chemistry ➸ hallie

vi. || apocalypse

Allie doesn't sleep.

Shortly after they finished, Harry reached over and flicked off the bedside lamp before settling back under the sheets and wrapping a lazy arm across Allie's middle. So now she's lying here, in complete darkness, in Harry Bingham's bed, with him dozing next to her.

His arm across her stomach feels like it weighs a million pounds. It's heavy with implication, and Allie doesn't know what to think.

It's not like it was bad. She didn't know what to expect, really. She figures everyone has some kind of idea before the first time, but she also figures that nobody can truly prepare for what it's really like. Harry was gentle with her, considerate. Every now and then he would press his forehead to hers and ask if she was still okay, and she'd just thread her fingers back into his hair and kiss him harder because it was easier to focus on kissing him than the dull pain between her legs.

She supposes that next time—if there even is one—it'll be easier. She's pretty sure Harry finished well before she could even come close. She was too focused on the odd discomfort to really enjoy it. There were parts that felt good but otherwise it was just kind of strange, and it certainly wasn't as satisfying as she thought it would be. Or maybe she was just terrible, which is even worse to think about, because if she had sex with Harry Bingham and he didn't enjoy it then that would be beyond embarrassing.

God, she needs to stop.

But her mind keeps reeling. She and Harry have kissed. Multiple times. And now they've slept together. Allie's not obsessive or anything, but she's starting to think it might be time to DTR. Except then, of course, she runs the risk of unnecessary pain. What if he wants to just keep it casual? A friends-with-benefits type of situation? Or what if he does want to go public? Then what? Harry Bingham dating the younger sister of Cassandra Pressman would be too crazy for anyone to handle. Allie's social status would either skyrocket or divebomb, and both of those ideas are pretty terrifying.

She feels like she's stuck in some kind of catch-22, and she decides that she doesn't like this feeling at all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

She literally does not sleep. She stays up, staring at the ceiling until she can finally see the whiteness of it, the sun beginning to rise.

At some point, Harry shifted even closer to her. His arm tightened around her torso and she can still feel his even breathing against her neck. He snores just a little bit, and it would probably be really cute if Allie wasn't still freaking out.

He wakes up at around 6:00, stirring and pulling his arm away from her. She feels cold all of a sudden.

"Harry?" she says softly, and his eyes flutter open. He fixes her with a tired smile, the side of his face still pressed into his pillow as he reaches out and takes a strand of her hair between his fingers, admiring it.

"Morning," he says tiredly, his voice a little raspy as his eyes begin to slip closed again. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good," she lies.

He begins to stir for real after a few minutes, sitting up and glancing around his bedroom as he blinks sleep from his eyes. His hair is a mess. Harry Bingham in the morning is kinda really endearing, and Allie ignores how normal this all feels. Once he seems decently awake, he turns to look at her again.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and he seems a little concerned.

"Yeah," Allie says with a small smile. "A little cold."