sugar baby [h.s]

twenty nine

Jury's in, I am unable to put my legs all the way behind my head. But I'm pretty close, and we both had a lot of fun trying to make it happen.

Now here I sit in the window sill of Harry's Paris apartment at 2:54am; balancing a mug of tea on the ball of my knee as I stare down at the streets below. It still feels so wide awake, even with the majority of the lights out across the city. My body is too excited about this new adventure, I can't quite will it to go back to sleep so I figured a bit of tea might help.

I turn my head and look back into the room at the large bed directly in front of me. Harry lays across his side of the bed, his arm still outstretched over to my side, as it was gently nudging me into his side before I woke up. This day has been an absolute dream, and it's all been because of him. I crane my neck upwards to get a small glance of his face; completely at peace, mouth slightly open with his hair flopped onto the pillow. I don't think I've ever seen him so calm and peaceful before; I can beat that there are probably a million things he has to be constantly thinking about so sleep is his only reprieve.

I should be more appreciative of what he does for me and the way he treats me. I should be making his life easier, not harder. I know I don't deserve to be with him; he's so kind and generous and smart and beautiful and I'm, well, I'm me. I'm certainly no prize, and yet here he is, trying his best to make me happy. He says he's not used to all of this relationship stuff, and he's been doing a pretty good job of it in my opinion. Yes, the contract still exists, but I don't truly feel like either of us are enforcing it at this point. Though I can't lie, it's existence still nags at my brain, trying to trick me into thinking that my feelings aren't real, and neither are his.

Why do I have to be so fucking miserable about this sort of stuff? I can't ever allow myself to be truly happy about a situation because I'm afraid it will just end. As if refusing to acknowledge my happiness for more than a day will result in my world falling apart. If I were a therapist I'd say that it all traces back to my childhood, when if things were good they were never good for long. It's a subject I may have to talk about with Harry one day, and I'm not looking forward to when that day comes. How does one go about explaining all of my experiences and traumas without sounding like a steaming hot mess with a freighter full of baggage?

I sip my tea, it's gone cold now, that's what I get for letting myself run away with my thoughts. What if Harry and I actually made it work long term? Could I handle him being away a lot of the time and the constant working? It would be easy to just focus on the glamorous stuff; the money, the clothes, the trips, the fancy dinners; but if I'm being honest him having money is one of the things I like the least about him. Yes, money makes things easier, but easier isn't always better.

"Bubs..." I hear Harry's soft gruff voice from the pile of sheets. I turn my head to see Harry propped up on his elbows, looking around the room before his eyes land on me. He holds my gaze for a moment before he opens his mouth again. "You alright?"

I nod my head with a wide smile, he looks so scruffy and cute, and he's calling out for me. "Yeah, just couldn't get back to sleep" I shrug my shoulders.

Harry slides one of his hands out from the sheets and rubs his eyes with a soft lazy smile. "It will all still be there in the morning, come on"  I nod my head with a smile and swing my legs down to the ground, placing the cup of tea on the bedside table and climbing up into the bed. It will all still be there in the morning, and so will he, for now at least.

"Something on your mind that's keeping you up?" Harry asks in the middle of a soft yawn. His arm still lays on my side of the bed, so when I lie down I'm immediately pulled into his side. I go willingly, laying my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arm across his stomach. He sleeps with no shirt on, I can barely make out the swirls of ink across his body in this low light.