Finley
Harlyn decides to stay the night, and after finally feeling like I'm not going to burst into tears at the drop of a hat, we venture downstairs to talk to the girls. It's late - almost one in the morning - but they're all still up, piled on the couch watching Friends reruns.
"You guys are up late," I say, voice hoarse. I'm sure I look and sound like death. I feel like it a little, like my soul was ripped out of my body and unceremoniously shoved back in.
Elly huffs dramatically. "As if we could sleep without knowing you two were ok."
I don't want to think about what would've happened if Harlyn and I had broken up, but for one crystal clear moment, I know we both would've been taken care of. Maybe it's naïve to disregard the possible ramifications of us living together and breaking up down the road. But for once in my life, I file that "what if" away for now and focus on the amazing women watching us expectantly as we hover in the doorway.
"We're fine," I assure them. They all slouch against each other, laughing softly. Fran's the first one up, padding toward me and wrapping me in the tightest hug I think I've ever experienced. Sharp images of Fran's worried face as she coached me through breathing earlier swim through my mind, and I squeeze back. "I'm sorry you had to -"
"Nope," Fran interrupts, not letting go. "Absolutely not. Max said you'd do this. Do not apologize for me witnessing a panic attack. I couldn't very well leave you by yourself, could I?"
Harlyn tenses behind me, and his hand on my lower back clenches around a fistful of my t-shirt. He's going to blame himself for that, I know he is. But I don't get a chance to say anything, because then all three girls are pulling us into a tight group hug and whispering about how much they love us both. I wait for Harlyn to say something about moving in, but he doesn't. I don't push. The girls stumble upstairs one by one, and we follow last, hand in hand. I finally step out of my clothes and into the softest sweats I can find. Harlyn doesn't exactly wear the same size, but I dig out a sweatshirt I used the last time I was at his and accidently brought home.
"We've come to the stealing my clothes stage in this relationship, I see," he teases, climbing into bed in the sweatshirt and his boxers.
I shrug. "You'll have to get used to it. If you live here, it'll happen so much more."
He chuckles and I slide under the covers next to him. We face each other in silence for a moment before Harlyn pulls my hand from where it's tucked under my pillow, kisses my knuckles, and squeezes it to his chest. There are still a million things running through my mind, but the exhaustion weighing down every inch of my body wins out, and I drift off to sleep staring at Harlyn's sleep soft face.
***
Several things happen in quick succession over the next two days. Fran announces the next morning at breakfast that she and Nate signed on the flat and they'll be moving in in the next week or so. She's already been packing slowly, and she looks so sweetly happy that I can't help but grin at her.
Harlyn, smiling too, clears his throat. "Well, I guess it's as good a time as any to tell you I'll probably be moving in."
Elly takes a full thirty seconds to process before jumping out of her chair and tackling Harlyn in a hug, nearly knocking him onto the floor.
And then Harlyn texts me later that evening that he told his parents and is going to start packing.
I really try to wrap my mind around it. I haven't really thought about it, because I didn't know how I'd feel about it. After Thanksgiving...I know it'll be hard, but like I told Harlyn, I think it'll be worth it.
But now it's real. Fran is moving boxes down to the living room and clearing her stuff out of the kitchen. And Harlyn's slowly packing up his childhood bedroom. When I go to help after classes a couple days later, it really hits me. Harlyn's moving in. He's going to be living one floor down from me. I'll see him every morning and every night. For the first time in a while, the excitement overpowers my anxiety, and I find myself grinning at the contents of Harlyn's sock drawer.
"What are you so smiley about?" Harlyn asks from where he's sorting through old comic books on his bed.
"I'm just...happy, I guess," I answer.
Harlyn cocks his head with a bemused smile. "That's good." He thumbs through the comic book he's holding. "Have you told your parents yet?"
Some of the excitement drains, and my face falls. "No. I told Max. And Bridget. But I asked Bridget not to say anything yet. I don't really know how to tell them. Or even if I need to, you know?"
"It's...kind of a big thing not to?" He grimaces as soon as he says it. "Sorry, no. I'm not trying to pressure you or anything. I know your relationship with them is complicated. I just -"
"No, it's ok," I say quickly, abandoning the sock drawer to stand next to his bed. "I will tell them it's just..." I consider for a moment. "I guess I need to find a different word. 'Tell' feels like I'm reporting or asking permission, you know? Like they have a say, they can veto."
"Which they can't."
I smile. "They can't. But that's what it's always felt like. Telling them I'm gay. Telling them I'm going to study abroad. Telling them we're dating. Telling them I'm going to move to England and be a writer. They have this...power over me still. And I hate that. Part of me just doesn't want to tell them at all." I sink to the edge of the bed next to his knee. "I don't know how to update them about my life and still tell them what's going on without it feeling like a relationship ending conversation. I almost don't want to tell them until after I'm back from Christmas break because then I won't be home to see the reaction. But then will it look like I was hiding it? Will they be upset that I didn't tell them sooner?"
