Hopelessly Devoted

22

"Yes. We do." The short pauses between his sentences emphasized the meaning behind the situation. The importance of this conversation was great, I just didn't want to have it.

I would always end up forgiving him.

"I don't know how to describe the amount of sorry I am, Blake. I never should treat you like that and I continuously do it." His words hurt me. Not in the way of a knife, more of an emotional connection. I wanted to reach out and tell him everything was okay. Even though what he did wasn't.

So I did. Like always.

"It's okay, Harry."

"It's not though. I made you feel like shit for absolutely nothing." He wasn't wrong. He did do that. There was no reason to speak to me the way he did at the bar and then show up at my house and rudely confront me about my coffee outing. Which, by the way, I have no idea how he knew about it.

"I just don't understand why you got so upset and then wouldn't tell me why." Our eye contact never broke and my eyes filled the bottom waterline with water. I didn't mean to become so emotional, I was just overwhelmed.

"Oh, baby..." He whispers as his hands cradle my face and his thumbs press gently under my eyes and let the tears spill over so he can wipe them away.

His face leans forward and peppers my cheeks with kisses, covering the trails the tears left.

"I'm sorry, so, so, sorry." He murmurs against my skin, my hands brushing softly through his curls.

"I forgive you, Harry, I just want to know why." I was amazed that even through everything his hair didn't have one tangle as I raked my fingers repeatedly through the locks.

His breath hitches in his throat, not knowing how to answer.

"I just- I can't." He stumbles over his words.

"Harry, if you're scared of telling me something because you're afraid I'll tell someone else, I won't." Is that why he was so hesitant to tell me anything? Was he scared that I would out him? What could he possibly be hiding that would make him so scared?

"I know you won't, baby." He speaks so slowly.

"Then why are you so afraid?" Maybe he's just a nervous person? Hah, nope. Forget I even thought that.

"I'm not afraid of you telling someone, I'm afraid of me telling you. This kind of information, Blake, puts you at risk. Knowing anything about me personally puts you at risk." How would knowing personal information about him hurt me? That made no sense at all.

"So I can't know anything about you?"

"I don't really tell people about myself." He shrugs his shoulders giving me a passive look.

"Harry, I can't keep doing this if you won't let me in, I'm really trying to be understanding but-" As much as I want to be around him and talk to him and be his friend, I can't put myself through another one-sided relationship. Not that this is, or will be, a relationship.

He sighs and closes his eyes in thought. His fingers scratching the back of his neck debating what to say. When he opens his eyes again his face reads one thing: nerves.

He opens his mouth but shuts it quickly, diminishing any hope that I have of learning something new about him. When I close my eyes in rejection, I hear his voice speak quickly.

"I paint."

My eyes shoot open and my face scans his. He seemed completely serious. He's a painter?

"What?" I ask confused, almost in shock that he told me something about himself willingly.

"I, uh, paint. My major is in art history and design. I don't know why I wouldn't tell you before, but that's it. I go to Roski, it's that art program."