camp cherry three | hs

thirty seven

He breathes out through his nose, almost as if amused, and tucks his knees against his chest, resting his chin there and closing his eyes, "I'm fine. Just angry." I nod in acknowledgement, focusing on the floor as he laughs humourlessly at the back of his throat again, "don't you find it funny that... I'm in the same place as you were? Does it feel nice to know I'm getting payback?"

"Not really. It's not fun to watch you be in pain," I answer honestly, reaching over and brushing the loose hair from his forehead, "it is ironic, though."

"Guess I had karma coming eventually."

"If you want to look at it like that."

He leans his head back against the support of the couch and manages a small smile, "I do. Always the pessimist."

"I think you're allowed to be a pessimist at times like this," I reply, wincing at the cold tile beneath my feet as I stand and step between the sofa and the coffee table. "Go to bed, Harry. And I mean my bed! You need proper sleep."

"No, it's okay!" his voice raises as I tread into the kitchen, searching my fridge for something acceptable to eat at three in the morning. "I've intruded enough," he insists, and I roll my eyes while he's not looking; he's so stubborn and it's even more annoying now than it ever was.

"Harry!"

"Hana!"

"Bed. Now," I repeat firmly, leaving no room for arguments.

Of course, he finds a path to squeeze out of and battles back once again, "this is your place."

"And you pay my wages, so go. Or I quit."

"I'll fire you first."

"Go ahead. Once you've had a restful night's sleep." As much as he fights back against me, I'll always get my way eventually, and this is just another example when he sighs dramatically and stomps towards the door. I follow him through, even with a plate of his favourite cookies for him to snack on since I'm forcing him to sleep.

"I hope you enjoy being out of a job tomorrow," he mutters and I smile softly at his endless defiance as I finally manage to convince him to get into bed and hopefully wake up feeling much more rested.

"Goodnight, Harry!" I call with a tone of finality as I make my way out towards the lounge, simultaneously glad that he'll be comfortable and dreading another day of waking up with unavoidable back pain.

He inhales sharply and clears his throat, "wait, Han."

"Yeah?"

His eyes meet mine and even through the darkness and my tiredness, I can tell they're glassy with tears, "stay with me?"

Immediately, I hesitate, "I can't."

"Stay with me. Please."

I'm not sure how to say no as politely as possible. "I shouldn't, Harry."

"Why?"

I exhale through my nose and glance away from him, leaning against the wall and tucking my hands behind me, "because you're mentally fragile right now."

"And? What difference does that make?"

"I don't want you to... to be dependant on me. Or anyone, for that matter. There's a difference between comfort and complete reliance on someone."

"I'm just asking you to stay with me," he tries again, and as much as I'm trying to remain headstrong and insist that I have to leave, he's very convincing. "Just for one night or until I fall asleep." I feel my throat swell with emotion when it becomes apparent in his voice that his tears are beginning to fall and fixate on one corner of the room, "you can leave as soon as I'm asleep. I just don't want to be alone again. Please?"

Even with reluctance in my every step, I can't help but concede to his persuasion and nudge him carefully. He budges backwards a little to allow space and I sit on the edge, still with many inhibitions for many reasons, some of which I would never tell him aloud; I have a boyfriend, firstly, and whilst sleeping in the same bed as someone else with absolutely no intentions of taking anything too far isn't necessarily bad, not many people would be too accepting of their partner sleeping in the same bed with their ex-boyfriend, I imagine.

I don't speak as my head rests against the pillow and I tug the quilt gently to cover my upper arms, shielding me away from the November cold sneaking through the walls. Hoping he doesn't notice when his knee nudges against my shin as he shuffles closer and I flinch reflexively, I try to relax as much as possible but it simply feels so strange to be held by him after so long. It doesn't feel wrong or distinctively unenjoyable, which somewhat surprises me, it just feels very unfamiliar.

One of his arms loops cautiously around my stomach and eliminates the gap between us further, and the more I get used to his warmth again, the more comfortable it feels; not only because it feels nice to be cuddled, of course, but because I remember how warm he felt and how his body fit so well with mine and those memories are rather pleasant to reflect on - if I'm not angry at him.

His breath is slow and purposeful, brushing over my shoulder every so often and tickling my ear incidentally, "is this okay?"

"Yes."

His voice drops to a barely audible whisper and I will away the burn of tears that appears in my eyes, "thank you." Several minutes later, when I assume he's almost asleep, judging by his breathing and lack of movement, his voice comes again. "Are you going to leave?"

"Maybe."

"You won't be here when I wake up?"

I'd love to give him a positive answer and allow him to sleep with dreams, but that'd be simply cruel. I give him an honest answer, instead. "No, I won't be."