I unlocked the door, and we stumbled into our hotel room after a great evening. Harry only had one drink, whereas I lost count after the eighth. I threw my bag on the floor and dropped my heels beside it. My feet had started to hurt about 3 hours into the formal, so I was dancing barefoot for a while before we left. Harry unbuttoned his collar, and pulled off his tie, before flinging himself on the double bed that we knew we were sharing that night. I started to giggle, mostly because I was drunk but also because his floppy dark hair fell over his glasses and he looked like an idiot.
"I think you need a haircut," I laughed. He grinned at me as he propped himself upon his elbows.
"Come here," he said playfully, beckoning me with a tilt of his head. He said it innocently enough, but there was a sense of something else, like it meant a little more than it implied.
My cheeks went red, obviously, and I tiptoed over to the bed, my eyes narrowed. I tried to keep my smile light-hearted, but my heart was beating fast under my dress. We spoke about this night a lot in the past, but I wasn't sure if he was serious, and if this was leading to where I thought it was. There had been feelings between Harry and I before. Maybe not at the same time, maybe not to the same extent, but they had still existed. All I knew is that the strong, romantic feelings had disappeared long ago. He knew that.
I stood in front of him, about to make another comment about his hair, when he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me down beside him. As I tumbled down as gracefully as a drunk girl in a prom dress could, I caught a glimpse of a not-so-innocent grin on Harry's face. I stared up at the ceiling and giggled, feeling whimsical and dizzy from the stupid amount of shots I had consumed combined with the sensation of falling too fast. As my laughter died down, there was a slight serenity in the air, contrasting with the loud, wild night we had spent with my friends. I closed my eyes and gently rested my head on his shoulder, in an attempt to make the room stop spinning. I counted to ten, fifty, one hundred, before I could focus again. We lay there for a while, our breathing synced, and remained quiet. I was too drunk to try and fill the silence, so I let our lack of words speak for us. It ended up being Harry who shattered the silence, as he mumbled into my hair,
"I had fun." I smiled into the crease of his neck, his skin warming my cheek, and I whispered,
"Me too." His arm slid around my waist and he pulled me closer. Suddenly we were looking almost eye to eye.
"Alice," he said, his fingers playing with one of my blonde curls, "you look beautiful." His finger fell from my hair to my cheek, and traced his face until it reached my jawline. He softly pulled my mouth to his, gently , slowly, tenderly. I saw his eyes close and felt his hand on my cheek... and I reached up and brushed it away. I broke the kiss and looked down.
"Harry..." I began, " Harry, I meant what I said about me not... having those feelings for you. You knew..." He sat up slowly, and I followed.
"I just... I guess I thought we could just try it... I mean we're really close friends and... I don't know," he stuttered, his cheeks blazing pink against his pale skin. I look at his embarrassed expression, and felt terrible.
"Harry? I mean, I guess we could try again? I think maybe you caught me off guard?" He gently took my hand, his soft fingers warm against mine.
"We don't have to if... if it makes you uncomfortable."
"No. Let's try again. We're just friends, right?"
I turned towards him and leaned forward, kissing him softly. It didn't feel bad, and maybe it was the alcohol and maybe not, but I kept kissing him. And he kissed me back. It got more and more intense, as he pulled me towards him my the waist, my hands in his hair, on his chest, tracing his cheeks. And we lay down on the bed, him above me, and I didn't stop him we he started to place his hands on my chest, and I nodded when he asked if he could continue, and I helped him unbutton his shirt as we kept on kissing. We were becoming more and more passionate with each passing moment. I didn't tell him to stop at all that night. So we just kept going.
But we're still just friends...
I tried out a more simple writing style than I usually do, to challenge myself. I'm usually much more metaphorical. I have a lot to say on the topic of friendship, but I based this of a situation I had with one of my close friends. Both of us are still friends, but we did have feelings in the past. I wanted to explore the boundaries between friendship and relationship, as neither character has romantic feelings for the other, but there's still a deeper kind of friendship. I hope I conveyed the awkwardness of the situation, and I hope it's clear that this is not a love story. They are friends... they just don't know what kind of friends.