[BLUE -- Troye Sivan, Alex Hope]

The dark car is still in front of me, but I can't understand who is inside it. I only realize it when I see the tip of a boot touching the asphalt.

"Ariel Green," Harry calls me, closing the door and meeting me. I sigh and close my eyes for a moment, then I get up and tidy up the slightly wrinkled dress.

"Harry," I reply, waiting for him to join me on the stairs. "What are you doing here?" we ask at the same time and then smile.

"I forgot the keys," I explain without too many words. "You?"

"I saw you from afar, so I stopped, "he says, while running a hand through his hair. “I wasn't sure it was you until I was close enough. It's two in the morning."

I keep my eyes down and think about the past evening, how likely it was that Harry could find me. "Have you tried asking someone for help?"

"There's nobody there," I say, returning to sit on the stairs.

And your father?"

I run a hand through my hair, then I cover my mouth with it when I can't keep a yawn. "He'll probably work all night."
There is a moment of silence as Harry looks around before he starts talking again. "Come with me."

I raise my head in his direction and from where I am sitting I can clearly see his face, illuminated by the lights near the entrance of the building. " What?"

"Ariel, it's late, and you don't know when your father will return. You can't keep being here alone. "

I am about to object when a gust of wind blows through my hair and gives off chills all over my body. Harry still looks at me from above and smiles at me with pleasure. "Come on," he incites me with a nod.

I get up and retrieve the Tara shoes that I had taken off before; I have the bag in my hands and the jacket still on my shoulders while I reach him in his car. The walls are impregnated with its perfume; he turns on the automatic internal heating when he still sees me shivering.

"Better?" he asks me, turning in my direction.

"Yes thanks." I head my head against the window and close my eyes, although I'm not sure where we're going.

And when he stops in a parking lot I ask him. "Harry, where are we?"

"At my house," he replies, looking quickly at me and turning off the engine.
I quickly put on my shoes and follow him out hesitantly, thinking about how wrong all this is.

Harry is faster than me, I can hardly keep up with him. We cross the parking lot until we reach the entrance of the building. He is already in the elevator when I am I am still at the entrance, and we continue to be silent as we climb up to his floor. We both don't really know how to take this situationnor how to behave. It wasn't something planned.

The moment the doors open, Harry takes the keys out of the apartment from the inside pocket of his jacket, and together we walk down the corridor. We are in front of his door when he lifts the keys and clicks the lock in seconds. He turns on a light at the entrance and throws both those of the car and those of the apartment onto the table, where he places his cell phone. I absently look around and I realize that there is a lot in this room. It doesn't take me much to understand it.

"You live alone?" I ask him. He takes off his jacket and undoes the buttons of his shirt cuffs.

He nods. "Yes, it's just me." "I'm going to get you something," he continues immediately after breaking the silence and embarrassment of the moment.

I sit on the dark leather sofa and, while waiting, I take off my shoes and coat before sending a message to my father to warn him that he won't find me home when he comes back. I don't know how he could take it because he doesn't know Harry, but I had no other alternative.

Harry comes back with a pillow and a pair of blankets in one hand, shorts and a white shirt in the other. He hands me the clothes. "You can put these on if you want."

Just looking at him now I realize that he has already changed: there are no longer elegant trousers and a white shirt to bandage his body. Now he is wearing only a pair of shorts similar to the ones he gave me and a gray shirt that leaves his arms uncovered. I lose a few seconds looking at the tattoos on his skin.

"You can change in the bathroom, it's at the end of the corridor," he says pointing to him with his finger.

I take the clothes he gave me and step in front of him. "Thanks, I'll be right back."

Through the corridor barefoot, and after closing the bathroom door behind me, I quickly take off my dress.
I take the shorts and the shirt, they know about Harry in every single inch. I wouldn't want to feel this way: wrong or in the uncertainty of betraying Tara's trust. I'm not sure how I would react if I were in her place, even if between me and Harry there is nothing.

I look in the mirror and run the water over my face several times before returning to Harry. He's putting the blanket on the sofa when I reach him.

"Here's another blanket in case you need it, and next door is the kitchen if you need anything."

"All right. Thank you very much, Harry, "I repeat.

He just smiles and runs a hand through his hair again, then walks to his room. "Goodnight, Ariel Green," he says finally.
Turn off the light and disappear into the dark.

"Goodnight, Harry." I settle better on the sofa by wrapping the pillow with one arm and a smile curves my lips, because Harry always seems to be in the right place at the right time, because he always seems to be able to support part of the weight that I carry on my shoulders without me ask.

