The Love Club

Twenty-Six

I’m nervous, but I can’t quite place a finger on as to why. When we arrive home, Harry unlocks the door for us and I follow him inside, kicking off my shoes near the door as he does the same beside me. He was quiet in the car, only thanking me for taking the time to drive it home for him. He watched me as I manuevered the unfamiliar streets back to the house, but offered no insight to what was on his mind. I didn’t pry.

The guest bedroom is on the second floor, up the stairs adjacent to where I stand now. Harry’s room is on the main level, down a hallway that leads off the kitchen. I glance over at him and offer a shy smile, my hand reaching out to wrap around his wrist as I steady myself to lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips. His other hand reaches out for my waist and pulls me toward him. I oblige. 

When we pull away, I go to take a step back, but his grip holds firmly on my waist. His lips, now slightly swollen from working magic against mine, upturn slightly and he inclines his head in the direction of his room. I furrow my brows at him, but he only rolls his eyes at me and tugs on my hand. Blindly, I follow. 

I’m unsure what I expect of it, whether it would be a time capsule preserved from when Harry was sixteen and still living here, or if it would reveal any insight to the person Harry is now. To me, it looks as spare as the guest room, with small personal knick knacks here and there. A few books I suppose are from his school years are neatly stacked on a shelf on the wall, and there are a few photo frames here and there, but I don’t have time to look at them. My eyes are too focused on watching Harry move in the dark. He shuts the door and moves to take off his shirt. I’m frozen, and he glances over at me with a light smirk before he begins to rummage about in one of the dressers, pulling out a grey tee shirt and a pair of mesh shorts. The shorts he keeps for himself, but the shirt he tosses at me.

“What’s this for?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“For sleeping,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His voice is all rasp and I swallow thickly as he gets to work unbuttoning his jeans. 

“And you’re sure this is a good idea?” I question.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

He isn’t looking at me as he tugs the jeans from his hips. His back is facing me as he steps out of them in a dark pair of boxer briefs and quickly pulls the mesh shorts on. 

I realize then that I don’t really have an answer to give him. He’s looking around the room for an elastic for his hair when he glances over to me again, and I realize there’s a vital part of clothing I’m missing and give him a wry look.

“So... Do I have to dig around for trousers myself or...?”

He smiles innocently at me as he stops his search and mutters, “Oh, I must’ve forgot.”

“Must’ve,” I agree. 

He’s still smiling to himself as he opens up the same drawer and asks, “Shorts or sweatpants?”

“Sweatpants,” I answer and he frowns, mock sincerity as he pulls a black pair out.

“You’re sure you won’t get too hot in the night? I’m pretty warm...”

“I’m cold when I sleep,” I answer.

“I’m really warm, though. You might do better going without...”

I tug the sweats from his grasp and reach out with my foot to give his shin a light kick. He only shrugs, pulling at his lip with one hand. “Had to try.”

“Why don’t you try to turn around while I change?” I ask.

“It’s certainly an effort,” he mutters in response, but turns around nonetheless. When I cross my arms and glare at him in the reflection of the mirror he’s still watching me in, he only shrugs and says, “What do you want from me?”