Harry`s P.O.V

My head hurt. I couldn’t feel my body. My eyelids felt like lead, and it took a great effort just to open them. I licked my lips, only to find that they were hard and chapped, frozen almost. I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I could only turn my head from side to side.

I was in a bedroom. The walls were painted green, and when I looked straight up, the ceiling was painted like the night sky. There was a white nightstand off to my right, and a dresser stood in the corner, next to a door that led off into a bathroom. The bed smelled like vanilla. And the sheets were green, beige and white.

There were balcony doors made of glass when I turned to the left, and I could see an oak tree branch peeking out from the edge of the doors.

Suddenly there were footsteps that came closer, and Isabelle stepped through the door, carrying a small tray with a bowl on it. Her cheeks were puffy, and I guessed she`d been crying. She took one look at me, saw I was awake, and cried, “Oh God!”

She ran over to me and set the tray down on the nightstand quickly. The next thing I knew, one of her hands was on my forehead, the other grasping my fingers. “You’re so stupid,” she was saying, “You’re so stupid.”

I looked up and found that her eyes were gleaming with tears. She tried to smile, but it looked failed. I gave an effort to grin up at her. “Why am I stupid?” I asked, and my voice came out raspy. She just shook her head, tears glistening on her bottom eyelashes. “You just are,” she said, her voice cracking, “You gave me a heart attack. Your lips were blue, and you were shuddering…” she trailed off, staring at me like I was the most valuable treasure on earth. A warm feeling spread out through my body.

“Are you cold?” Isabelle suddenly asked, “I can get you some more blankets.” I shook my head, even though I was freezing. Isabelle turned to the tray she’d set down, “Here. I made you some hot chicken soup.”

Slowly, she helped me sit up, muttering what an idiot I was. I chuckled weakly. “So,” I asked, not really remembering last night, “What happened?”

“You stayed out on my terrace all night,” she told me in a whisper,

“You were freezing. I found you two hours ago.” I nodded slightly, and reached for the bowl of soup, but she grabbed it. “No,” she told me, “Let me.” I grinned as she scooped up some broth, “This is more like it.”

“Shut up,” she said, a tear falling, “Just shut up. I was so scared.”

“Why are you crying?” I asked her softly. She just shook her head and pursed her lips, and I opened my mouth as she fed me the soup. Her hand shook, and I swallowed, letting her pull back. She fed me a few more spoons before leaning forward. For a moment,

I thought she was going to kiss me, but instead, she took my face in her hands lightly. Her thumbs stroked my cheekbones and she felt my forehead with the palm of her hand once more. “Your temperature is returning to normal,” she murmured, almost to herself. I nodded, “That’s good. How many more nights do I have to stay, Doc?” she laughed hollowly and I smiled weakly.

“You had me so scared,” she whispered, “I thought you were going to die on me.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I whispered back, and she wiped a rogue tear that had fallen. Her bottom lip quivered, and I said, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“You just shut up,” she told me sternly, but her eyes were vulnerable, “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” She looked away, and put one of her hands on her forehead, staring at the ground. Tears fell to the carpeted floor, dampening it. I shifted, “Are you okay?”

She blinked a few times and turned back to me, using the back of her hand to wipe tears off her cheeks. She shook her head, “I’m fine. You don’t worry about me. We have to get you better.”

“My own personal nurse,” I tried the joke on my tongue, and she laughed emptily.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again. She stared at me disapprovingly, “Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. If you need anything, just tell me.” I knew that what I was about to do was risky, but I said, “I need a kiss.”

She laughed for real this time, and I tried for a smile, but it hurt.

She looked at me tenderly, “I’m not sure about that one,” she whispered. “Aw, come on,” I whispered back, “Just a small one.” She seemed to think about this for a moment before leaning forward. I closed my eyes, expecting my lips to feel hers, but I felt her mouth on my forehead instead. I groaned and she giggled,

“You didn’t say where,” she pointed out. “On the lips,” I tried again, but she shook her head, smiling slightly, “Too late.”

I took her hand and brought it up to my mouth, where I kissed her knuckles. She shifted uncomfortably before saying, “I think that’s enough sappiness for today. I’ll go get you another blanket.” She stood and turned towards the door. “Isabelle?” I called out, and she turned back to me. I grinned, “I’m still taking you out today.”

She smiled lightly at me before nodding, “I know.” And then she turned and disappeared.

Isabelle’s P.O.V

I helped Harry down the steps, holding onto his arm as he grasped the railing. Earlier, I’d stepped out of his room and gone to the washroom down the hall, crying my eyes out. I didn’t even know why I was suddenly so hormonal. I guess I’d just been afraid. Of what, I had no idea.

Then Harry had called me back, and I’d quickly wiped my eyes and raked my fingers through my hair before shaking my head and returning to him. He’d grinned and joked, “Where’s my blanket?” He must have seen that my eyes were red, because he’d quit smiling and held out his arms. I had to admit, I’d been a little edgy about hugging him, even though I’d already kissed him on the forehead. For me, hugging was like saying I need you. I was afraid that I did need Harry. Stupid, right?

Now, he smiled at me, turning to face me. I stared up at him for a moment before turning back to the steps and guiding him down.

He was dressed in a dark green robe, something I’d lent him. Kate had said that it was her boyfriend Alex’s. I’d called her shortly after the incident, explaining everything to her. She’d told me that there was a male robe in her walk-in closet. Sure enough, there was.

We reached the bottom of the steps. “Come on,” I said to Harry, leading him into the kitchen. He studied the halls and peered inside some of the rooms we passed. “Finally get to see your house,” he murmured. His voice was slightly hoarse. I pressed my lips together and tried for a smile, but ended up with a grimace, it seemed. We entered the kitchen.

