Twenty Nine | 29

                                    

                                          
twenty nine | 29
                          
☓
                          
Harry and I walk home beneath the cloudy May sky with our arms hooked  together. It seems so quiet around us; quieter than usual, at least, as we stroll carelessly through the afternoon. My side is warm from where his touches it, and I close my eyes from time to time, just enjoying the feeling. The air around us is cool and heavy. 
                          
After a while I notice his eyes shifting upwards. 
                          
"It's dark up there," he says as we turn onto a smaller road, his brows drawn inward. "I won't be surprised if it pours tonight."
                          
"Me either," I reply. Without hesitance my eyes skim over his profile, taking in his sharp features as he studies the patterns above. His skin looks paler than usual in the faded light; smooth, like porcelain. 
                          
Thoughts of last night drift into my head-- about crying at the dinner table and trying to memorize the faces I saw, just as I'm trying to memorize his own. And for whatever reason, I want to tell him about it. Not all of it, of course. 
                          
There's something that feels wrong with telling Harry the good parts about my family when I'm fully aware that his situation is quite different. But seeing as I want to ask him about Daniel, I decide to try-- hoping that it comes out the right way. 
                          
"So listen," I begin, and he casts his gaze back to me. 
                          
Good old Green Eyes. 
                          
They hit me with their usual-but-still-daunting intensity, and part of me wonders if Harry knows just how beautiful he is. I assume that he doesn't, and it leaves a pang in my heart. 
                          
"I wanted to tell you about something that happened last night. It was good. You know, it was just happy. And... I mean, it's not super important, but I just thought--"
                          
"Mary, everything you say is important to me," he whispers, a faint sadness in his expression. 
                          
And right as the words leave his mouth, my heart bursts. 
                          
I ask myself, how did the two of us reach this point? How did I ever get so lucky to know the person at my side-- to fully know him, all his fears and doubts, and walk with my arm around his, knowing that I've impacted his life in ways I probably can't imagine? 
                          
"Harry," I say. I'm not even sure why I do it; the sound of his name just feels right in the cool afternoon air. 
                          
I find myself looking down, watching as his scuffed white Converse trudge alongside my dirty brown boots. Our feet are so different that they almost look right together. Meanwhile he waits patiently for me to continue, and I force myself to meet his eyes once more. 
                          
"Last night at dinner, my parents were talking to me. About how different I've become, ever since I met you."
                          
He slows our pace, and I know I've really gotten his attention. I start slowing my steps to match this new rhythm. His eyes are amused but cautious; almost as if he's secretly nervous to hear my following words. His arm doesn't leave mine. 
                          
"Different?" 
                          
"Yes. In a good way."
                          
His ghost of a smile widens slightly. 
                          
I watch him carefully, wishing I knew about what goes on inside of his head. He looks down at his shoes with the same faint amusement, and then surprises me when his barely-there smile becomes a huge grin.