Who Names The Colors

All Eyes

Jo walked into her classroom and felt her fingers slip. She had to grip her laptop bag so her MacBook and plans didn't go flying. She wasn't sure how she kept ahold of her syllabi. They were just in her hand. And Harry had the audacity to smirk.

The night before she'd texted back immediately, which she was sure broke some rule she did not know about dating in the current world, not that she knew how to date, ever. She was reasonably certain that you were not to show enough interest to answer back right away.

Jo also sucked at games though, and she wasn't sure she and Harry were dating anyway. On the one hand, they had only been on one date. But the date had extended into, well, consumed the weekend, and had felt exactly like shaking up. They had also had sex, lots of times, and she wasn't sure if that was supposed to define a relationship, and she had tried to call it 'just fucking' over and over in her head. But it did not ever feel like that. And she wasn't that girl anyway.

Jo had casual sex because that's what was available to her, but she carried a deep affection in her heart for all of her partners. The way she felt about Harry was burrowed somewhere deep beneath her breastbone. She wasn't sure if he had become necessary to her as blood or oxygen, but he was within her in a way she didn't want to examine closely.

Jo had answered his text, with the truth. His 'see you soon.' Had been met with her 'I hope so.'

Harry was right. If the two of them were all groin and no feeling, it was ridiculously risky, foolshardy and stupid. Any chance she had to keep it relegated to such a place was eradicated by spending time with him. He was joy, even when they were disagreeing, especially then. She liked the way he talked and thought and he was considerate and sweet. So, while she was lying in her bed and alternating between hugging and sniffing the pillow that smelled of Harry and deciding it was impossible to end it the next time she saw him or maybe ever, Jo had come to the conclusion that she didn't want it to be just fucking to either of them. That if it was he was not who she thought he was and he was a liar.

Was he a liar?

He 'd asked her to just let them be together, to feel them. And they felt so good, like home, but like no home she had ever lived in, like the best version she had ever dreamed up for her own. God, how unfair was it that he felt like a real partner? Someone to help shoulder her burden and who loved her children.

That was the full stop right there. How could he love Ethan as his mate and Zoe like his daughter? Babysitter? Dammit, she thought, maybe, she should end it. He was too young to be a stepdad and it was too fucked up to be real.

To bad it was real. It was supernatural and ultra-sensory and though he'd kept her up all night both nights he'd shacked up with her, she was awake and alive and confused despite the sleepless nights.

But there was no doubt she felt real feelings for Harry. None of them were simple, she knew their name too, but she was not willing to admit it to herself. It was bigger than four letters anyway.

Could she have this?

Because she wanted it.

"I want him." She said out loud to the dark.

That's when she fell asleep. The admission unlocked the chains on her dreams and they were full of gallery walls covered with painting of women with clear joyful faces. She slept well, though short.

The next morning, she could see the toll of her sleepless nights under her eyes and fished out her eye patches so she wouldn't look too atrocious, old. She also found her favorite mauve lippy, enough color to be seen, but not too much for her first day of classes. When Jo was changing based on how her ass looked in her trousers she had to admit she was getting ready for him. Hoping soon was today.