under the covers [hs au]

chapter eight.

Things were just getting good, so naturally, she put her guard up around Harry.

His reddening cheeks, clammy hands, charming smile—the things Harry had in any situation. But the more Samira heeded him, particularly when it was just the two of them, the more he was different.

She'd watch his eyes a lot—how they'd move, where they'd go, and how long they'd linger— after what he'd done the other night; she worried he had feelings for her. Her assumption was often fortified, especially when his eyes would trail to her lips while she'd talk, or when he'd awkwardly stutter when they'd lock gazes on one another.

There'd often be a twinkle in his eyes when he looked at her.

Samira didn't want to be friends with someone who had feelings for her. The only thing she wanted from Harry was a friendship; she didn't know how she'd go on with life if she lost the bond. She'd gotten too used to spending time with him.

"So, wait, he moved your hair for you?"

"Yeah, isn't that weird?"

Samira had Surat on Facetime, desperate for advice. She watched Surat roll her eyes at her. "He likes you, Samira," Surat clarified, just in case Samira didn't already know.

"He can't." Samira sighed, leaning her head back on the couch. "He's my friend."

"Samira, look." Surat paused. "A friend would tell you, hey, your hair is stuck on your lips. But . . . a boyfriend would pick it off for you. Do you see the difference here?"

"This is so complicated," Samira groaned.

"What did you expect?"

"To be his friend!"

"If he's giving up his time to see you, he definitely likes you. How do you not see that?"

"There's no reason for him to like me," Samira justified.

"Would you really look at yourself in the mirror and tell me no one likes you?" Surat rolled her eyes yet again. "What other things has he done?"

"He said he liked my voice."

"Oh," Surat giggled. "Do you think he imagines how you sound in bed?"

"God, Surat!" Samira scolded. This was normal, however, for Surat to tease Samira in every way possible. "This isn't helping!"

Surat laughed. "Keep going."

Samira sighed, shaking her head. "He said he likes being around me. And I like being around him. He's not as uptight as he used to be."

"Okay."

"And uh . . . he said I had a nice smile."

Surat raised her eyebrows tauntingly. "He wants his dick in it."

"Bye." Samira immediately pressed the hangup button, cutting Surat off and closing her laptop.

She checked her watch; in an hour, she had a lab with Noureen. Then she thought to herself that maybe she could get better guidance from her friend.

Her hair was a puffy mess after combing through her curls. Adding oil helped tame her locks just a little, but not enough. So, she applied makeup to put the attention on her face and not her hair, winging her eyeliner and applying her favorite lipstick.

She took the bus, avoiding the rain; it would worsen her locks. When she arrived at the lab, Noureen sat at the desk, wearing what could be pajamas and a mustard-colored hijab. It matched Samira's yellow jacket.