Last time I remember looking at my phone it was close to 4 am.  Harry and I are three unwatched movies, and close to the same amount of bottles of wine, in.  I have had significantly less than him but my lack of stamina caught up with me quickly and right now we both look in fairly messy shape.

Thankfully, he has stopped prying into my lack of a sex life and changed the subject, the conversation twisting and turning around everything from music to art, mixed with a little reminiscing about what sports we played as kids and what we studied at university. 

And still, with all the conversation, I have very little, to no idea, who he really is.

"What would you wish for?" Harry words are slower as he takes a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes hooded under the heavy veil of wine in his bloodstream.

One of my eyes is already closed as I struggle to sit upright and stay awake, one of my legs pulled up into my chest as we sit at the table on the balcony.

I squint a little harder at him trying to work out what he means.

"C'mon Lexi," he whines like a child as he butts out his smoke with difficulty as if his arms are made of lead before leaning on his elbows to get a little closer.  "Like if you could have anything, do anything what would you wish for?"

I may be drunk but the weight of his question is not lost on me. What would I wish for? For my dad to appreciate me? For Adam to have not cheated? For my mum to still be here? Most people would probably jump at the chance to wish for these things but I don't.  I find it really unproductive to look back with regret, like it or not, awful things make us who we are. 

So, would I wish for something good? Something better? Something more?

Even in my state, I know I have been silent for a long time.  Harry is staring at me, his brow furrowed and his hand by his lips, his index finger extended as he waits for my answer and for some reason I feel like it means more than just a silly drunk game.

"I don't know," I say honestly, and I swear I see him exhale a breath, something that looks awfully like disappointment crosses his face.

"You?" I ask back.

"Well, that's flattering, AP," he smirks. 

When the hell did this egotistical Harry creep back in? He has been missing for the majority of the night and suddenly it's as if his eyes are those of a different person.

"I mean what would you wish for?" I say again, slowly so that my word drag out.

I can see in his face that he knows the answer, most people don't ask questions like that without know what they would say in return. It's on the tip of his tongue, his eye darkening and his face serious.

His green eyes gaze into mine, almost searching and the silence and intensity is making my chest hurt.

"I dunno." He looks away and the moment's gone, leaving me confused and a little out of breath.

What the fuck was that?

Harry gets up without another word and walks inside. I push down the pain in my chest and light a cigarette of my own, needing a couple of minutes alone to gather my thoughts.

This guy is driving me completely crazy.  I know I have been out of the dating game a long time but I swear he flirts with me, and what guy spends his Friday night at a girl's house watching DVDs he gave her as a gift yet he doesn't have any interest in? Does he see me as so unattractive that the possibility of it being a mixed signal has not even registered in his mind?  Am I one of the boys to him? Or just a work colleague? A sister? 

It's like he is trying to get to know me as much as I am with him but why won't he share anything when I have been so open, well open for me anyway?

I finish up and walk back inside, my head spinning and I'm about to announce that I think we should call it a night when I find him asleep on the couch.

His arm is up by his face, his perfect lips parted with a soft breath that pushes through in a gentle rhythm.

I'm frozen, debating whether I should wake him or let him sleep here.

The pull towards him is too strong and the urge to make contact is far too great to just leave him.

His face looks so peaceful and I take a moment to appreciate just how classically handsome he really is.

"Harry," I whisper. "Harry!" a little louder when he doesn't stir.

I take in a deep breath and swallow hard as I lean forward, trying my best not to lose my balance with the alcohol surging through my system.

Ever so slowly I push the hair from his forehead, as if he is a sleeping toddler or someone I have slept next to for a lifetime. "Harry," I call again, his eyes fluttering open and it takes him a moment to do anything other than just stare back, blinking a couple of times and it's only when his tongue darts out to wet his lips that I realise how close I am.

I jump back, standing up straight and he looks a little bewildered as he sits up.  He must have been deep in sleep.

"Do you mind if I stay here?" he croaks in a voice so raspy I swear I feel it tumbling from my eardrums down my spine. "Even though I shouldn't," he mumbles under his breath but I ignore it.

I'm tired and drunk and seeing him so soft and sleepy on the couch has made me desperate for his touch. I want to crawl into bed with him and roll around in the sheets, I want to kiss him and taste his tongue, I want to feel his arms around me, falling asleep to the sound of his breath and the smell of his cologne that is far more intoxicating than any wine.

The wine is making me bold and I open my mouth to ask him to stay with me but he blurts out, "I'm sure you have at least another two bedrooms here I can have," before I get a chance.

"Oh, um, sure, yeah," I rush, flustered by my own thoughts of his lips on my neck.

He runs a hand through his unruly hair and grabs his duffle bag and I manage to find my feet long enough to show him down the hall.

"Um, so here's a spare room, um mine's opposite," I cringe at myself and I swear I see him smile but I'm yelling a, "goodnight" as quickly as possible and running to shut my door behind me.

Shit.

I look at my phone, 4.56am, calling Katie would be plain crazy so instead, I do what I know she would tell me to do.

I brush my teeth and hair, wash my face and spritz on a little perfume before rummaging through my draws to find the nicest underwear I have, a black lacy pair.  I curse under my breath as I toss aside the dozen pair of flannel pyjamas and ugly t-shirts I usually sleep in. 

I stand up, topless and flustered, praying to god I get my shit together before Harry sneaks in here. Surely he's going to, I've seen a million romcoms and it always happens in the dark, in the middle of the night; someone always tiptoes into the others bed.

I have a moment of clarity and quickly pull on a black cotton camisole with a lace trim I wear on oddly hot days in the office.

I check myself out, fluffing up my hair before jumping under the covers and turning out the light, my pulse so loud I'm sure he can hear it in the next room.

I change positions countless times, duvet on, duvet off, leg bent, on my side, on my stomach.  I'm barely breathing to be able to hear any noise coming from the hall, an indication he is approaching, a twist of a door handle, a patter of steps, a quiet knock.

My heart sinks into my stomach when I glance at the clock and an hour has passed. 

He's not coming.

What did I do wrong? Should I have dressed differently? Flirted more? Been more obvious? Should I have found reasons to subtly touch his arm or laugh harder at his jokes? Should I have suggested we watch a movie with a more romantic storyline or steamier sex scenes?  Should I have worn more makeup, or less? Been more interesting? Not told him so much about myself? Was it my taste in music or art that put him off?

Shit, maybe it's because I told him I haven't had sex in so long? He could think I'm holding out for something deeper, a love connection. I'm not, I'm just picky and fucking busy!

I reach to my nightstand and pull on my silk eye mask, the sun already starting to creep into through the curtains.

I'm officially deep in the friend zone whether I like it or not and perhaps there was never any chance of it being anything else. I will have to put my feelings, whatever they may be, on a shelf. 

With a firm understanding that I need to accept Harry wants only a friendship, I fall asleep.

A/N:
Loving hearing all your thoughts about Harry and the little mystery he is!

Hate doing this but PLS vote if you're liking the story, it really means a lot to me and encourages me.

Love Ruby
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