Sweet Tooth [HS]

THIRTY TWO

The next day.

They were sitting on her balcony. Harry was smoking silently and his face was turned upwards towards the grey sky- all mysterious rockstar, and Max was trying her best not to watch him. Or at least to not make it obvious that she was.

It was the beginning of October now, and the air was getting cooler. Max had to wear a hoodie and her old chequered pyjama bottoms and even then her teeth were close to chattering. She thought Harry must be cold, because there he sat beside her, in a t-shirt, boxers and some old fuzzy socks from who knows where. Surely he must be freezing.

But then again, this was Harry. For some reason Max felt like he could not get cold, that he was too strong to feel something like that. He looked so at ease, his cheeks were pink and his hands did not tremble as he raised his cigarette to his lips and Max just knew- she could just tell that if she reached out and touched him he'd be so hot it would hurt.

"You're staring, Maxie."

Max jumped and realised Harry had turned to look at her. His eyes were light green from the pale sky reflected in them and smoke escaped out of his mouth.

"You told me you liked it," Max shrugged, grinning.

After a beat, Harry let his face smile. "I do," he laughed, feeling for Max's legs to put on top of his lap. He reached up underneath the cuffs of her pjs and started rubbing the warm skin beneath them.

As Max predicted, his hands felt hot. Felt like the smooth burn after a shot or a warm fireplace after it snows.

"My last show is tomorrow, by the way. I completely forgot to remind you."

"Your what?" Max was confused and turned to look at him with furrowed eyebrows and an open mouth.

"My last show, dummy. The one I told you about..." He trailed off, searching her eyes for some sort of recognition. "Remember, I told you my tour's ending. I got you a ticket in the end, don't worry." He smiled, like it was a good thing, and Max was reminded of their conversation from a while ago.

Of course, his last show. The show that Max had happily binned her ticket for, that she did not want to attend, but had in fact promised Harry she would.

The familiar terror of meeting Harry's celebrity friends, of seeing him in his A-List celebrity mode started crawling over Max's shoulders. God, she didn't want to go. Didn't want to see Harry with strangers, didn't want to see him as a stranger.

"Oh, right. Thanks," she spoke through a fake smile and Harry stopped stroking her leg.

"Don't be too thankful, jeez," he rolled his eyes jokingly, but he gave her a stare that made her feel bad.

"No- no, I am," she backtracked. Fuck. She knew Harry could fucking read her mind.

She tried to make her voice sound normal, "Thank you, Harry. Seriously. I'm actually really excited."

And she sort of was, in a way. She hadn't watched Harry perform live since years ago, when he was still just Harry and she made up a fifth of the audience. And she'd loved watching him sing, then. She was always sort of in awe at the way he could use his voice, the way he could make these songs that were so beautiful, so gentle, so careful and clever. But she hadn't seen him do it properly, in the flesh, in real life, for nearly six years.

And that was because she didn't particularly want to see the crowds of girls screaming his name, or the celebrities she was going to have to mingle with backstage and at the afterparty. Maybe it was because Max felt this strange sort of possessiveness over him. When she heard all these other people knowing his lyrics or watching him perform she sort of got all hot with jealousy, wanted to scream I was there first. You don't know him.

Or maybe it was because this was the side of Harry she had never been privy to. The part of him she didn't know, that didn't exist when it was just the two of them alone, here on the balcony.

But she told him she would go. And seeing the way he was looking at her, now. So hopeful, so expectant. She realised she might actually have to turn up.

"You are gonna come, right?" He spoke slowly, his eyes all round and gentle and sweet. Like a child, Max thought. Like it might break his heart if she dared disappoint him.

She didn't hesitate before she said, "Of course, Harry." Because how could she say no to him when he was looking at her like that? When he had laid on her kitchen floor last night and told her he had to be near her.

Max wanted to replay the conversation in her head, but the cold end of it was still lingering like a ghost in the back of her mind.

I can't be near you when I have to go away again.

The words were so simple. So sad. So fucking real.

But Max had put them away inside a locked box in the attic of her brain and it wasn't getting opened until it had to. She didn't want to waste this time they had. Couldn't bring herself to think about anything other than what was happening right now, right in this second, when she loved him and he needed her near. Everything was perfect right now.

It was the best, the most happy Max had felt in a very long time. And maybe that said too much about her pathetic dependance on this undependable boy beside her; or maybe it said a lot about how right they were for each other. That's what Max thought, really. How mind-reading and soul-seeing and the way she couldn't breathe whenever he was close- this wasn't normal. This was extraordinary.

And she loved him.

And so she didn't think all the way into the future. The furthest she wanted to look in that moment was as far as the ends of her legs, resting there on Harry's lap.