CHAPTER SEVEN
The rest of the boys are silent after Harry’s whole speech and all, but I feel as though I am going to explode with fond for the boy.
Louis then asks if Harry actually knows what’s going on, to which Harry says he doesn’t fully. Louis then thinks a bit before he begins to get on board with Harry’s thinking and he tells Harry to write a note.
“Seriously?” Harry asks, taken aback by Louis’ question, but I can tell that he’s happy that Louis seems to be on board with his thinking.
Louis shrugs, “Yeah, I mean, how else are you going to know what's going on?”
Harry grins and runs to the kitchen pulling out the yellow pad of lined paper and a pen. He proceeds to walk into the living room and he sits down on the couch, staring at the pad with the rest of them.
“Okay, so what do you think I should write?” Harry asks, clicking the pen and getting ready to write.
“Just say I don’t fully understand or something.” Louis says.
Harry writes a little bit and shows it to them and they nod, but don’t actually say what he wrote which kind of—really—bugs me. They then get ready to leave, again asking Harry if he’s okay and he says he is so three of them leave, except Louis. He stays behind a bit and stacks Harry’s boxes up by the door so that he can take them when he leaves which is very nice of him.
“Lou, I promise I’m fine, just—leave.” Harry says, kind of demanding after Louis asks him if he’s really, surely okay for the hundredth time. I would react the same way, so I don’t hold it against him or anything.
“Okay, okay,” Louis says in mock defense and holds up his hands, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “Is there anything else I can do?”
“LEAVE.” Harry says, really loud, and I jump a bit at his change in tone, but then he laughs a little and I feel a bit more comfortable. Louis chuckles and nods, grabbing the boxes and saying a quick goodbye over his shoulder, and before he can ask Harry if he is truly, surely okay, Harry says, “Bye Lou,” and slams the door in front of Louis’ face.
Harry takes a deep breath, leaning against the door and lets the air out in a loud sigh. He takes a look at the clock, and so do I. Five forty-five. Or around there at least (It’s actually five forty-seven, but what’s the actual difference?).
Harry runs a hand through his hair and grabs some food from the refrigerator, and then sets it out on the island. He puts a pot on the stove and proceeds to make a big meal for himself. When it’s almost finished, he walks over to the table in the living room and grabs the yellow sheet of paper. He reads over it a bit before smiling and setting it in the middle of the island. He then goes back to the pot where there is chili I presume.
He eats, and when he’s finished he puts the dish in the sink and then does his nightly routine; showering, finishing papers and other schoolwork, and then reading.
When he finishes a paper, he puts his laptop in his bag by the door and I know what’s next, so I turn my body and lay directly under the bed vertically. He walks over to the top of the bookshelf and grabs my book, then plops onto his bed, which causes it to hit me.
I let out a small shriek of pain when it hits me, but I don’t think Harry notices it. He reads for a really long time and for the first time it’s set in that this position is starting to get uncomfortable and that I really need to stretch out my legs.
I try to peak out from under to see if I can see the time, but it’s really challenging since I don’t want Harry to see. Finally, I muster enough strength to reach my head close enough to the edge to see that it’s a little past eleven. The only I can think is damn, I’ve been under this bed for about eight hours.
