Terms and Agreements (on hold indefinitely)

Mr. Hot Stuff Takes a Shower with me and Wants to know who Alan is

                                                                               9

(HP spoilers)

When I woke up at five the next morning, unable to sleep anymore, there was a new question burning in my mind: where were Flynn's parents? I couldn't just ask him, of course, but I was still very curious.

He was asleep in my bean bag chair, fortunately not snoring, with his head bent down over his chest and I figured he'd be waking up with a horrible pain in his neck pretty soon.

I turned on my lamp because it wasn't very bright and I figured it wouldn't wake him up. And that's when I saw the drool going down the side of his chin. Ugh.

I pulled the book I'd been poring over for the last couple of days out from under my pillow. And no, it wasn't Twilight. I tried to read Twilight once, and by chapter 5 I'd had enough and nursed my brain cells back to good health by rereading Lord of the Rings.

Right now, I was in the midst of my fourth reread of the Harry Potter series, and I was currently in book four, in the chapter where Harry's name is unexpectedly drawn from the Goblet of Fire. Ironic, huh? Ugh. And it irks me how they made Dumbledore lose his cool in the movies! The real Dumbledore never does that!

And don't even get me started on the gross misrepresentation of Ronald Weasley, and that one part of Deathly Hallows where Hermione is being tortured in Malfoy Manor and in the books he was sobbing and frantically trying to reach her but in the movies he just kind of stared at the ceiling. I mean, come on!!! Ugh.

Anyway, I read for a while, deeply engrossed in the story, until: "Good morning."

I looked up from the page, and Mr. Hot Stuff had awakened, his eyes half closed, and his bid of a good morning was mumbled quite groggily. His hair was sticking up all over the place.

"Good morning," I replied, and as he tried to sit up, he suddenly winced and grabbed at his neck.

"Ow!" He exclaimed, rubbing it. "Dammit, I hate it when this happens."

"Why, do you always sleep in bean bag chairs?" I asked teasingly.

"I fall asleep in a lot of weird places," he replied with a wink and a sly grin before climbing to his feet.

"Humph." I turned back to my book.

But apparently he wanted a conversation. He sidled over to my bed and plopped down on the end of it, stretching out on his back with his hands behind his head, causing his shirt - well, my shirt - to ride up and show a little sliver of his stomach. I had to stare holes through the page to make sure I didn't gaze at his stomach too long. I'm not usually like this, I promise. I'm usually repulsed by the sight of a man's stomach.

"So, Harry Potter, huh?"

"Yep."

"'The Goblet of Fire'...Which one is that?"

"The fourth one. You know, the one where some jerk puts Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire. Oddly relatable, isn't it?"

"Hey, you're not a jerk, and you didn't put my name in-"

"I mean you, stupid. You're the jerk who put my name in the real-life Goblet of Fire."

"I thought we were friends now?"

"That remains to be seen."

"Well, whether you've decided we're friends or not, the damned Terms and Agreements require you to return a favor for a favor. Meaning since I helped you with your task, you have to help me with mine."

"Will you please refrain from referring to them as the 'damned' Terms and Agreements?"

"Why?"

"Because you're demeaning them by calling them that."

"Will you just help me find a baby?"

"That's a really weird sentence."

"Yeah...."

"Anyway, just let me finish this chapter."

"Fine."

Two and a half chapters later, after having the book pried from my hands by Flynn, I finally agreed to get dressed and take him to the park or something to find a stinking baby boy.

I was in the bathroom, taking a shower, singing a Hobbit drinking song - quite horribly, I might add - when he came rushing into the bathroom.

I squealed, instantly pulling the curtain that was open quite a ways closed. "What the hell are you doing in here, you creep?" I could've sworn I locked the door.

"Your mom, quick hide me!" He whisper-yelled, thrusting a hand into the shower, in which he held a towel. "Put this on!"

"What? No! You're not getting in the shower with me!" I hissed.

"She's coming!" He pleaded.

Sure enough, I heard my mom calling from my bedroom. "Alison? Are you in the shower?"

I grabbed the towel from Flynn, quickly wrapping in it and turning the water off simultaneously.

"Quick, Alison, hurry!" Flynn urged from outside the shower.

"Get in!" I told him, and he jumped in the shower with me, socks and all, just a second before the door opened and my mom entered.

"Alison?"

"I'm in here, Mom," I replied, my voice a bit unsteady because I was standing in the shower with a guy, Mr. Hot Stuff to be exact, and all I was wearing was a towel. Not that he was looking at me.

His cheeks were all red and he was looking up at the ceiling while we stood all-too-close together. Now that I look back on it, it's actually rather funny.

"Well, sweetie, I just wanted to let you know that Alan called and he's coming to visit today and tomorrow."

I gasped, smiling, forgetting the awkward close proximity of Mr. Hot Stuff and the reason why he was even at my house in the first place, and poked my head out of the shower. "Really? Awesome!"

Mom smiled, "I knew you'd be glad. Well, I'll leave you to it." And she turned to go, closing the door behind her.

"Alan? Who's Alan?" Flynn asked as soon as we heard the bedroom door close.

I shoved him away from me. "Get out!"

He obeyed, but asked again who Alan was. I threw the towel over the side of the shower and turned the water back on. I wanted to tease him. So I ignored his question.

"Alison, who's Alan?" He sounded irritated. Good. I waited hours for him to tell me what had happened to him, so he could wait for me to tell him who Alan was.

"You said yourself that the Terms and Agreements don't allow us to keep secrets," he said.

"Well, I'm not, I'm just not telling you who Alan is right now because you took so long to tell me your secret," I replied, rinsing the soap out of my hair. "And could you get out? I'm trying to take a shower."

"Ugh, Alison!" The towel was flung over the side of the shower, where it landed, hanging halfway in and halfway out, and then I heard the door close, so I released my laughter.