Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter thirty-nine

harris

It's close to midnight when there's a knock on my window.

Seb is wrapped in my arms, and I know he must feel me tense up. I can't help it. I legitimately can't. My lungs are already squeezing up, my breath shallow. There's enough light coming from the crack in my bathroom door, the lights left on, for me to see Seb's head shake as he stirs.

"Harris?" he murmurs, groggy. "Hey, Harris?" His hands find my forearms. Immediately, he rubs circles against my skin. I try to loosen up, to say something, but can't. My voice is gone. My very breath, stolen.

His voice has a little more surety to it as he wakes up. "Hey. Hey, it's okay," he says. "You're okay. What is it?"

I don't respond at first. I'm still tense, on edge while trying to listen for something. Anything. There's no additional knocking. Did I imagine it? Am I going crazy?

I must be.

"It's nothing. Go back to sleep," I whisper against Seb's ear. His curls tickle my nose, but I don't mind it. He smells like my shampoo and bodywash once again, and feeling him in my arms, bare skin on bare skin, is comfort plenty. Having him here is enough to keep all the bad vibes away. That night when I laid on my floor and drifted off to sleep while Liam knocked incessantly at my window? Yeah. This is what I wished I'd have had then.

He rolls over and pulls me into him a little bit more, tucking his chin over my head. "Alright," he mutters. "If you insist."

I close my eyes and try to soak in the warmth of his body against mine. My shampoo smells better on him than it does me, but I'm not complaining. My next exhale carries tension with it. My limbs loosen comfortably, and I snuggle in against Seb's chest a little bit more.

There's another knock. A few raps, in quick succession. And I know I'm not imagining it this time, because I feel Seb tense up too.

"Did you hear that?" he whispers, no longer groggy. His hands are suddenly tight on my forearms, so tight that it almost hurts.

Fuck. "Let's just ignore it." Please.

His thumbs slide up on each arm, pressing down to feel my pulse. "Harris, your heart is racing." His voice is strained. He's worried. I don't want him to worry. I just want us to fall back to sleep and never speak of this again.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine." He presses a kiss to my forehead. I inhale shakily. "I'll deal with it."

He slides out of bed faster than I can sit up. "No!" I hiss, terrified to shout even though I want to. I know why he was so worried—I can feel my pulse beating so hard, it feels like it's going to burst right through my neck.

"Seb." My voice is desperate. Strained. I think my hands might be shaking. "Please don't."

He's bending down, grabbing his cyan shirt and slipping it on. His hair is matted on one side, his silhouette golden-lit by the warm bathroom light. "Is it Liam?" he asks.

"Seb, I–I—"

"Is it Liam?" Seb repeats, coolly. I'm not used to this tone of voice from him.

I find myself at a loss for words.

"Right," he says, "well, I'm fucking done with his bullshit. Stay right there."

His gaze flicks about the room, until he settles on my metal water bottle. I watch as he picks it up, in his crumpled shirt and boxers, feeling the bottle for heft.

"Why do you need a blunt weapon?" I ask. Sinking. My insides are sinking. I am sinking. Don't do this, I want to tell him. Let's just go to bed and ignore him. He won't break in. Probably.