under the covers [hs au]

chapter eleven.

"Did your siblings eat all the chocolates you brought them?" Harry asked, turning to her with his head settled onto his arms.

"Elias ate everything," Samira answered, laughing. "He loves those Kinder Buenos."

He giggled: "He has taste."

"Yeah." Samira paused, looking at him. "You know, you never talk about your family."

Harry squinted his eyes, pursing his lips. "I don't?" He questioned, belittlement laced in his tone.

"No," Samira snorted. "You don't."

Harry chuckled lowly, "There isn't much to talk about."

"Why?" Samira tilted her head at him.

A sigh. "I just distance myself. They deserve good."

"And what do you have to do with that?" Samira furrowed her eyebrows.

"Because I'm a shit person."

Struck by shock, Samira burst out laughing: "That's the biggest lie you ever told."

Harry didn't laugh with her, tensing his jaw. "I'm serious."

His straightforwardness almost shattered her; it hurt how he'd think something like that. If anything, he was one of the kindest, most compassionate people, and it was rare to see anyone like him.

"Harry," Samira began, taking his warm hand in hers. "You're one of the best people I've ever met."

His gaze shifted. "Best is a stretch, but thanks anyway."

Samira shifted her body toward him, leaning her shoulder onto the railings. His gaze remained away from her.

"Hmm." Samira thought about what he said, remembering what he hadn't said in the past. "Why don't you ever say you're welcome?"

He sighed; his chest rose and fell prominently. "I feel like it's me praising myself for doing something good. I don't like that idea."

Samira chuckled. "I think there's a sense of validation when a person appreciates what you did for them. So replying should be nothing, you know."

"I wish it were that easy." Harry cringed. "People love saying shit, whether you've made mistakes or done good."

"I agree," Samira said. "But I really can't imagine giving a shit about what other people think of me."

Harry snorted, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. "Hmm."

Samira leaned in, hoping to explain it further. "It starts with accepting that you're human and you make mistakes. If you try to get forgiveness from others, that's what matters. If they choose not to forgive you, that's on them. Not you."

Then he looked at her. "Is it that simple to you?"

"Okay, I know it's different for everyone," Samira justified. "I guess what matters to me is if He sees it."

"See, that's the thing I can't fathom," Harry interjected. "That God forgives. How do I know?"

"You just have to believe. It's hard, takes patience," Samira added. "It was easy when I did good, as a way to seek forgiveness. And good came to me because I was patient. It will for you, too. I think it has already."

He blinked a few times, nodding. "Maybe," he replied softly.

She looked away for a moment but brought her gaze back, witnessing his eyes trail to her neck. She'd caught it, and he gulped awkwardly.

"Um." He cleared his throat. "Does your necklace say patience?"

Samira looked down at the pendant resting on her chest. It was on the other side, reading patience in English. She flipped it over, reading sabr in Arabic.

"Yeah," she answered. "After trying so much to have it, I guess it's a piece of reassurance."

"It's pretty."

A whistle blew; it was past midnight and they'd get kicked out if they didn't leave.

"We gotta go," Harry said, standing up.

Samira looked up at him considerately. "Do you think you'll try to be patient?"

He held his hand out for Samira to take, smiling softly.

"Yeah." He nodded.

Samira took his hand, pulling herself onto her feet. The lights around the dock shut off as they walked to his car, finally out of the cold air.

A sense of dread seeped into her when he parked next to her apartment.

Harry leaned his head against the headrest, ready to sleep, but he stayed awake, just to spend time with her. She'd almost forgotten that she wanted to tell him how much she liked him, but she knew that the feelings were for him to confess.

Make your fucking decision already.

"Samira?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you going to get out of the car now?"

A smile appeared on her lips when she realized she didn't leave yet; he'd begun to laugh.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand. "For staying up and dealing with my bullshit."

There was that stupid, yet charming twinkle in his eye.

"You're welcome."

Just like that, her breath was lost. He said that. He responded to her appreciation, wholeheartedly, like it was the most normal thing he'd ever told her. He'd never said that to anyone, but he said it to her.

Her chest ached as they locked eyes.

Fuck it, Samira thought to herself. Fuck it all.

She leaned over and yanked the collar of his shirt, enchaining their lips. Every thought was dispelled, and all she could think of was how his lips were on hers, how soft they felt, how they began to cooperate with hers like they'd done it before. Their teeth clanked as she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist.

Oh, God, he was kissing her.

The way his hands pulled her near and his lips bit hers gently only told her: Yes, Samira, he fucking likes you. They were connected in a way she'd never foreseen, like a bee to its honey. His fingers gripped her hair, caressing her skin with his thumbs. Their noses brushed; she engulfed herself in his scent as much as she could.

As their lips played a game of finding the treasure, she realized that Harry was no longer her friend; he was someone she'd kissed, someone she told herself to never try and do things with, someone she now had a different label with.

So she pulled away, feeling the cold enter the surface of her skin; she was no longer joined by the warmth of his lips. Their breaths were audible, a furious heat visible in both of their complexions. Harry's eyes never left her, whether it was on her lips or her gaze.

But he was startled—not that she kissed him, but because she pulled away. He wanted more, but Samira didn't know if she felt the same.

Then she realized what she'd done.

Samira licked what was left of him off her lips and fled his car. Her purse was clutched in her fist as she sauntered as fast as she could, leaving him alone as her heart overflowed with regret.

-

merry christmas to those who celebrate x
here's my present :-)