under the covers [hs au]

chapter thirty-seven.

Samira cleared her throat, giving Alexia an apologetic smile. But Alexia shook her head softly, forgivingly. She said with her eyes what could not be said aloud.

"Bye, Samira."

"Bye."

As much as she tried, she couldn't tear her eyes away from Alexia's silhouette; it shrank smaller and smaller with every step.

The light she felt in Alexia's presence had faded with every second she looked into Harry's eyes.

He averted his eyes quickly to the floor, shifting bashfully in the doorway. His fists were stuffed into the pocket of his black hoodie—actually, all of what he wore was black. Unkempt, stubble had begun to collect on his cheeks. A beanie covered his disheveled waves of hair.

Samira thought she'd gotten the last word. It'd been days, and Harry never chased after her when she stormed out, nor did he call or text. She really believed it was the last time she'd ever seen him.

But Samira couldn't catch a minute of sleep when the absence of his warmth literally hurt. He was her everything. Her albi, her thangam. If he meant nothing to her, she wouldn't feel so . . . shitty.

"Are you here to get your stuff?" Samira asked quietly, leaning her head against the doorframe. "I also have the . . . Georgie coat and recipe book packed over there." She pointed to a box, neatly wrapped on the kitchen counter.

Harry took a deep breath, eyes glued to the floor.

"That's not why I'm here," he responded quietly.

Samira blinked, startled: "Then?"

"Um . . . when are you leaving?"

Her teeth sank into her lips.

"Tomorrow night."

Their eyes finally met. A dark storm filled his eyes, and he didn't even bother to have subtlety.

"Oh," Harry replied, clearing his throat awkwardly. His face was drained of color. "That's . . . soon."

"Harry," she called quietly. "What is it?"

Harry swept his tongue over his lips, taking a step closer. He closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing as though he had a bad taste in his mouth.

"I don't like the way we ended."

Her stony gaze turned soft. After all, God's work was what brought him before her.

"We can talk," she sighed.

"No." Harry shook his head profusely. "That's not enough . . . for us."

She tilted her head, pursing her lips tightly: "What do you mean?"

"A conversation isn't closure," he answered. "I know you might be busy, but . . . spend some time with me today."

"Harry—"

"Sam . . . please," he interjected, inching closer. "This is the only thing I need from you."

Her instincts clung desperately to the idea of supporting him in his time of need. He wasn't the only one in need, though: Her own heart withered in her chest, empty and bruised, yearning to be healed.

"Now?" she breathed.

He nodded softly: "Now."

Samira inhaled through her nose, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Alright."

Head resting on the car window, she occasionally peered over at him. His shoulders were far too tense for it to seem like he was driving comfortably. In the moments of silence, the tension roared in their ears.