End of the Day [h.s]

seven

Droplets of manifested tension, neurotic beads of trepidatious rainwater collected among the smooth surface of my cream coloured raincoat. My soft, simple slip-on sneakers were gathering a soaked texture as my feet dragged across the damp pavement relentlessly. To say I was nervous would've been the understatement of the decade. His address wasn't far, if fact I knew exactly where it was. A nice, well kept neighbourhood with a pretentious outlook from the those who envied to live there.

I had soon enough spotted that midnight shade before me, parked directly in the centre of a somewhat oversized drive way, metres away from my frozen feet, indicating only Harry was home. The sky was already a deep grey, dispensing trickling water generously with the growing darkness of nighttime which overpowered the glacial clouds above. I took a deep, unsteady breath, hands clutching my school backpack tightly.

Before I knew it, my knuckles tapped lightly upon the glass of Harry's front door. I swallowed down the skittishness nesting in my throat. Only a minute had passed until the door opened, revealing a comfortable looking boy; long black cotton sleeves draped over his hand that balanced against the door frame, deep grey sweatpants hugging his waist with clean white socks peaking out from underneath the bands around his ankles.

My unsteady lips pursed but he didn't take any notice, he turned on his heel and shrunk down the hallway in front of me. I sunk my teeth into my lip, biting back the flicker of anger within my chest and entering, swiftly closing the door behind me. I kicked off my light-weighted shoes and placed them to the right of the door, following after Harry.

He silently led me to an open door, revealing a moderately large bed, with light grey sheets, placed in the centre of a cream wall; a cream similar to my coat, except there was a strong yellow tint within the paint, creating a calming effect as I walked in. A beige guitar lent against the opposing wall, near an open window that revealed the driveway I had just walked up. There were dark wooded cabinets and draws dispersed around the room, but the space still looked incredibly empty. The entire bedroom was bland, lacking life and craving a touch of personality, a breath of flavour.

Harry crowded over a desk nearby, collecting what I presumed was work and needed essentials. I strolled through, light on my feet and tried to ignore his familiar scent that filled the room. My slightly dampened jeans crinkled as I bent down, planting my bum directly on the carpet and leaning my back against the base of his bed. With a tired sigh as a result of my fast-paced walk there, I began pulling out my books and materials. When I noticed a sudden silence, a halt to the shuffling of books and paper amongst his desk, my eyes shot up to meet a judgemental pair of jade green.

With one hand holding an array of items, the other was bare. His eyes analysed my figure, my legs crossed and eyebrows furrowed innocently. "Why are you on the floor?" He titled his head, interrogatively. It was then I realised how bizarre I must've looked, especially to someone like Harry, who seemed to disagree with how I acted all the time.

"I like sitting on the floor, it's comfortable. What's wrong with that?" I returned, intentionally challenging him. Although tutoring him was beneficial for me as well, I still believed I was actually doing him a favour, so I was clearly not welcoming towards his spiteful tone. Eventually he gave off the unnecessary staring contest, joining me at the end of his bed and laying out his books in an incredibly disorganised way; causing me to fight the undeniable urge to readjust his stationary.

-

After reiterating endless ways of structuring a detailed essay and time management schemes, Harry and I had finally reached our lifelines. With my eyes growing heavy with tiredness and his exasperating tapping of his foot against the carpeted floor, my patience had reached it's end. We were no longer able to absorb anymore information, even after I'd tried relentlessly rereading the same line over and over again, nothing seem to penetrate my brain long enough to stick. With that I decided to snappishly close my textbook and place it beside my thigh. My head lolled backwards until it was balancing against the hard surface of his double bed. "What time is it?" I groaned, almost completely drained of vitality.