Nowhere In Particular // H.S.

Twelve: Just a kiss

I'm not sure what I was expecting to happen once we got back to the room. My mind was too foggy with thoughts of Harry and the way he felt against me in the pool for me to think clearly enough to come up with a scenario. On top of that, the multiple shots of vodka, or whatever it was I had consumed throughout the night only seem to cloud my mind more.

After stripping ourselves of our soaked undergarments and throwing them on top of the shower curtain rod to drip dry we changed into warmer, dry, clothes. A towel lies under my wet hair to keep it from soaking the blanket underneath me, and Harry's made me drink a huge glass of water because he insists it will help me feel better in the morning.

I still feel very much drunk and everything feels fuzzy just as it did before, but I'm starting to think it's not completely the alcohol's fault for this feeling. Harry is responsible for at least a fraction of it.

I've been staring at the ceiling for so long now that I'm convinced it's started to move, the lines ripple to the beat of a song that plays in the background. I hum, nodding my head to the words and notice Harry's feet rocking back and forth to the side of my face.

It's hard to tell when we got here. Lying on his bed with our heads in opposite directions, but it has to have been enough time that one of us should have fallen asleep by now. I don't feel tired though and I have a feeling by the way Harry's feet keep fidgeting he's feeling the same way.

His head is on the pillow at the top of the bed. I listen to him whistle, which isn't to rhythm of the song that fills the room. It's random and sporadic. Every time I think he's about to stop he does it again. I don't find it annoying. In fact, it's relaxing in a way. I feel like it's a sign that Harry feels comfortable around me... he isn't afraid to lie in a bed, facing the opposite direction and make noises that should get on my nerve.

My head is at the foot of the bed. I'm wearing a new pair of shorts and Harry's shirt that he earlier stripped off near the pool. It's a little big... but it feels nice, like I have a small part of him that will make me more adventurous and straightforward in my actions, like I have a little bit of his courage.

"You know what I think is dumb?" I ask, my eyes still looking up to the ceiling.

"What?" he responds quickly, his voice loud and filled with curiosity.

"That people feel like they need to narrow their music taste to a small restricted box," I turn my head to the side, Harry's large feet coming in view. "It's like it's become this way to define the type of people we are."

"Hmm," Harry hums. "Explain more, please."

"Okay," I nod with my head still on the blanket below me. "I guess it just feels like in order to be cool you have to enjoy a certain handful of bands. How people define cool varies but it still zeroes into listening to a specific type of music. I don't think that's fair... I don't want to put myself in a box."

"I agree," Harry shouts, his enthusiasm startling me. "Don't conform to the way of the world, sweet Greta! You're really onto something."

"You think?"

"Absolutely," he agrees. "You should be able to listen to the coolest, guitar shredding rock song one day, a mellow indie album the next and a bubble gum pop radio hit in between if you want. Don't even attempt to fit into a box."

"Boxes are for squares."

"Yes," Harry laughs loudly at my drunken statement. "Boxes are for squares. Not sure I've heard someone use that term in my life though... very 1950s sounding."

We laugh together for a few moments and then the room becomes quiet again. Even though I'm sure the music is still playing I don't seem to hear it as I begin to get lost in my own thoughts. I think back to earlier in the night when we were in the pool together. I was convinced that he was about to kiss me and honestly I'm more shocked that he didn't.