under the covers [hs au]

chapter seven.

Samira was feeling lonely in this crowded room.

It was another one of Natalie's parties, and Samira sat alone on the couch, ears flooded by all of the jumbled, indistinct voices. Even after warming up to everyone, Samira still found it easy to feel alone. Though she made the effort to speak to others, she could feel those connections immediately disseminate into the air.

No one noticed when she left the noisy gathering room. The resonance was muffled as she stood in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were locked on the exposed skin of her neck, and a feeling of discomfort overwhelmed her. Though she had worked to lose many pounds, some of the flesh remained on her neck.

Just get out of here, she told herself, knowing very well that scrutinizing her body any longer would send her down a rabbit hole. After reapplying her favorite lip gloss, she grabbed her yellow jacket and left the party.

She breathed deeply, regaining some energy as she stood alone in the elevator. But the feeling didn't last; she had no pounds on her for a taxi.

The cold breeze brushed through her hair, running a chill down her spine. She looked down the road, mentally preparing herself for the long walk she was about to take all alone. It was an unfortunate situation; she didn't want to walk in the dark unaccompanied, but she didn't want to go back to the party either, because she'd still be alone.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the sidewalk, planning to walk as fast as possible. But almost immediately, she heard footsteps behind her.

"Georgie?"

She knew that particular voice, and in that moment, she didn't feel so alone.

There Harry was, watching her with a simper on his lips. His hands were settled in his pockets, his hair a perfect mess, and his cheeks peppered with a kind amount of stubble.

"Did you just call me Georgie?" Samira retorted, laughing lightly at his remark.

"Well, where's your red balloon?" Harry riposted, walking up to her.

"What the fuck does that—" she looked away from him, furrowing her eyebrows as she tried to figure out what he meant. What does a red balloon have to do with me? She thought.

He kept trying. "You don't remember how you died in that one movie?" His eyes went to her jacket, her yellow jacket. Remembering the name she was called, Georgie, she realized he was referring to the horror movie, It.

"You asshole," she retorted. "I actually love this jacket."

"I don't," he replied, holding a grimace.

Samira tilted her head at him, appreciating his frankness. "First time you're being honest."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's a reach."

Samira pouted her lips, shaking her head. "It's not."

He didn't argue with her like she expected him to. He just stood there, ridicule in his eyes and a teasing smirk on his lips.

"You aren't allowed to make fun of it," Samira stated firmly, slightly offended by the belittlement.

Harry snorted. "Okay, Georgie."

Samira slapped his arm, forcing another laugh from him. "You always show up at the right time, don't you? Were you going to the party?" She asked.

"Were you leaving it?" Harry countered, rubbing his arm.

"Yeah, I was," Samira mumbled, looking down to her shoes and kicking the pebbles on the ground. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Harry had become Samira's good friend. Over the last month, he'd always be the one she'd call if she wanted to talk to someone. She'd begun to feel lonely when she was without him; she was so used to his company.