Aquarelle [h.s]

seventeen

I woke up to a faint, sweet smell of vanilla. The fabric under my fingertips was soft, and cozy. I passed my finger over it, my eyes still closed, relaxing in the warmth and comfortability the spot I was cuddled in was giving me, reluctant to the thought of opening my eyes.

I didn't want to get up and go to work - the weekend couldn't have come sooner, at that point. Almost every morning I woke up counting the hours that separated me from going to sleep again, and I was already exhausted. Even though I was basically only mid-week, the tiredness accumulated after waking up too early day after day was already weighing down on me.

But more than everything else, I didn't want to wake up to that day, and have to talk to Nicholas about what had happened. I knew we had to, I hoped I could've managed to get out of the house without exchanging a single word with him, though. I knew it wasn't very mature of me, but I needed more time. I didn't want to open my eyes and wake up to him, after the argument of the day before.

The day before.

I sat up quickly, suddenly realising that I wasn't on my bed, widening my eyes in the second I realised I wasn't on anyone's bed.

I wasn't on anyone's bed, but I sure as hell I'd been lying on someone. I turned my head to the side, and I was sure I could've fainted in the second I realised that Harry was cuddled up next to me, one of his legs off the couch and his head tilted back against the white cushion.

He furrowed his eyebrows, the little frown taking over his lips too, that contracted at the corners as he slowly opened his eyes, having been woken up by my rushed movement.

I could do nothing but stare at him as he slowly stirred awake, holding my breath for some reason I couldn't exactly pinpoint.

I quickly looked away when he opened his eyes once and for all, seeming to be finally getting a hold of the situation he was in, pressing my lips together when I took in the mess surrounding us.

There was a box open on the coffee table with almost half of a pizza left, a dirty napkin on the floor, dangerously close to Harry's white couch. There was a bottle of red wine that someone had forgotten to close the night before, an empty glass and an almost empty one sitting next to the pizza box. The blanket Harry had so carefully folded the day before was half on the floor, and I didn't really know how it'd got there. The television was still on, its light almost blinding me, but the volume was low. I remembered Harry lowering the volume during a particularly loud scene in the movie we'd ended up watching the night before, saying that his neighbours wouldn't have appreciated the noise at one in the morning.

Somehow we'd ended up falling asleep on each other, and I didn't know if I thought it was a disaster or if I was glad it had happened, since that we hadn't ended up arguing about where we would've ended up sleeping - because there was no way I would've taken his bed, but something also told me there was no way he would've let me take the couch.

"What time is it?" Harry suddenly murmured, so unexpected that I almost had a heart attack.

I turned my head to look at him, his hair was messy and all over the place, dark curly strands falling over his forehead, one almost reaching halfway through his nose. His lips were a bit dry, but red, a faint warmth on his cheeks probably coming from the fact that we'd spent hours inadvertently curled up together, with a blanket on us. He was still wearing the same clothes of the night before, and white had never looked better on him.

"Uh" was the only thing that came out of my mouth, and I quickly moved away, taking my phone and turning it on, checking the time. "Six thirty" I said, taking a second longer to process what I'd just read. "I really should go, I don't want to be late to work" I told him fast, standing up and starting to gather my things from the coffee table and couch.