Eucalyptus & Honey |H.S.|

Chapter 8 - I've Had a Few, Got Drunk On You

The cigarettes, as it turned out, were kept in the pocket of one of Harry's expensive-looking jackets. An addict's behavior if you asked me, but he didn't ask me. He insisted they were kept there 'just in case.'

In case of what? The fucking apocalypse?

No. Most definitely an addict's behavior, and we both knew it. But, I wasn't exactly one to judge.

After grabbing the well-used cigarette carton, he led the both of us toward his massive balcony. We had to pass through the living room again, and Harry quickly informed the others that we were going out for a smoke, and that they were welcome to join. They didn't.

We stepped through the large sliding glass doors, and the salty air was almost relieving. Something about the smell of moon-lit sand mixed with the sharp, nearly claustrophobic smell of the ocean was a strange sort of comfort. It is almost an assault to the senses, filling your nose and lungs completely, and lightening the weight of your head from your shoulders. Almost like nicotine. Almost.

Harry and I crossed to the railing of the balcony, both of us leaning our elbows against the wood. We didn't speak as he shook out a cigarette, and handed it to me. He put one of his own between his lips, then cupped his hands around his face as he attempted to light the paper despite the constant breeze of the ocean.

It finally ignited as he inhaled deeply, the orange glow illuminating the curves of his sculpted lips. He blew out the smoke towards my face and I gave him a glare as he chuckled.

"Harry, hurry the fuck up, give me a light," I commanded, impatiently gesturing towards my pathetically dull cigarette that was waiting between my lips.

He glanced behind him, seeming to check on the others, before facing me again. His arm lifted, and I thought he was going to hand me the lighter, until I realized his hand was empty. Instead, he cupped the back of my neck firmly, and brought my head closer to his. His head tilted down to face me, and the way his dilated eyes stared into mine caused me to stand there limply, simply allowing the actions. Not that I was complaining.

Finally, in a manner that unmistakably reminded me of our first night together, the glow of his cigarette met the unburned paper of mine. I sucked in the smoke as quickly and as deeply as my lungs would allow and closed my eyes, reveling in the feeling of bliss, however finite.

I released the smoke at the same time that I finally opened my eyes again, and Harry removed his hand, facing back towards the ocean so quickly that I was considering if I had imagined the whole thing. The raised hairs and tingling on the back of my neck told me I hadn't, though.

I bit back my disappointment at our sudden distance, and matched his positioning in staring into the silvery water. He still hadn't said anything. The silence wasn't necessarily a bad silence, but I still felt uncomfortable saying nothing for so long.

"Why aren't we practicing?" I asked, and Harry's head turned towards me, brows wrinkling in confusion.

"I never said we were." I gave him a blank look. We both knew that he had implied we would be practicing. Now I just felt awkward having been the only one to bring my instrument.

He rolled his eyes at my look. "I didn't," he insisted. At my glare, he sighed and continued, "I just thought it would be a good idea for you to get to know everybody before we officially started practice. Makes things flow better."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Well, you could've told me that pretty boy." He chuckled at the nickname, and my stomach did a cartwheel that I very intentionally ignored. "Now I look like a fucking dumbass, bringing my bass just to hang out. I'm like that person, y'know? The kind of person who brings their guitar out at a party, and no one really wants to listen, but they're in the middle of the party, so everyone is sort of forced to watch them drunkenly play; mediocre, at best."