along with random toiletry items that are slowly transferred into a neat suitcase.

"Are you going somewhere soon?" I ask, leaning against the doorframe as I watch Harry pile a stack of shirts in the black case.

"America." He says, smiling happily. "Simon has allowed me to go visit Jennifer for a few days and I'm not complaining."

"You're really starting to like her," I comment, and he smiles happily, nodding in agreement. He's been complaining about missing her and worrying about the distance being enough to make her lose interest.

"Yeah, I like having her around." He tells me, picking up a jumper and beginning to fold while he talks. His hair is sticking out at the sides and he must've woken up only a little bit before I got here. I don't comment on it. "She's really fun and nice and she doesn't need to have pictures being taken of us all the time. It's... Nice."

I raise my eyebrows at the choice of words, "Nice?" I question, succumbing to my smile. "Out of all the words in the English language, you use 'nice' to describe the girl you're dating?"

He laughs and shrugs, not seeming bothered by it. I'm sure he doesn't mean nice as a bad thing, but he never ceases to smile when I tease him.

"Nice is a nice word." He plays along, only continuing so the lack of lingual diversity begins to bother me.

"You're getting a thesaurus for Christmas." I tell him and he lets out a cachinnation, his eyes squeezing shut in a way that puts wrinkles in each corner and impresses his cheeks with dimples. His body slightly tilts forward until his contagious laughter begins to fade.

"Sure," he goes on, dropping his clothes to bring me into the next room. "Are you hungry?"

I prop myself up onto his white counter, bare feet dangling in the air.

"What do you have?" I wonder, watching him turn to open his refrigerator, taking a five-second glance before he shuts it and looks back to me with a hand on his hip.

"Absolutely nothing." He admits, without an ounce of guilt. "I'll order pizza."

"Sounds fantastic," I laugh. We pay for takeaway too much for it to be healthy, but he obviously hasn't been effected by it. "Don't forget I-"

"Want that really good sausage you always ask for." He finishes, the corners of his full lips rising. "I know."

It's probably completely unnecessary for me to even ask anymore. We've been getting the same thing for years. "I think I need to change my habits. You know me too well." I tell him, and he wrinkles his nose, shaking his head.

"Then I'd have to get to know you all over again." He sticks his bottom lip out dramatically. "It's too much work."

He hold his mobile to his phone, telling our order to the person on the phone. His back is facing me and my eyes fall to my thighs, then I find them focusing on the brown leather book next to me. He's owned this for years and I haven't been allowed to write a single word. He insists it's lists and jokes, but I've watched a pen slide across the page and the crease between his brow grow while he marks the page, too concentrated to be writing things so simple.

I still hear Harry's voice and begin to lift the strings of soft but tattered leather.

"What do you think you're doing?" A large hand clamps over mine and let out a yelp, my fingers quickly recoiling it's way to my heart, beating it's way back to life.

Laughter fills the room and I lean back, trying to breathe deeply as my mouth cracks into a smile matching his.

"You're unbelievable sometimes." I say, trying to calm my heart while he continues to laugh.