less than lovers (h.s.)

one

"Jonesy."

I immediately squeezed my eyes shut, praying he would think I was asleep and leave me alone.

"Jonesy, come on. I know you're awake."   

Shit. I huffed loudly before blinking obnoxiously at him. I was aware that I was acting like a brat—that I had been for a while now—but I didn't care. I gestured to my crumpled up covers, the same covers I'd been huddled under for the past hour and a half. Then, I said pointedly, "Can't you see that I'm busy?" 

Harry raised an eyebrow at me. He did it to annoy me, because he knew I've never been able to get mine to move like that. "Busy doing what, exactly?"

"I'm reflecting," I retorted. It came out sounding bitchier than I'd intended it to, but once again, I didn't care.

Unsurprisingly, Harry didn't take my attitude to heart. Instead, he walked over to my bed and sat down on the edge of it. "Reflecting on what?" he asked. "Can I join?"

I glared at him. "Harry. Leave me alone."

He shook his head cheerfully. "No can do. Sorry." Except he didn't actually sound sorry at all.

"Why?" I folded my arms across my chest, refusing to sit up. "Why, dear Harold, won't you do me the courtesy of fucking off?"

The corners of his mouth curled up into a small smile, like I amused him. I wasn't trying to. "Because as your best friend, I'm in charge of pulling you out of the deep end. And right now, dear Jonesy, you're dangerously close to sinking."

I rolled my eyes. I didn't have time for his metaphors. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not my best friend."

Harry laughed at that, and the sound echoed in my room. No one had laughed in this room in days--no one had been in this room, besides me, in days. "Fine, but you're my best friend, so that still makes this my responsibility. It makes you my responsibility."

My nose scrunched up at his words. "No. Gross. Leave me alone."

"No." He gave me a gentle kick. "Come out with me tonight, Jonesy. You need to get out of the house."

"Actually, getting out of the house is the last thing I want to do," I informed him.

"Too bad, I'm making you," Harry said. "This has been going on long enough. Come on. When was the last time you combed your hair?"

I glared at him. "Yesterday, you prick." Well, if yesterday meant 'last week.'

"Do a better job of it, then."

"Is this what you think will convince me to go out? Insulting me?"

"I call it constructive criticism."

"What do you call this?" I waved my middle finger in his face, chipped red nail polish and all.

"I call it a cry for help."

"Who are you, Dr. Phil?" I shoved my face into my pillow. "Leave me alone."

I heard the sound of footsteps, but unfortunately, instead of walking out the door, he was coming closer to me. I felt the mattress dip as he sat down next to me, and he gently pulled my body to face his. "Jonesy." His voice was softer than it was before, and I didn't want to look at the pitying expression on his face, so I kept my eyes shut. "Look at me."

"I'll pass."

Harry poked his fingers into my ribs, and my eyes immediately flickered open, as I let out a high-pitched shriek. "Okay, okay, I'm looking at you. Stop."