"What are you doing in here?"

Although surprised, he didn't seem angry despite the crease that appeared between his eyebrows. His voice was calm.  He was probably too emotionally exhausted to be angry.  I mentally struggle to come up with a response, when I remember my earbuds.

Knitting my eyebrows in false confusion, I pull the buds out by the cord, "What?" I ask as if I was unable to hear his question.  I take a bite of the orange Airhead I was holding, chew thoughtfully and try to keep my eyes focused on his face, but fail miserably. I drink in his chest, from the sparrow-covered pectorals, a butterfly, and all the way down to the fern fronds framing a belly button that I'd like to suck a body shot of whiskey from. 

"I said, what are you doing in here?" he asked again, causing my gaze to return reluctantly to his face.

"Ummm.... well," I stammer, "I didn't really know anyone, Kate seemed to be hitting it off with Niall, and Paige seemed a little abusive," I hint, wondering if he might bring up the argument.

He nodded in acceptance. "Tell me about it," Harry groaned.  "Do you have anymore candy?"  He plopped himself down next to me on the pile of blankets, picked up my Airhead bag and looked inside. 

Normally I would have a shit fit over someone touching my stuff without permission, but for some reason, that doesn't happen.  In fact, I strongly suspect Harry could touch any of my stuff he wanted to with little dispute on my part.

He wiggles a bit into the blanket to make himself comfortable when I hear a curious paper crunch that differed from the sound of my candy wrappers.  Harry thoughtfully chews one from a red wrapper. 

"Are you sitting on something?"  I ask, noticing an item sticking out from the blanket pile.

"Nah, there's nothing..." he begins, but I swiftly grab the mystery object before he can stop me.

It's a magazine, which Harry makes a swipe for, but I'm quicker.  I turn it over so I can see the cover, my arm holding it out of reach.  "Playboy, hmm?"  I throw my head back in laughter.

Harry throws his head back in embarrassment, his hands covering his face, "Bloody hell!" He continues to hide his face, stomping his boots in a mini-tantrum.  Somehow a few giggles escape him, "This night has been such shit." 

"Really, for you too?" I ask, casually flipping through a couple of pages of the Playboy before tossing it to the side.

"Yea.  I just...I don't know.  Sometimes relationships seem like more trouble than they're worth," he sighs.

I hold out the candy bag to him and he reaches in for another.  I hardly know this guy, but something seems so comfortable.

"Are you and Paige not getting along?" I ask tentatively.

"We never get along anymore.  I think we just broke up.  She fucking threw a cup of punch on me," he said, biting candy.

I studied him.  "Well, at least it didn't mess up your hair," I grin.

My remark cracks him up, and I appreciate his smile.  "You know, right now, I'm not feeling too much of a loss," his eyes meet mine. 

I smile in support, sitting here commiserating with this shirtless boy who was having a shitty night.

"You know something?" He looks at his candy, speculating, "These are good, but they all fucking taste the same, don't they?"

"What do you mean they taste the same? They do not, Harry.  The orange ones are my favorite," I protest. "I'm a goddamn candy connoisseur."

"Whatever.  If you were blindfolded, I bet you couldn't tell the difference," he states. "They mind-fuck you with food coloring and bright wrappers."

"Something is obviously wrong with your taste buds," I argue, "you need a doctor."

"I'll prove it," he challenges. "Hold on," he stands, and rummages through some clutter on a shelf, pulling out a blue bandana.

"What the...," he can't be serious?

"Here. I'm going to blindfold you, you'll take some bites, and see if you can guess what the flavors are," he grins.

"You're insane," I roll my eyes at him.

"No eye-rolling unless you win," he says, rolling the bandana into a blindfold.

"We hardly know each other.  And you think I'm going to let you blindfold me?  In a closet? And put things in my mouth?" Oops, did I say that last part aloud?

"We know more about each other than you think.  You and I both know you didn't have any music playing in those earbuds," he called me out, with a chuckle.  He knew I heard the argument?

"I don't know what you mean," I respond, internally mortified.  Deny, deny, deny.

"Come on," he persuades, "you heard all my shit.  You owe it to me."  Fuck.

I think for a moment, narrowing my eyes in speculation.  "Alright.  But only if you put on a shirt."

"Distracted?" Harry smirks.

"I won't be when I'm blindfolded," I retort.

"We'll see about that.  Here," he reaches to blindfold me.

