***

It’s getting colder as we get later and later into the night, and I shiver a little, which makes Harry wrap the blanket around me more and hold me closer to his warm chest. My head rests on his collarbone, my legs dangling off the side of his lap. His arms are wrapped around my back and waist, keeping his hot skin pressed to me. Quiet slivers in comfortably, neither one of us keen on breaking it. I want to, but I know that he needs some time to properly collect himself and, anyway, he’d already offered everything to me that I could want. He’d been honest and had answered all my questions, and that’s all I could ask for him, especially after everything else he’d already done for me.

“Oi! Where are ya?”

Startled at the sound of the accented voice, I jump and nearly tumble to the balcony floor, only managing to catch myself before my forehead slams into the cold stone. Harry quickly helps me up, apologizing for releasing me so suddenly, and, after making sure that I’m alright, he strides back into the hotel suite. I follow, frowning as I bend down to rub my knee and struggle to not fall again on the blanket I carry in with me.

“We’re here, mate,” says Harry.

There’s a sound like Niall might have crashed into something and then some cursing.

“Who put that bloody bowl there?” he growls.

“It’s been there since you got here, mate,” Harry chuckles.

When I come to stand by Harry, Niall is standing on fragments of a crystal bowl that I think may have held sugar or salt or some other cooking accessory. The blonde frowns and glances up at both of us, but, instantly, he grins widely and barrels towards me. He wraps me up in a hug that makes Harry grin over Niall’s shoulder.

“Delly!” Niall cries, wobbling back and forth with me in his arms. “Darlin’, where ya been? I missed you tons!”

I chuckle and pat Niall’s back. “I was here with Harry.”

“What?” he asks, pulling back and frowning with me.

“You went out, and Harry and I stayed here, remember?”

“Mate, how much did you have to drink tonight?” asks Harry.

Niall thinks for a minute, swaying back and nearly tumbling into Harry’s chest while pulling me with him. I try to grab his waist in order to steady him, but the Irishman is a lot heavier than I thought and so Harry has to take over and guide him to a chair.

“I had only five pints,” says Niall, holding up seven fingers.

I laugh loudly, catching the grin Harry throws me, and begin to help him get his friend out of his jacket, the thought how an underage Niall Horan got so smashed in the first place not even pricking my thoughts. It takes some time because Niall keeps trying to twirl pieces of my hair around his fingers and pulling at the bracelet he’d bought for me, but, eventually, Harry and I manage to get his jacket and shoes off and to Harry’s room, where the pretty curly headed Brit says Niall can sleep.

“Thanks, mate,” Niall says.

Harry chuckles. “Just don’t puke on my stuff.”

We leave him under the sheets, one hand hanging off the side of the mattress and the bedroom door cracked in case he needs to make a dash to the bathroom. As we both collapse onto the couch, it hits me that Harry won’t have anywhere to sleep, as he’d let his friend fall into his own claimed bed. This makes me frown.

“But, where are you going to sleep now?” I ask.

“The couch is fine,” he smiles.

My frown deepens at his answer, though. This was Harry’s hotel suite after all, and Niall and I had basically thrown him out, making him sleep on a lumpy sofa that the Irishman had littered with chip crumbs. An idea hits me, one that seems like it would help my conscience by allowing Harry to sleep somewhere else, but it makes my heart beat fast.

I think on the idea while Harry digs around for the remote and starts flipping through the channels, chewing on my bottom lip. But my stomach gets too knotted, my palms get sweaty, and I have to swallow down a ball of nerves. That’s when I decide that I’d better figure out another way to silence my conscience, because asking Harry if he wanted to sleep in my bed with me made me far too nervous for the experience to be comfortable for either of us.

Harry slides his arm on the back of the sofa, which causes my gaze to snap away from the spot on the floor I’d been staring at and flicker over to his face. But he’s not looking at me; instead, the emerald jewels he has for eyes are following the events of the television show he’d seemingly dubbed interesting enough to watch for a while. His full chocolate curls are pushed up off his forehead, his cheeks are still streaked with tear tracks, and his lips are slightly swollen from when he’d been crying.

