Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter four

Sebastian

I don't know just what it is that Harrison and I are doing, but I know one thing is certain: I'm not complaining.

As soon as we're through the door, Harris and I are pressed right up against each other, breathing in each other's air and tugging at the hems of each other's shirts. His grip is strong, firm, and it makes my knees weak. I've never, ever felt anything like this. When Evan and I were together, it felt like we were clumsy beginners, awkwardly fumbling our way through sloppy, off-kilter kisses. It's different with Harris. He makes me feel different.

"My bedroom is in the basement," he says breathlessly. "If you wanna—"

I kiss him again, and he leads me off in the general direction of the staircase to the basement, the pair of us stumbling along the whole way. When we finally reach the stairs, he presses me up against the wall and lets out a shudder of a breath against my skin, before beginning to trace soft kisses along the length of my neck.

"Harrison," I whisper, eyes squinted shut. "Can we please go downstairs?"

"Mmhmm," he hums, right beneath my jawline. "Yeah, yeah, sure."

He takes my hand. I'm surprised at the smoothness of his palms. Between the two of us, I'd have assumed Harrison would be the one to have rough hands. The softness catches me off guard, but it also somehow excites me further.

"Let's go," he says, tugging me. The staircase is steep, but somehow, I feel as if I'm floating. "Gotta show you where the magic happens."

"Dude, gross."

His fingers are shorter than mine, a little stubbier. His grip is tight, and I'm not entirely convinced any of this is actually happening. Surely, this must be a dream, because no way am I headed down to Harrison McCammon's basement to do who-knows-what with him.

We get to the bottom step, and I take in the mess of clothes strewn about the concrete floor; the dark blue shag carpet that looks like it's been in this basement since the late 70s; the unmade full-sized bed with maroon bedding and a dark grey blanket. "You're really sure—" he starts again, and I just kiss him.

We manage—somehow—to make it to the bed, with our limbs flailing about us. Before I can process anything, my hands are up his shirt, he's cupping my face, the soft touch of his fingertips tickling my skin, and we're on the mattress, just the two of us. He's gone back to tracing those kisses along my neck, and I'm somewhat in awe of how tender he is. That drunk kiss we had shared at Elana Doorsey's New Year's party was so different. It was sloppy and hot and slimy, so different from the soft, feather-light kisses Harris presses against my exposed neck now.

"Do you want me to—" he starts, and my stomach does a backflip.

"Wait, wait." I prop myself up on my elbows and take him in. His hair is a complete mess, its usual floppy bedheadness dried in a mess after the lake. His clothes are still damp, and I find that where his T-shirt is touching my forearm is suddenly cold. What are we doing?

"Are you okay?" he asks. "We can stop if you want."

I bite the inside of my cheek and take a steady breath. "I ... this is just really fast. And don't you have a thing with Liam?"

"No," he says immediately. "Not anymore."

I want to ask him since when was that a thing, but it feels like the kind of question you just don't bring up in conversation. It's not any of my business. If Harris and Liam are broken up, or if they're just friends with benefits, or what—none of it should matter to me. Even though the thought of him with Liam makes me feel ... weird. Not jealous, per se, but yeah. Weird.

"Do you not want to do anything?" Harris says.

Fuck. If I say no, he'll send me home, and this'll be the most embarrassing moment ever, wherein I gave up the opportunity to—

"Because we really don't have to." His voice is so soft. "It's okay if you don't want to. We can take it slow, or we can even, like, do nothing. That's okay too. I just want you to be comfortable, Sebastian."

The basement air is frigid, but the blanket we're laying on seems to have soaked up our body heat. Still, there are goosebumps raised along my arms. "Then ... could we just make out?"

When Harris grins, his eyes seem to light up. Little crow feet crinkle up, smile lines crease. "Sounds good to me."

—

I'm pretty sure a few hours have passed before the two of us tire out. Part of me wants more, but the other part knows that that would probably be a little irresponsible. Well, a little ranging to a lot.

Harrison's head is on my chest, his eyes shut. I don't know if he's asleep. I hope he's not, because I should probably get going soon, but I'm enjoying this little moment. His eyelashes are short and straight, just a few shades darker than the faint brushing of freckles along his cheeks and forehead. His head moves up and down with every rise and fall of my chest. I'm laying back on his bed, arms crossed behind my head, simply observing him.

He's cute. I've always thought that. I think it's hard not to. Even if Harris isn't your type, you can't say he's not cute. He's conventionally attractive in a teen movie star kind of way, with little physical quirks like his messy hair or the small scar on his temple, on the opposite side of the dashboard scratch from tonight. But I think, for me, what always made him appealing is the weird happiness he has about him. You can't see it when he's with Liam—which, granted, has become more and more of the time—but when the pair of them are apart, Harris has this grounded yet infectious joy about him. It's nice to see him smile.

"You're pretty good with your mouth," he says, eyes still shut. Guess he's not asleep then.

"You're not too shabby either."

"Who even says 'shabby' anymore?" He adjusts his head and smiles at me. "It's okay, though. I forgive you."

"Pfft." I pat the top of his head; his hair is unbelievably soft, and it makes me want to tangle my fingers in it all over again. "Shut up, Harris."

"Well that's not a very quippy comeback."

"I'm tired."

"You're slipping."

I sigh. "Shut up."

He just hums and snuggles into me a little more. Harris always gave sleepy boy energy, but I'd never imagined him to be a cuddly boy. I'm not going to say anything, though. I like cuddling. Cuddling is good.

"Hey, Harrison?"

"Hey, Sebastian?"

I thread my fingers lightly through his hair, eyes focused on the exposed pipe in the basement ceiling. "What are we doing here? Like, what is this?"

"I ... I really don't know."

I was expecting that. It's not like I know what we're doing here either. "Well, what do you want it to be?" If anything, I want to add, but don't.

"Uhhhh...." I can tell he doesn't want to answer. And again, it's not like I know either. I'm pretty sure I'm just going to echo any sentiment he shares, because I'll take anything at this point.

But instead of making my life easier, Harris asks, "What do you want it to be?"

I'm quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what he wants me to say. Knowing Harris—not really knowing, which is a problem; it's more so knowing of Harris—he wouldn't be looking for a serious relationship, right? He and Liam seem to have been going casually on and off for a couple years now. He seems comfortable with something non-committal, from what I know. Even in school, he was always trying to find ways to be as not-involved as possible. So....

"Maybe we keep this casual?" I ask. I know we're alone, but I still ask quietly.

When he looks up at me, I can't read his expression. But then he smiles, and he says, "I can do that."

I smile back. "Perfect." I guess I was right. Harrison McCammon doesn't do serious.

A/N - I'm so sorry that there was an issue with chapters 4 and 5 getting uploaded the first time!! Hopefully you guys are enjoying this thus far.