Every thought rushes out of my mouth before I can really think about it, and it's so freeing I almost cry. I missed this, telling Harlyn things. How stupid of me to deny myself this safe space I've found with him.
Harlyn smiles sadly. "I can understand why you so easily slipped into not telling me anything, not sharing your opinion. I hate that you're scared about this. Telling your parents life updates should be exciting. I mean, I guess I was nervous to tell Mum and Dad, too, but they knew I was thinking about it and...I don't know."
I grab his hand and play with his fingers. "I guess...I don't know. I'll think about it," I say eventually. "That's lame. I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine, love," he says softly, grabbing hold of my hand and squeezing it. "We'll figure it out."
"I like the sound of that."
"Of what?"
"We."
His entire body softens. "Oh, love, it's always been 'we.' It's been 'we' since I first met you."
I stare at him for a moment, absolutely captivated by the love pouring off of him in waves. Slowly, I shift the comic books out of his lap and crawl into it instead.
"Oh. Hi," he whispers, his arms sliding around me and pulling me close. "This doesn't really help in the packing process."
"Yeah. Well." I press my face into his neck and squeeze tight. "Due to my own stupidity, I've lost out on cuddles over the last few weeks. I gotta make up for it."
Harlyn sweeps his hands up and down my back slowly. One hand migrates to my hair and plays with the strands at the bottom of my skull. I tighten my hold around his waist and press kisses to his neck. We don't say anything. We don't really need to. We stay like that until Diana pokes her head in and offers sandwiches with a soft smile.
Harlyn's turns in his last final paper on December 9th, and he pulls up in his parents' car on the 10th. I'm waiting on the front step when he does, and he gets out with a bright purple gift bag stuffed with white tissue paper. Elly doesn't know he's moving in today, but since it's her birthday, he thought it would be the perfect surprise. This is as much a step for us as it is for them, and watching Elly put the pieces together when Harlyn brings in his first garbage bag full of sweaters is priceless. The four of us help lug his stuff in, box after box, and fill Fran's old room.
It's late afternoon by the time we've unloaded two cars worth of stuff, and Fran shows up with Nate, ready to go out with us for Elly's birthday dinner and drinks. It's a party, as anything involving Elly is, and I can't stop smiling. Because tonight, Harlyn won't drop me off at the house and go home. He'll stay. He'll be just one floor away. And in the morning, we'll make breakfast together. Maybe I'll wake him up by crawling into his bed with him. That thought distracts me enough to get Harlyn's attention, and he makes our excuses to the group.
We step through the front door at nearly ten, and wordlessly make our way up to Harlyn's new room. He digs out his sheets and starts making the bed while I tear open a garbage bag at random.
"Where do you want your massive collection of sweatshirts?" I ask, gesturing to the pile at my feet.
Harlyn scoffs. "It's not a massive collection. Especially since you've been stealing them."
I scoff back. "I have not."
"You're wearing one right now."
I glance down, knowing full well I'm wearing his teal crew neck and have been all day. "Fine. I have been. It's still a massive collection even with the handful -"
"Seven."
"- that I've borrowed. It is not seven." I try to do the math, counting the number of times I've used one at his place and forgotten to take it off or snagged one from him before he left. It can't be that many.
"I'll go up to your room right now and prove it." I bite my lip, wishing I could confidently say that he would not find seven sweatshirts scattered about my room. But I can't. "That's what I thought."
"Well, it's your fault for having so many."
"Oh, it's my fault."
"Yes. If you didn't have so many I couldn't steal so many."
"You'd still steal them."
"Probably." There's a pause in our bickering, and I bite my lip again, so I don't smile too big. "So...where do you want these?"
He blinks at me. "Oh. Right."
Also suppressing a smile, he spins to look at his wardrobe and starts making a plan for how he wants to store his clothes. It's mostly the same way he did at his parents', and since I helped him pack it all up, it doesn't take me long to catch on. Still, it's well past midnight when we come to a stopping point. All of the essentials are out, and I can feel the exhaustion tugging at my eyelids.
"Ok. I need to get to bed." I climb to my feet from where I was refolding a whole box of shirts that ended up not folded when the bottom of the box fell through.
Harlyn looks up from his bed, folding a last pair of socks. "Alright. Sorry I kept you up."
"No, it's fine. I'm happy to help." I wander to the side of his bed. "I just need to sleep. I have a shift in the morning and -"
"It's all good. Thank you for the help." He smiles up at me, squinting slightly at the overhead light.
