Coalescence ➳ H.S.

Eighteen: Happy

"Don't do it," he warned. I pranced over to the counter and turned on the radio that was situated there, changing the channel to the one we had listened to at the motel all those weeks ago.

"Don't do what?" I asked, pulling the blanket he was wrapped in out of my hands then tossing it out into the bedroom on the floor. I wiggled out of my pants and kicked them aside, leaving myself in a bra and underwear. "Don't tell me you bathe with clothes on."

"Sperling, I'm sick and—"

"Oh shut up and get in the tub," I cut him off, pulling him over and sitting on the edge of the tub as I undid the fastenings on his jeans. I pulled them down ("Sperling don't, you're stripping me of my manhood by undressing me,") and coaxed him to join me in the tub after he gave a very annoyed huff when I took off the rest of my undergarments. He eventually did, sinking his body underneath the bubbles and finding a comfortable spot for his legs. We sat across from each other, and I noted a sigh of relief from him.

Things were okay for now. And it was great.

"How are you not...not upset by what they did to you?"

"I am, it's just...I'm just happy you're back, that's all."

He gestured at me to scoot over to him, and I did so, sitting in his lap and leaning back into him. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my cheek, holding me as tight as he could.

"Can I ask you something?" I questioned, intertwining my fingers with his as we soaked in the water.

"Anything," he replied.

"Did you mean what you said in that voice mail?"

"Every word."

"Every word?"

"Mhm."

I stayed quiet, relaxing my shoulders.

"Why do you ask?"

I shrugged and played with the bubbles on the surface of the water. He did so too, piling some on top of my head while I sculpted a moustache and beard on his face.

"Ever think about how it'd be like to live with no strings attached? No obligations, no bullshit—none of that. Ever think about that?" he asked, still donning the bubble beard.

"Not really. I used to though."

"What was that like?"

"I always thought I'd grow up living on some ranch, somewhere warm, with my own cow. I'd have this walk-in closet—"

"Obviously—"

"—and I'd drive around one of those fancy vintage cars, windows down all the time because it'd be summer all year long. I'd walk around barefoot and wear a long, flowy dress—"

"It's funny because none of it ever involves a guy," Harry remarked, brushing my hair back.

"I didn't think a guy would ever make me as happy, you know? I never based my happiness off someone else."

He chuckled and kissed my cheek again, passing his bubble beard along to me.

"What about you? How did you imagine your life would be?" I asked him.

"Well I thought I would be a famous spy, so I pictured myself in a tux all the time, surrounded by pretty ladies and living the life on a small private island."

"That sucks," I laughed, "your dream life is a bit of a long shot."

"Not really," he reasoned. "I've always believed that the only thing better than being in a tux is being...well...not in a tux,"—he looked down and himself and implied what he meant—"I'm in a private cottage, which is pretty nice, and I'm in the company of a very pretty lady."