🌹🌹🌹

The sound of something colliding with the floor makes my eyes open quickly, and I need a few seconds to understand where I am. I move the covers from my body and get up, then I reach Harry in the kitchen: I find him bent on the floor looking at his hand covered in a trickle of blood.

A fragmented cup in several pieces is in front of him. "What have you done?" I ask him and he turns in my direction.

"I think I cut myself," he raises his hand and shakes it slowly. I approach him.

"Show me," I say and he hands it to me. I take it between mine and move my gaze to her face: his eyes will always be something I will never be able to get used to.

I shake my head imperceptibly and look back at his hand. "Do you have any disinfectant? It is not serious, but the wound keeps bleeding."

"It should be in the bathroom, third drawer. " I leave him and recover what I asked him.

When I go back to the kitchen, he is leaning against the counter and looking towards the window. I don't know how long I stay on the jamb to observe it, but in the end I force myself to move and reach him.

"I also need gauze and something to clean your wound, if you have any."

"Sure," he says, "I'll get it for you."

Harry turns and reaches for one of the tallest shelves in the kitchen; the shirt he wears inevitably rises and I can see a small part of the tattoo on his side.

He comes back to the counter with a small container in your hands. "Everything should be here."

We both sit down and take her hand in mine, while I start to dab the wound with cotton and disinfectant.

"It's a bad cut, but you don't need points," I say. I continue to medicate him, but suddenly he instinctively withdraws his hand and a grimace of pain appears on his face.

"Shit, sorry."

"No do not worry." He gives me back his hand and with the gauze I complete the dressing, wrapping it around his wrist and fixing it.

"How did you learn?" he asks me when I close the container. I stoop down to pick up the last pieces of glass left on the floor.

"My father is a doctor." He also gets up and goes down to help me; when I feel his gaze on me I lift mine and smile faintly at him. "You can say that, Harry."

We both get up before he speaks.

"Couldn't he do anything for your mother?"

I shake my head. "No, and this is what destroys him. Every single day. "

"But it's not your fault, Ariel." I just shrug my shoulders and leave the kitchen, after which I go back into the room and fold up the blankets Harry gave me tonight.
I look around because when I arrived I couldn't do it enough. My attention is immediately captured by a bookcase placed against the wall and full of books of all kinds. I go over and let my gaze run over the various titles: I know many of those present, I have read others I have heard of them.

There are many classics and books on music, but a smile builds spontaneously on my lips when I find Jane Eyre. I take it in my hands and leaf through its pages; it was my mother's favorite book. I was still a little girl when she gave me her copy and read it for the first time. I read a few steps in passing, then I notice Harry who, with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall, looks at me with a smile on his lips.

“I've never thought you were a passionate girl about Charlotte's Brontë."
I absentmindedly return the smile and close the book by stroking the cover with my fingers.

"It was my mother's favorite book. I have your copy here with me, I keep it as if it were the most precious thing I have. "

"It's a beautiful thing," he says, reaching me.

I turn to look at him and he is in front of me. I shrug my shoulders. "I cling to that book as if it were the only thing that still keeps me tied to her, yet I can't shed a tear from her death."

I look away from Harry's and I walk away from him, only that while I do I feel his fingers on my shoulder and on my arm, so I turn around again. It is close to me and the distance that separates us little when I look up at his face. He still approaches me and lowers almost up brush my forehead with his. I feel his hands on my hips, his breath against my lips. I know I won't last long, yet if I give in I would regret it. I would feel guilty for Tara, for him, for me.

I still have the book in my hands, but it slips when the nose touches mine: that contact brings us back exactly where we should be. "Harry .." I whisper and he lets his grip slip on my side.

"We can't," I murmur and quickly look away from his; I can't support it anymore.

I lean down to take the book and lay it on the table. I take the dress I was wearing last night, through the corridor and when I am in the bathroom I close the door behind me, leaning against it. I close my eyes and sigh, and only now do I move away to support myself with my hands on the sides of the sink. I look up at the mirror, and watch my reflection as I think back on what might have happened if that book hadn't slipped from my hands.

I am sure that Harry loves Tara in a pure and sincere way, and that he would never hurt her for a moment of weakness - especially in this way. He showed it last night and he does it on every other occasion: Harry is not that kind of person, and neither am I. I don't want to become him now just because I became infatuated with him.

🌹🌹🌹

FROM THE AUTHOR:

Ops? [damn it]
Be patient x