"Of course." I press a kiss to his lips. And another one. A deeper one. One that leaves us just slightly breathless. "Goodnight."
He sucks in a long breath, cheeks pink. "Goodnight love."
I take my time doing my nightly routine, letting my mind wander through the day. It was a good day. I haven't had many fully good days lately, and the exhaustion I'm feeling is the good kind - the kind that makes my arms heavy and my head quiet. I'm still wide awake when I get into bed, of course. So, I do the one thing I think will always help but never does - I take out my phone. I'm just starting to feel the burn of sleep in my eyes when there's a knock on my door.
"Yeah?"
"It's Harlyn."
"Oh, come in."
Harlyn pushes the door open, now in fleece pajama pants and a long sleeve shirt. He leans against the door jam and smiles a bit sheepishly.
I let my phone drop to my chest. "Everything ok?"
"Yeah, I just..." He lets out a half huff, half sigh. "I can't sleep."
Of course. I'm an idiot. I should've thought about this, asked if I could do anything to help. And then I remember Paris, that he fell asleep when I climbed into bed with him. So instead of responding, I pull up my duvet and wait.
His mouth opens and closes a few times. "Are you - Am I -"
"I'm offering, Harlyn. It's ok."
Slowly, like he's waiting for me to change my mind, he closes the door and tiptoes across the room. And then carefully, he tucks himself into my side and rests his head on my chest. I let the duvet fall over us, tucking it under his chin. We shift slightly to get comfortable and go still. His curls tickle my nose, his breath warms my chest through my shirt, and I wouldn't change a thing. I wrestle my brain into the moment, sliding one hand into his hair and the other around his shoulders.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For...this. It's weird."
"It's not weird. And you put up with plenty of my weird. I think I can handle cuddling you to sleep until you feel comfortable."
"Alright."
"Harlyn. This isn't too much," I whisper, tugging his head up by his curls so I can look him in the eyes. "You are not too much, sweetheart."
He smiles softly. "Ok."
"I need a heater, anyway," I quip. "And Max is always telling me I should try a weighted blanket. You can be both."
He snorts and tucks his face back into my chest. "Ok."
I make sure my phone is charging, slide it onto my desk, and flip the lamp off. We lay in silence for a full fifteen minutes, and I honestly think that Harlyn has fallen asleep when he speaks again.
"There's something kind of big about us living together that we haven't really talked about."
"Mm?"
"Yeah, erm." He clears his throat. "S-Sex."
I cough. "Oh. Yes. Right." That's a thing. Obviously that's a thing. I know that's a thing. Don't panic about this. It's Harlyn. I've thought about this before. Mentioned it. And I can't deny that our kisses have been different lately, like they're building to something.
"Yeah. I mean, not that we have to because we live together. But it's also just...I've thought about it. With you. And I figured it's something that we should talk about."
"Is this also part of the reason you can't sleep?"
He shrugs. "Probably part of it. Have you...not thought about it?"
"No, of course I have." The words tumble into the darkness. And honestly, even though it's late, and I'm tired, I'm glad we're having this discussion this way, in the dark, close but not face to face. Does that make me a chicken? "Of course I have. It's-it's you. Of course I have. I mentioned it a few weeks ago. I've just...never done, like, anything before. Well...Jared and I did a little? I guess? I don't know. I didn't know what I was doing and -"
"Breathe, love."
I suck in a breath. "Right. Sorry. The point is, I've definitely thought about it, but I haven't really...thought about the logistics and when and how and where and all that."
There's a long pause. "Do you think...do you think you're ready for that?"
"I don't...know," I murmur. "It's a big step."
"It is."
"Can I... think about it?"
He shifts to look up at me again, and I can just make out bits of his face in the light my eyes have adjusted to. "Of course, love. No rush. I don't know how I feel about it either."
"Ok." I press a kiss to his forehead. "We should sleep."
"Yeah, we should."
As I'm drifting off, I mutter, "You know, while I'm gone, if you still can't sleep, you can always come up here and sleep in my bed."
"Yeah?"
"Of course. If it helps. Especially since I won't be here." I shift a little, and his forehead slides under my chin.
"I mean, I have to get comfortable sleeping in my own bed eventually." His thumb brushes softly along my rib cage, and something settles in my chest I wasn't aware was unsettled.
"Yes. But it's ok to ease into it. You need your sleep."
He sighs. "I should've just waited until after Christmas. It would've made more sense anyway."
"Hey, we talked about this. As soon as Francesca moved out you'd move in. It doesn't have to make sense."
"I know."
I wait a few minutes, fighting sleep and listening for the sounds of his breathing. It slows bit by bit, and eventually, his body goes slack against mine. I could get used to this.