Addicted To You .L.S.

TwentyFive.

A Year and a Half ago
(Sixteen Years Old)

After the party, I'm drunk and still high, lying on the floor of Gem's living room next to Harry; each of us tucked into a sleeping bag. I can hear her roommates' snores all the way down the hall.
The floor is hard, covered by thin carpet that has mysterious stains I don't want to think about, in this apartment that was once filled with boys before Gem. I'm restless, shifting back and forth, staring at the ceiling. My eyes are heavy, but I don't let them shut.

Harry's awake, but he's pretending not to be. He can't fool me, years of sleepovers have taught me when he's faking.
"I know you're awake."
"Go to sleep" is all he says. He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't even change that annoying exaggerated slow-breathing think he's doing.
"You still mad?"
"C'mon, Lou, I'm tired."
I play with the zipper on the sleeping bag, jerking it up and down, waiting for him to answer me; knowing he might not.

"Is your back okay?" His eyes pop open in concern as he breaks his self-imposed silence.
"I'll be fine." I won't, though. I'll wake up stiff tomorrow. My good leg will be numb, but the bad one will ache like a bitch.
I should take another pill. I deserve it.
"Here, have my pillow." He leans over and tucks it underneath my head. "Better?"
"You haven't answered my question," I remind him.
Harry sighs. "I'm not mad at you," he says. "I already told you, I'm just worried."
"You don't need to be," I insist.

It's the wrong thing to say. I can see real fear in him. It bothers me more than I'd like to admit, it makes me want to hide, numb myself further from this, from him.

"Yes I do," he hisses, sitting up, half out of his sleeping bag. He grabs my arm, pulling at me until I do the same. Then he's leaning so fast into my space that I'm startled into letting him.
"You're taking to many pills. You're hurting yourself." He swallows and seems to realize, suddenly, how close we are. His fingers flex around my arm, tightening and loosening, then tightening again. "Louis, please," he says, and I can't tell what he's asking here. He's too close; I can smell the vanilla lotion he rubbed into his hands before we went to bed. "Please," he says again, and my breath catches, because there's no denying what he's asking for now.
His eyes flicker down to my mouth, he's pulling me towards him and I'm breathless, so caught up in the anticipation, in the oh my god, this is actually happening feeling that spikes through me, that I don't hear the footsteps until it's almost to late.
But Harry does, and he jerks away before Gem comes down the hall. "You two still awake?" She yawns, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
"We were just going to sleep," Harry says hastily, laying back down. He won't look at me and I can feel my checks redden. My entire body's gone hot and heavy, and I want to squirm deeper into my sleeping bag and press my legs together tightly.

  "Night," Gem says. She leaves a kitchen light on so Harry doesn't have to be in the dark.
He doesn't say anything. He settles into his sleeping bag and tucks one hand under his head. For a long minute, we stare at each other.
I'm afraid to move, to speak.
Then Harry smiles, just for me, small and real and on the edge of wistful. His other hand slips into mine as he closes his eyes. His silver rings, warmed from her skin, are smooth against my fingers. The scent of vanilla swirls around me, making blood rush beneath my skin, and the hot pull inside my stomach twists and revels in the contact.

When I wake the next morning, our fingers are still tangled together.