Cerise let out a huff of hot breath and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with her wrist, placing the brownies on the platter. She groaned as she looked at them; unpleasantly crumbly and too dark. She had painstakingly woken up early just so she could take her time and ensure their perfection. They had to be perfect, she had thought. But the brownies, slightly charred, were painfully far from it.
She picked up the tray and walked her light-footed stride over to the guest room, where Harry had slept for two nights now. They hadn’t crossed paths in that time: he had locked himself away in the bedroom and Cerise had done the same. She was the brooding, sulky type and it seemed that he was too. She stood before the thick door now, hearing quiet video game noises from behind it. She let out a quiet laugh as she thought of him amusing himself that way, and was thankful that he at least had a distraction.
She cleverly balanced the tray with her left palm as he had seen actresses do in movies, and rapped with her knuckles gently on the door. After five seconds when he still hadn’t answered, she did it again harder. The room silenced. She heard his footsteps, hesitant; heavy, a moment later. No amount of mental preparation could have stunned her less when she saw his face gazing down at her seconds afterwards.
He’s so beautiful, she silently gushed, her cheeks reddening. His countenance was deliberately calm with only a hospitable smile as any warmth. Regret bore a heavy burden within her chest, and she found herself wishing she had kissed him.
You’re here to fix that. Everything that’s happened was for a reason.
She smiled at him nervously, using both hands now to support the platter. “Hi, I—uh,” She looked at the brownies. “I made you some brownies. May I please come in?”
A grin broke out on his face without any reluctance. He nodded, stepping aside to make room for her and shutting the door after her entrance.
She set the platter down on his dresser and stood anxiously beside his bed, waiting for him to permit her to sit on it.
“Did you make those all by yourself?” he asked, sitting down beside her after examining the baked goods.
She nodded and crookedly smiled at him. “Yeah,” she responded. “They’re shit, I know,”
He smiled amusedly at her. Her breath, in response, caught in her throat at his unrivaled glory. Clad in loose sweatpants, a beanie and a t-shirt, Harry was as resplendent as a groom in even the most casual of attires. Her throat made a pathetic noise as she thought of it, then dropped her face into her hands.
Bemusement betook his face when she looked up at him again. He had made no attempt to ask her what was wrong because he was hesitant to say anything at the moment. He didn’t know where he stood with her, and her emotions seemed to be passively volatile from his perspective.
“Harry,” she whimpered pitifully. “I’m sorry.”
A sad smile momentarily twitched at his lips, but he pulled her into a cuddle too quickly for her to catch it. “I’m sorry too,” he admitted, his lips stroking the top of her head. “I didn’t want to screw this all up,”
“You didn’t!” she croaked desperately, throwing her arms around his neck. “It’s not messed up, Harry! We still love each other, don’t we?”
A twinge of sadness panged in Harry’s chest as she said so. “Yeah, we still do,”
She let out a happy breath of relief. “Good, I’m glad,” she pulled away, clasping his hands as she gazed imploringly into his ever changing eyes—sea green; ocean blue; melancholy; delighted. She hoped they would never stay the same.
“Me too,” he replied in his heavy voice.
She was smiling widely and vivaciously at him. “So do you want to come to my dance recital?” she proposed, eyes glittering.
He frowned, his head jerking back slightly. “You dance?”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s why I come home late from school every day, Harry.” She laughed, shaking her head a little at how endearingly ditsy he could be at times, despite his quirky intelligence. “I didn’t go for the last weeks of summer vacation because I wanted to stay here with you, so you wouldn’t be alone.”
His heart plummeted in the most peculiarly pleasant way possible. Before she had even met him she was sacrificing things for him. “What if I had wanted to be alone?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow at her.
“I would have stayed in a separate wing,” she answered without missing a beat. “It was my self-assigned duty to be here for you whenever you wanted me to be.” Her face donned solemnity now, her eyebrows crinkling slightly to show her sincerity. Her initially unprovoked duty to him had blossomed into mature devotion; devotion which never strayed from the deepest of loyalties and never questioned the source of it. It was not blind; it was trusting. She knew the difference instinctually, despite her seemingly emotional ineptness.
He smiled sincerely without his teeth. His dimples barely showed, so gentle was the gesture. “Thank you,” he wanted to say, but didn’t know how. Simple, it had previously seemed, to show gratitude to someone. But he thought it insulting to repay her immeasurable kindness with two overused words; so he kept his silence.
She felt his wordless gratitude instantly. She had grown incredibly sensitive to the smallest mood shift he underwent, and recognized this to be his thank you. She gave a small nod, to show she understood; even if he did not know what she meant.
“So would you like to go to my dance recital?” she asked again.
“Yeah, of course,” he said quickly. “But I’m not supposed to leave the house,”
Her laugh was resonant. “I know that, silly. There’s a small alcove that’s unseen by others at the venue where you’ll watch. Of course, we’ll dress you as inconspicuously as possible, and Mr. Thomas will accompany you.”
He smiled cheerily. “Of course I’ll go then,”
“Fantastic,” she murmured, falling into his open arms. The feeling of being wrapped in Harry’s arms and the nurturing consistency of his cotton shirt made her feel blissfully at ease. Not a worry in the world could graze her; nothing could touch her as she lay, invincible, in Harry’s arms.