At remembering how fragile he’d been, a warm feeling spirals up inside my stomach, spinning up into my chest and making me move into his side, till the back of my head is pressed against his shoulder. He glances down at me, letting his big hand drop down and his fingertips to skim over my forearm.

All this makes me not want to let him sleep out here on an uncomfortable couch and so I fling off the first idea that trumps the first I’d come up with.

“I’ll stay out here with you till you fall asleep,” I murmur, continuing to look up at him.

His brows furrow at my words, but a bigger grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “You don’t need to do that, love.”

“I do,” I say. “It’s not fair that you have to sleep out here on the couch while Niall and I are in beds.”

“Delaney, love, I honestly don’t mind,” he chuckles. “Niall’s my best mate and you’re my… Well, you’re…”

I wait a few beats, hoping he’ll come up with a term on his own so I don’t have to branch into that field of thoughts. But he doesn’t, and I have to make light of the turn this had taken.

“I’m you’re girl friend.” I don’t realize how it sounds till it’s too late and then I’m lurching up, frantic hands waving in front of me as I shake my head. “I mean, I’m your friend who’s a girl. Like, I’m Niall’s girl friend, too.”

Obviously my attempt at trying to make the situation seem more joke-like has failed, but as I palm my forehead, Harry lets out a loud, ringing laugh. I feel as he wraps his arm completely around me and pulls me into his chest, shaking me playfully a bit as he continues to chuckle.

“You’re my friend who is a girl, I got it, love,” he says. “But, as for Niall, you might be his girl.”

This makes me laugh and I have to bury my face in his chest in order to hide the harsh blush that blazes on my cheeks. Harry just squeezes my shoulders.

Quiet files in then as Harry eventually stops chuckling and gets sucked back into his sitcom, and as I try to figure out what cologne the curly headed boy wore. While I revert between breathing softly through my nose and trying to mentally go through all the men fragrances I knew, Harry’s fingertips are slowly rubbing circles on the side of my arm and I’ve got a handful of his top fisted in my hand. It’s simple and branches a line that neither of us have ever even acknowledged.

But then Harry speaks up, his voice low and a little scratchy. “So what does a bloke need to do in order to be able to you his girl?”

The question makes me freeze, my eyes widening as I feel his own gaze burning a hole into the top of my head. I don’t know what to say. I can’t even remember the last time someone wanted to call me their girlfriend, let alone put in some kind of effort that would make me feel like more than a cheap hooker. Swallowing because my throat suddenly feels bone dry, I lick my lips and push myself back, so I can see into Harry’s face.

“I don’t know,” I quietly murmur.

“Have you never had anyone want you in that way before?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

I let go of his shirt and start to fidget with my fingers in my lap. I’ve scooted back, too, so Harry has to move his hand and there’s actual space between our bodies now. He tucks a tendril of my dark crimson hair behind my ear, lets out a hum that pushes me to answer.

“It’s been a long time.”

His eyes grow sad then and I have to look away from his pretty face.

“Well, then, do you think I might give it a go?” I go to open my mouth, but he cuts me off, eyes squinting in embarrassment as equally ashamed smile spreads across his lips. “No-wait-shit! I meant, like, do you think you’d let me try to… Shit! Basically I just want to know if you’d ever think that I'd ever have a proper chance?”

He says it in a huff and quite fast, the words spewing out quicker than I’d really ever heard him speak. I smile, trying not to laugh but failing, chuckles slipping out as he eventually peaks his eyes open in order to look at me again.

“Are you asking to be my boyfriend, Harry?”

It’s his turn to blush and he does so fiercely. “I… guess so, yea. Maybe.”

I take a moment to study his face, liking the way his expression looks so hopeful and perky, as if mentally begging me to give him the green light. And as I feel my heartbeat quicken, the thrumming pounding in my ears, I note that this time the beats aren't joined with a nervous, twisting stomach. I’m sure of what I’m going to tell him and not at all intimidated by my decision. Reaching for his hand and lacing my fingers through his, I give them a squeeze before resting them on my knee.

“I think that would be nice.”

Harry lets out a long, pent up breath and his long body relaxes.

“I can live with that,” he murmurs.