"Wait.  Shirt!  A shirt would be good here," I demand.  It was getting way too 50 Shades up in this bitch.

"Okay, Christ."  He stands quickly, leaning in a bit to grab a t-shirt from a hanger above my head, unconsciously pushing his crotch nefariously close to my face.

"Hey, I'm sitting here!" I pipe up in fake protest.  Come on, I was checking that shit out.

"Sorry!  Sorry..." he pulls on the clean shirt. "Now," he says, leaning forward with the blindfold.

"I'm serious.  No funny business or I will retaliate," I threaten, allowing him to blindfold me.  I tell myself I'm letting him do this out of break-up sympathy, but in truth, I think it's hot as fuck.

"Okay....," he finishes tying the blindfold, "Can you see?  How many fingers am I holding up?"

I reach out in front of me and grope around.  My hand finds his.  "Two. Peace out."

His laughter sounds even better with the blindfold on.  Musical.  I can focus on his voice without being overwhelmed by his god-like appearance.  I hear candy being opened but fantasize that it's a condom.

"Here's the first one, okay?"

I reach out to try and find it.

"No," he says, "You just concentrate on the flavors.  I will feed you the bites.  You can look at the leftovers and wrappers afterward and see if you've identified them correctly."

"Oh God," I can't stop laughing.

"Stop laughing.  I am gonna shove the candy in if you don't stop," he jokes, and then I feel his proximity near to me. "Ready?"

I pull it together, "Okay."

"Open," he says, "flavor number one."  Harry feeds me the first sample.

I bite, chew, and swallow.  Harry cracks up.

"What is so freaking funny?"

"I don't know," Harry says, trying to compose himself.  "What flavor was it?"

"Watermelon.  Green wrapper.  One hundred percent."

"Really?" Harry marvels.  I think he's marveling. Perhaps he's mocking my wrong answer.  I begin to second guess myself.  "You suddenly seem serious," he comments.

"Candy is no joking matter, Harry.  Next, please."

I hear the melodic sound of Airhead wrappers in the darkness.  "Here you go, flavor number two," Harry places candy against my lips.

I take a bite and think.  Shit, was this cherry, or blue raspberry?  "I need another bite of that one, please," I ask.

"Ah.  Confusion.  That's good for my argument," Harry boasts and provides me a second bite.

"Shut up."  I chew and reflect.  "Cherry.  Red wrapper."

"Okay.  Let's do one more," he shuffles about.  "Here we go.  Third flavor.  Open wide, the airplane's coming into the hanger."  Harry makes little airplane noises like he's feeding a baby, and I laugh. "No laughing, I don't need you choking on candy in my closet tonight, love."

I straighten up and take my bite, thinking about the fact that he called me "love."  I know that's a British thing, but I swoon nonetheless. 

"Well?  Which is it?" He gently prods, his voice deep and a little raspy.  God, he'd be good at phonesex.  "Sherry?" The sound of my name on his lips wreaks havoc on my composure.

"Uh...umm..., orange.  That was orange. Orange in flavor as well as wrapper color." I'm so proud of myself.  "Can I take this off now?"

"Only if you want to," Harry teases.

I pull it off, tossing it over by the abandoned Playboy.  "Ah!  The light!" I groan and cover my eyes for a second, while Harry laughs.

"Here are your results," Harry moves his hands about displaying the leftovers with a flourish like an awkward magician.  "You said, green, red, and orange wrappers. That would be watermelon, cherry, and orange."

I look down at the candy remains, confused.

Harry continues, "The flavors you actually tasted were blue raspberry, watermelon, and orange.  In that order."

I stare at the blue, green, and orange wrappers.  In that order.  Sonofabitch.

"There you go," Harry smiles, "proof that you can't identify them by flavor."

"I got the orange though."

"Yea, but that's your favorite one.  I should have left that one out.  You should practice at home and we can do a follow-up."  His green eyes glisten.

"No way.  Are you trying to fatten me up or something?" I shoot him down, quickly.

He glances away, then back, the glistening that was there now dimmed.  Was he trying to ask me out?

"Wait...was that your way of...," I fumble for words.

As Harry opens his mouth to speak, we are interrupted by the sound of a door being thrown open.

We both look toward the open closet door, as Paige appears in the doorframe.  Her eyes widen as they take in the scene before her.  Harry, myself, a pile of blankets, a Playboy, a blindfold, and a pile of candy wrappers.