Lone [MATURE HS]

Chapter 8.

I accidentally drop the snack. A little pitiful pout joins my lips together as I whisper, "My cookies.."

"They're okay," he mocks with a faint, lazy grin plastered on his face. "They'll survive. They'll make it, I promise."

Sighing, I look up at him to see him examining my face as he always does, and not that I mind or anything, but it happens. "How was your day?" I ask.

"Boring," he breathes out. "Yours?"

"Boring, how odd," I retort, laughing at my own little posh accent that was meant to mock his. A fisted hand against his chest lightly knocks onto his toned body. But mid pathetic giggle, the feeling of his cool lips replaces sound with a kiss, loud breaths, and the sound of the fabric of my knitted sweater rustling against the black windbreaker he's got on.

My lips part lightly, and I feel a churning in my lower stomach when the soft, wet feel of his tongue only glides against my bottom lip. I shut my mouth and unfortunately pull away, knowing our actions are not appropriate for the building. Not that I would care, but I just had a feeling it wasn't a good idea.

Harry's hands rest on my lower back, not shaking off the pressure they put there that inevitably pushes me against his body. I can't stop him because really I don't want to, which can't be such a bad thing for either of us. My eyes peer up at him through my eyelashes and he looks back at me.

Three weeks ago...I was thinking this kid's weird...or he's staring too long. Here. Now. I'm leaning against a vending machine, his body tight to mine and our lips centimeters apart. And I can't help but like it. Regardless of how self-kept and quiet...and honestly odd he was at first, if things keep looking the way they are now, I'm too content to look the other way.

"I...I um," he tries to say. I feel a faint smile curving into my lips again. "Swimming," he blurts out in a breath. He pauses, and doesn't say anything in seconds, which encourages me to gradually frown in confusion...maybe adoration and obviously amusement.

"What...about...swimming?" I ask slowly, eyebrows furrowed and lips turned up into a lazy grin.

"I'm going swimming," he states firmly, and then he looks up at the wall in thought for a second as he murmurs, "That took a lot to say."

"Yeah," I agree, letting out a brief, soft laugh. "Where are you going swimming?"

"At a place." He replies shortly.

I nod my head slowly, gazing down at his body within a split second, then looking at his face again. "That sounds fun. Where's your swimming stuff?"

"Don't have it with me," he replies curtly.

"Okay. Don't tell me what you're actually going to do. You don't have to," I laugh, shaking my head. He's clearly not telling me for a reason, and just to be clear, I suspect he has these weird little acts where he tries to get me a certain mood...all for his project. I'm determined not to show an emotion he's yet to draw of me.

Knowingly, he sighs and frowns. "I see...you've caught on..."

"That might get annoying," I admit. "Your project is purely based on pestering me, you know..."

"You find me pester...rer--ous?" His eyebrows furrow as he tries to find an adjective that fits.

My eyebrows furrow too. "Pesterous? That's...not a word," I let him know, pursing my lips, and pushing a hand against his chest. He moves away from me, freeing my body from his warmth and the coolness of the vending machine. I begin to walk away, and he follows beside me.