Chapter 136
Mason
We're curled up on my couch, the lights dim, the glow of the TV painting Harry's face in soft colors. A rerun of my favorite sitcom plays—one I've watched a hundred times—but tonight, the punchlines land differently. Maybe because he's laughing.
It's not the careful laugh he used to have, the one that sounded like he was apologizing for taking up space. This one is unguarded, full and warm. The sound curls in my chest and settles there, like it belongs.
I turn, stealing a glance at him. Blonde curls frame his face, catching the flicker of the TV. He's so pretty it almost hurts. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs, and his hand absently tugs at the oversized hoodie he stole from me—again. My hoodie. The one of others I'll never get back because they smells like him now.
He catches me looking. "What?" he asks, grinning mid-laugh, cheeks flushed.
"Nothing," I say quickly, forcing my eyes back to the screen. "Just… the joke's not that funny."
He rolls his eyes. "You have no taste. This is peak comedy."
I chuckle despite myself. I've seen this episode ten times. I know every beat, every line. But watching him find joy in it makes me love it all over again.
"You're staring again," he says without looking away from the screen.
"Am not."
"You so are." His lips twitch, and his eyes flick toward me with a teasing glint.
I sigh, caught. "You're right, I am."
He snorts and pokes my cheek. "Then watch. You'll miss the best part."
So I do as I'm told. I make myself focus on the screen, but my mind doesn't stop cataloging the little things: the way his curls bounce when he laughs, how his sleeve keeps slipping over his fingers and he doesn't bother fixing it, how his breathing slows when the jokes die down.
And when the punchline lands, I actually laugh too—loud and unguarded—even though I've heard this joke a dozen times. Maybe it's because he's laughing, and that makes everything funnier.
Before I know it, the episode ends, and Harry shifts. He turns toward me, hesitates, then crawls right into my lap like it's the most natural thing in the world. He's done this before, and I've always played it cool, but tonight feels different. There's a hum of energy under his skin.
"Comfortable?" I tease, trying to keep my voice steady.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he cups my face in his hands, makes me look at him—and kisses me. Just the softest press of his lips, a question more than a statement. It's over almost as soon as it starts.
My heart stutters. My brain blanks.
"What?" I ask, stunned, breathless.
"No reason," he murmurs quickly, cheeks flaming. He starts to climb off my lap, retreat written all over his face.
Oh, hell no.
"You're not going anywhere," I say, my arms looping around his waist, locking him right where he is. He freezes, wide-eyed.
"Mason," he says, nervous, but I hear the tiny laugh in it.
"You can't just kiss me like that and bail. That's cruel and unusual punishment."
"It was nothing," he mutters, looking anywhere but me.
"It didn't feel like nothing." I tilt his chin gently until our eyes meet. "It felt like you kissed me because you wanted to."
His lips part, then close. He nods, almost imperceptibly.
"Do you want to again?" I ask, the words tumbling out. Please say yes. Please say yes, I beg silently with every inch of me. My fingers tighten around his waist. Please say yes.
Harry stares for what feels like an eternity, blue eyes wide and searching, like he's weighing something deep inside himself. And then—he nods. Small. Almost shy. But unmistakable.
Fuck yes.
The dam breaks. I don't think, don't hesitate. I close the gap, slamming my mouth against his in a rush of heat and relief. It's not gentle this time—it's hungry, desperate, like all the nights I've spent biting my tongue are catching up at once.
He gasps against my lips, startled, but his hands clutch my shirt and he kisses me back. Really kisses me back. Hesitant melts into eager. His lips are soft, slightly trembling, and every brush feels like fire under my skin.
My brain is screaming a million things at once—finally, finally, finally.
Harry makes a tiny sound, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, and it undoes me completely. I pull him closer, one hand cupping the back of his neck, the other anchoring him to my lap like he might vanish if I let go.
When we finally break apart for air, he's flushed and dazed, breathing hard. His curls are an absolute mess against my cheek, his lips kiss-bruised already. My chest is heaving, and for a moment neither of us speaks.
"Want to watch another episode?" he says, voice thin with nerves, like he's pretending nothing earth-shaking just happened.
"No." My answer is immediate, raw. Watchwhat? The laugh track of some sitcom? The world could be ending outside and I wouldn't notice.
I shift, moving him until he's straddling me fully, his knees braced on either side of my hips. His startled gasp vibrates against my mouth as I capture his lips again, this time slower but deeper, letting myself memorize every inch, every sound.
He might wake up tomorrow and change his mind. He might retreat back into his safe shell. And if that happens, I'll respect it. But right now, while he's here and warm and soft in my arms, I'm going to have my fill of it every single second.