Crazy | {h.s}

Snuggles?; Soup tattoos

"I will play you one song and that's it. That's the absolute most I will play you."

He nods and sniffles again, picking up a used tissue and blowing his nose into it once more before throwing it on the floor and pulling the blanket up to his chin.

He looks like a child with his red nose and body tucked in bed like that. But it was adorable and I may possibly prefer it over sexy Harry.

(Not really, though. Sexy Harry is the best ever.)

I strum a couple chords to make sure everything is still tuned before turning to Harry who is waiting patiently.

"Okay, pick a song." I pull my pick from where it was stuck between two strings at the top of the neck. I had ran next door and got my guitar as soon as I called work and feigned illness. Now, Harry and I sit on his bed all cuddled up, though not too close, so I don't get sick too.

"Do you know. . .um, Riptide by Vance Joy?"

I nod, "Of course. You want me to play that? I might have to look up the chords, I don't have it by memory."

"Yeah, I love that song, sounds so pretty and I like what it's about. Love and stuff, you know? Change."

"You're such a fuzzball."

He shrugs, "I'm just a romantic, I guess."

"I'm the opposite. Hate all that mushy, gushy stuff, it makes me sick."

"How on earth could it make you sick? It's meant to make you feel good." Harry says, absolutely flabbergasted.

"I just am more into the simple things I guess. I've never even really wanted a wedding."

"You're insane. Absolutely mental. . .Good thing we have each other to balance out."

"Good thing." My heart squeezes together, beating 5 times as fast as before.

The song follows a simple chord progression and I play the whole thing while Harry sings the lyrics along with me. I'm pleasantly surprised to find that he has a beautiful voice. When I finish the song, Harry's in even more of a love-struck mood than before, absolutely fawning over everything to do with romance.

He sneezes twice, then opens his arms to me after I set my guitar on the floor.

"Snuggle?"

I shake my head, declining his offer of cuddling, which would surly lead to me getting ill.

Don't get me wrong, I would absolutely love to dive into his arms and never leave, but he's sick with something nasty so I skip over the idea.

"Please, snuggles?"

"Did you just call me snuggles?" I giggle.

"Snuggles for snuggles?" He shakes his arms at me with a pout, inviting me into his germ-y and contagious embrace, but I cave and I lay next to him, my arms tightly wrapped around his mid-section.

"See, this is romantic and you like it." He murmurs.

"This is simple though, and I told you I like simple."

He nods, "That's true."

There's a moment of silence before all at once he's rambling on and on with no breaths,

"So, I think I like you, like as more than a friend 'cause you're like really pretty and stuff and you can play the guitar and you're very helpful and you don't yell at me when I mess things up and you also skipped work to stay with me to feed the fish and make me soup, so thanks. And I usually don't make many friends because people just never seem to like me, but you did which is very nice of you, and now we hang out all the time and you're very pretty. So, yeah, do you think you like me, too, snuggles?"

He looks up at me with big expectant eyes.

I giggle like I'm drunk on it and nod, "Yes, just a little bit. And I like how blunt you are as well."

----------

At around noon, Harry and I make our way to his kitchen in search of chicken noodle soup, which is one of the many things Harry says he must have in order to get better.

After finding out that Harry keeps barely anything in his cupboards except for vanilla Oreo's, I quickly run to my apartment and grab two cans of soup.

Harry swoons over the delicious meal on the stove, complaining that he never has a good meal like this, and practically cries when I hand him a huge steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup.

"I think the next thing I'll have tattooed on me is a bowl of soup. So fucking good." He moans.

"Mmm." I nod with a full mouth, "Would you get chicken noodle, or Ramen, or Mexican tortilla, or motzaball, or--"

"Definitely chicken noodle. Just, like, a huge bowl of chicken noodle soup right on the front of my thigh."

I giggle, "That'll look good on you."

"Maybe I'll add some other soups in there as well, you know, as some smaller tattoos around the big one. I could do all different kinds of soups. One big soup festival."

I nod, finishing off my bowl as Harry helps himself to thirds.

"Soup is so weird, too, cause it's a solid in a liquid, so you have to drink and eat it at the same time. Kind of crazy." His eyes widen at his little discovery and he sits down with a sketchpad, drawing away while downing the bowl.

"You're kind of crazy, Harry."

"As crazy as the concept of soup?"

"Crazier."