Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter twenty-six

sebastian

When I wake up in the morning, I've rolled out of Harris' arms to the opposite edge of the bed. But our legs are still tangled together, and he's still on his side, facing me with his eyes shut.

Carefully, I untangle our limbs and roll onto my side to face him. He's so delicate when he sleeps. Usually, with how often he's smiling or laughing, Harris has all these happy little lines on his face. Although I'm sure they'll be more permanent when he's older, right now, they're nowhere to be seen. In fact, Harris is frowning slightly in his sleep, this little Grumpy Cat look that makes me want to laugh. And I would, if I weren't worried about waking him up.

I don't know how long I lie there, staring at him while attempting to not feel creepy about it. Eventually, I decide to roll onto my other side and check my phone. The first Instagram story I click on is of a few juniors—now seniors—from the debate team swimming in the quarry at sunset, on the pH testing side, not me and Harris'. It almost looks fun, but see also: excrement-laden waters. No thanks. I'm no Elana Doorsey. I'm nobody. Jumping off that cliff into Lake Franz was a big, bold thing for me to try, just to get out of my own head. I don't know how much more out of my head I can be.

I click to the next story. And what a coincidence—Elana Doorsey herself. In a hospital bed. Making a duck face. Guess who ended up in the hospital, slayyyy.

Wow. See, this. This is why I don't do things.

The movement of my turning over must wake Harris, though, because next thing I know, he's snaking an arm over my bare side and pressing a soft kiss against the back of my neck.

"Morning," he says, and fuck, his voice is so gravelly. I can't.

"Good morning," I tell him, unsure of whether or not I'm supposed to turn around. My mouth tastes terrible, I realize—morning breath is not my friend, evidently. "How did you sleep?"

I feel him stretch his legs out. Some joint of his cracks, and he groans. "Not bad," he says. "You?"

"Pretty good." I'm trying not to overthink 'not bad,' even though it's a little hard. "The storm put me right to sleep."

"Nice. The cardio put me right to sleep."

I snort, setting my phone back down next to my pillow. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're welcome."

His arm tightens around me, pulling me against him. His morning wood presses against my lower back, but I'm too tired to even think about the prospect of morning sex. I'll need at least two minutes of waking-up time before that. But I'm not sure that Harris has that on his mind, because he simply nuzzles against the crook of my neck and shoulder, then mutters, "Thank you," so quietly that I wouldn't be surprised if I dreamed it.

Goddamn. This boy. Saanvi has been trying to get me to reassess things with him, see where we stand, but I can't bring myself to do it. This is all too perfect. I can't risk ruining it.

I can feel his arm flex as he tries to pop another joint. "You're so cute," he says. "Seriously, thank you for last night. I had a great time."

"Yeah, thank you too." A great time. I'm telling myself to not overthink it, but there's a niggling urge to know: am I just 'a great time' to Harris?

Nope. Nope. Don't think about it. You know you're not.

He presses another feather-light kiss against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I guess I can overthink it later.

"Got any plans for today?" I ask him, admittedly a little proud of myself for not asking anything embarrassing—and/or too heavy for this early in the morning.