𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙋𝙊𝙑:
I couldn't sleep.

Not because Avery's sofa was uncomfortable because, honestly, it was decent but because my head wouldn't shut up.

I was pissed off.

Not at Avery. Not even at Harry, really.

Just at the whole thing.

The way he had looked at her. The way he had spoken to her. Like he was interested. Like he was allowed to be interested.

And the worst part? Avery hadn't even noticed.

She was just being herself friendly, chatty, unbothered. And meanwhile, I'd spent the rest of the night brooding about it like some possessive idiot.

I let out a breath, staring at the ceiling.

It wasn't even about Harry.

It was about the fact that I didn't want to share her.

And I had no right to feel like that. None.

Avery had made it very clear that she didn't want this to be romantic. I had tried to kiss her, and she had said no.

And yet, here I was, lying on her sofa, pissed off at the thought of anyone else even looking at her like that.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, exhaling sharply.

I was an idiot. A full-on, world-class idiot.

And then—

A door creaked.

I froze.

Through the dim glow of the streetlights leaking in through the window, I saw a small, sleepy figure shuffle into the room.

Avery. My Avery.

She was half-awake, in a baggy T-shirt and sleep shorts, hair messy from sleep, eyes barely open as she walked toward the kitchen.

But then—she paused.

And I realized why.

I was just lying there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling like some psychopath.

Avery squinted at me, voice groggy. "Are you... okay?"

I hesitated. "...Yeah."

She blinked, still not fully awake. "Why are your eyes open?"

"Thinking." I spoke

She yawned, rubbing at her face. "Thinking about what?"

I clenched my jaw. "Nothing."

She hummed, clearly too tired to push it. "Okay. I'm getting water."

I watched her shuffle into the kitchen, filling a glass at the sink.

My head was still spinning. Still stuck on Harry, and Avery, and how I wanted her to be mine but couldn't do a damn thing about it.

A few moments later, Avery reappeared, sipping her water.

She paused at the edge of the sofa, blinking down at me. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I forced a small smirk. "Worried about me?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.

Instead, she set her glass down on the coffee table, stretched her arms over her head, and muttered, "Goodnight, weirdo," before turning and heading back to bed.

I watched her disappear down the hall.

Then I exhaled, turning onto my side.

I needed to get my head sorted.

Because if I wasn't careful if I let myself feel too much I was going to completely mess this up.