subject 13 // h.s. au

chapter eighteen.

"You've got to be fucking kidding," 12 snapped, stalking over to Harry, who was gently pushing me off of his lap. I felt a shiver at the loss of his body heat, but I was too focused on 12's visceral reaction. 

His face was twisted in anger and he trembled slightly.

He now faced Harry, his jaw clenched and his breath shallow, "we talked about this," he hissed, and I whipped my head to look at Harry's guilty expression. What the hell was 12 talking about?

"Elias, listen," Harry replied cautiously, his hands coming up to gesture at 12 to calm down.

"No," 12 seethed, "fuck you." He turned on his heel, shaking his head as he strode to the door, his shoulders tense.

"Wait," Harry called out frantically, but 12 had already stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Harry's face dropped into his hands and he leaned forward, "shit," he mumbled over and over again. I instinctively reached my hand out to rest on his shoulder, the contact sending a ripple of heat through my palm.

His head raised from his hands slightly, and he tilted his chin to look at me. His eyes connected with mine, and I suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment and guilt. 

Us, kissing, should never have happened and I was angry at myself for getting so carried away.

I knew I should say something, but I couldn't comprehend what had just happened. Should I be comforting Harry? Should I be mad at him? Should I have followed 12?

I was broken out of my reverie as Harry pushed his hands on the couch to stand. He seemed even more imposing from this angle, staring down at me on the couch, and my breath faltered. 

He glanced toward the door, before swiftly leaning down to kiss me softly.

My hands remained glued to my sides as the soft kiss set off lightning through my veins, before he pulled away, his eyes swimming with mixed emotions and I knew that if I had been standing, my legs would have probably given out.

"I'll find you later," he rasped, and darted out of the room.

A chill ran through me, as I actually realized just how cold the room was now without him in it.

That man's like a space heater, I mused to myself, before cringing immediately after the thought ran through my mind.

I stood up from the couch, shakily, and wrapped myself in my comforter, eager to get into my hot shower and wash away any remaining thoughts of Harry.

Hours ago, I had been curled into a ball on the bathroom floor, wracked with anxiety, and then the whole thing with Harry happened. I needed a break.

I walked to my room, and pushed the door open, shocked to see Quinn in a dark green sweatsuit, lounging on my bed. We hadn't ever really spoken much, let alone just one on one.

"Hi?" I questioned, sounding puzzled.

"Hi!"

"What are you doing here?" I replied, trying to soften my harsh words.

"Harry, Elias, Huck, and Oliver are all fighting with each other, and I got bored." He said nonchalantly, inspecting his nails, "So, I thought I'd check in," he smiled.

"Okay?" I mumbled, trying to process what he had said. They were fighting?

"What are they fighting about," I questioned, already knowing the answer.

"How's your hand?" he grinned, sounding curious, completely avoiding my question.

"My hand?" I murmured, before realizing what he meant, and I looked down at the large white scar trailing down my palm. It had taken months to fully heal after I had carelessly ripped out the stitches.