Harry delayed his plans; ones that he couldn't have been anymore excited about, to spend several days here with me.

I glance warily at Harry, eyeing him up for what feels like several hours instead of several seconds. He doesn't take notice of my actions, however.

"You know," I begin. My voice exits my mouth as a quiet murmur. "-- You know you could've went to see Gemma. I would've been fine by myself here."

"Maybe you would've," there's a prominent ounce of nonchalance in Harry's tone. Intermixed with some pessimism. "But I wasn't going to go to Croydon with doubts about how you chose to spend Christmas, by yourself. What kind of boyfriend do you take me for?"

The sigh of exhalation Harry chooses to elicit causes me not to extended nor spur our discussion further. It also helps me conclude and locate the rhetorical and hypothetical tone  in his question.

In fact my focus alters to the presents and the many amount of materialistic gifts I got for Harry, for one special holiday, surrounding the Christmas tree. Reality washes over me, causing me to inwardly groan:

I got Harry so much shit.

It makes me a bit apprehensive, nonetheless or more. Theres always that little voice in my head while I shop spurring me to purchase more and more. And in this case, for Harry, that voice bothered me more than several times. It must've bothered him, also.

Because when the clocks hand line up to zero, Harry grins and looks at me sheepishly. A hand rubs at his nape, uncomfortably. It doesn't take  an ancient wise one to infer Harry's, mentally, departing from his comfort zone. Someone as mild as me, by looking at Harry, can sense hesitance.

Yet I fight the urge to smile. Cheeks automatically flushing when Harry retrieves about seven boxes from behind the Christmas tree. Laying them all out in my peripheral. That rare sheepishness remains, even when I point to the five presents designated for Harry, in front of the Christmas tree. And it's appalling that we've both purchased a lot for one another. All the same it's heartwarming.

The smallest gesture can be the biggest boost of confidence one needs. Materialistic gestures or even those DIY type of procedures.

"Here," Harry pushes a small wrapped box closer to my lap. "You open yours, first."

I inwardly scold myself for the feminine squeal that, responsively, slips past my lips. Causing not only Harry but myself to subconsciously laugh in a simultaneous pattern. A sly grin begins to prominent itself onto Harry's pink lips.

It's transitions into sheepish again once I begin fumbling with the green coloured wrapping paper. Just as bright as Harry's captivating eyes, but a bit more darker in comparison. Then there's that wave of apprehension arising, set to drown me this round.

Who'd have known Harry nor I would buy around the same quantity of presents for each other? Of what, precisely?

The last shred of paper answers my internal question for me. A turquoise and pale yellow coloured box makes an appearance. My heart combusts and bursts, nearly splitting my ribcage open when I discover the gold charm bracelet resting peacefully in all of its wrappings.

And there's a small charm already connected to the bracelet. A gold lock that's engraved with my initials, NJH, subtly. Another lock that is shaped as a heart, a darker shade of silver, has an engraving also:

"I'm happy to have you - Hx."

I practically jump onto Harry, attacking him with gratefulness and thankfulness and excitement and words that my busy mind can't muster up to say at the moment. But my lips say all the words I can't by pressing passionate kisses to Harry's. Knots and butterflies twists and turn my stomach into mush. I'm besotted with moments like these.

Harry soon opens one of the presents I got for him. A bigger box wrapped with colourful and decorative designs. His breath hitches when he encounters his first gift. A customised jersey of his favourite football team. A shirt that has multiple signatures and his name and it contains love and hope and wishes of the future. He shows his appreciation for it.

All the more, it makes me feel appreciated. Positive reactions like Harry's, practical fangirling, helps me know that I know Harry. Him and his peculiar sense of style. His favourite attractions.

The rest of the night is spent exchanging multiple gifts. I'd received some rather thoughtful ones also, like a poster of my older and only sister. Because that isn't weird nor concerning at all. Just like the gift exchanges, though, we exchanged appreciation and passionate kisses. A fulfilling night I'd never exchange for anything.

After the gift-giving simmered down I made sure to tell Harry, "I'm happy to have you, too." Whilst wrapping my arms a little tighter around his neck.

THE WEEK WITH HARRY soon came to an end days later. So did the cuddling and the cooking and the free time to do anything else, faded away just as simultaneously. I awoke in my bed by myself. Something I shouldn't be unaccustomed to doing, but with Harry's last morning at my house, I would've expected to wake up in either Harry's arm or on his chest like the previous mornings and afternoon naps.

I ignored the heavy feeling in my chest by removing the dirty blond fringe from my eyes. Climbing out of bed to monitor my hygiene and then, search for my endearing boyfriend. Whom I discover sitting upon the kitchen counter afterwards, skimming through his phone.

Subconsciously I stand between his legs. Leaning up, as Harry leans forward, to meet in a brief kiss. One that still continues to erupt responsive shivers down my spine.

"I made pancakes," Harry says whilst not taking his eyes of his phone screen. I thank him before reaching for the plate of breakfast I've grown attached to, morning and evening pancakes. Curiously I ask Harry, "What's caught your eye?"

Cheekily he answers, "You, of course." Tapping my cheek with his index playfully. "A university in Cambridge. They have the dentistry programme."

Cambridge. A city nearly four hours away from Manchester, Cambridge. The pessimism tries to cloud my thoughts and concerns, but I nod understandingly at Harry's words. I continue to listen to him ramble and babble on and on about the university four hours away whilst I stand before Harry contemplating my own future. As I always do when someone speaks to me about university and occupations to pursue for the future.

And I just don't know. I don't know what I have an interest doing later on. I barely have a plan for what happens after college ends. Sure there is university but is there another ultimatum for me, I can take?

Unfortunately Harry's rambling exceeds over the amount of time I need to ready for work. So disappointedly I have to cut Harry off from speaking. Not that that is my intentions. "I have to shower before work starts," I tell him.

Without any concerns Harry nods understandingly. He abruptly stops his story of the future — cutting himself off mid-sentence only to ask me, "Can I join too?" And I don't seem to have any second thoughts, already granting Harry permission.

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I'm such a procrastinator. Don't even listen to me when i said i was doing all of that editing in the last chapter. my lying ass.

where's one place you'd really like to visit?

tell me some predictions btw. i'd like to know what you're all thinking.

anobrain // narry auWhere stories live. Discover now