“You can sit at the table,” I told Harry, “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes widening. I nodded, very aware that I probably looked terrible. I could sense that my eyes were still red, my cheeks still puffy. My nose burned, and I felt like utter crap.

I opened a cupboard and grasped a ceramic bowl, but it slipped out of my hands and tumbled to the floor. It flew apart into tiny pieces, and I broke. I collapsed down onto the floor, putting my face in my hands. My knees were brought up to my chest as I cried, trying to disappear. I felt a hand on my back immediately, but I didn’t turn to look at Harry; I continued to cry.

Then I felt the hand leave my back, and I heard shuffling all around me, following by little clinking sounds. After a few minutes I looked up and found Harry standing above me, looking down at me. I knew that I must’ve looked pathetic, but his eyes were soft, and I noticed that he’d cleaned up the broken ceramic pieces of the bowl. Harry tugged me up and helped me back up the stairs, where he guided me into my bed, pulling up the covers to my chin.

I stared up at him, my eyes watering. “No,” I tried to say, “I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

He shook his head, smiling slightly. “You’ve done enough already. Let me pamper you. Just sleep for a bit. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Harry brushed some hair off of my forehead as I closed my eyes. The last thing I remember was falling asleep, the smell of cinnamon lingering in my mind.

*Later*

My eyes snapped open, and I was suddenly very aware of a pair of eyes watching me. I turned over and found Harry smirking at me. “You drool when you sleep,” was all he said. I blushed, super embarrassed, and sat up, itching to change the topic. “How long was I out?”

He shrugged, “About an hour. No longer.” I nodded and suddenly felt guilty. I shifted, trying to get comfortable. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a complete wreck. I don’t even know why.” Harry shook his head, “It’s my fault. I did this to you. I shouldn’t have stayed.”

I shook my head, mirroring him, “But if I’d been less stupid and less stubborn, it wouldn’t have happened.” Harry took my hand, which sent tingles up my wrists. “It’s not your fault,” he sounded out clearly, “Don’t blame yourself.”

I opened my mouth to say more, but Harry gave me a stern look, and I clenched my jaw. “I’m sorry,” was all I whispered. Harry smiled at me suddenly, and stood, offering me his hand. “Come on,” he beckoned, “I’m supposed to take you on a date.”

*One hour later*

“Okay, okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. Then I looked up at Harry, put on a serious face, and said, as British-y as I could,

“Twat.” Harry put his face in his hands, leaning his elbows up against the table, “No.” I giggled.

We were at a small, low-key Italian bistro named Bella. Harry had grinned at me when my jaw dropped and explained, “I heard Kate call you Belle when you spoke on the phone with her.” “You were listening?” I demanded, and he shrugged, grinning.

I was dressed in flared jeans and Uggs, a green long-sleeved sweater that read, “I’m with stupid”. Harry had grinned at me and flashed a thumbs-up sign when he saw.

Now we sat in a small booth. Harry was trying to teach me how to speak in a British accent and was teaching me some of the British lingo. I was terrible. I couldn’t even pronounce half of the words that he threw at me. It was only the words, “Lad, mate, and crumpet” that I could barely say correctly. Harry had a fun time laughing at my horrifying attempts and correcting me on everything. I just groaned and tried to stifle my giggles.

The waitress came back with our orders and set down two plates and a small dish filled with bruschetta in front of us. I had ordered chicken parmesan with a side of mashed potatoes, sprinkled with black pepper. Harry had ordered spaghetti drenched in tomato sauce and steamed risotto. Harry winked at the waitress, who smiled back at him, looking slutty. I kicked Harry’s shin under the table, and waited until the waitress walked away.

When she did, I leaned in, “You idiot,” I scolded him, as he grinned stupidly, “I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, not some skank that you picked up off the street.” Harry chuckled, “I picked you up off the street.”

“That’s different,” I rolled my eyes, “I know you.” Harry guffawed,

“Yeah, three days is the ideal time to completely get to know someone.” I was beginning to feel agitated now, and a bit uncomfortable. I felt bitter inside for some reason, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. All I knew was that I wanted to make Harry feel bad, “Yeah, well based on what I’ve heard about you, you take girls home the night you meet them.”

Harry eyes smoldered suddenly, and I clenched the material of my sweater in my fist, suddenly nervous. I was afraid that I’d gone too far. But then Harry’s eyes softened, and he smiled, “Fair enough.” I laughed nervously, but then he grabbed my hand from across the table. His grip was soft, and he held my fingers tenderly. When I looked up to him, I found that he was smirking at me.

“Well,” I said suddenly, clearing my throat and pulling my hand back, “I think we should dig in.” Harry just smiled to himself and let his hand rest there one second longer before picking up his fork and twirling it around a forkful of spaghetti. My toes were tingling, and I felt a laugh bubble up in my throat before it flopped out of my mouth. Harry looked up at me, the edges of his mouth tugged up in a smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” I lied, “I was just thinking about how bad my accent is.” Harry nodded, and I was suddenly relieved to be on a less awkward topic, “Your right,” Harry told me, “It stinks.”

“Yeah?” I challenged, “Well, I’d like to see you try an American slash Canadian accent.” Harry sat up to his full height, which was very tall, and rolled his shoulders. Then he said, “I’ll have a side order of curly fries with that.” His accent was spot-on.

I stared at him for a moment, trying not to smile. He looked at me, smirking, like he could read my mind, “Well?” I didn’t say anything;
I just burst out laughing. Harry joined in and soon we were laughing our heads off. I saw people in other booths giving us dirty looks, but at the moment, I didn’t care.

And then at that moment, I realised what that bitter feeling in my stomach had meant.

I was jealous.

Notes

Sorry if this chaptah's kinda short! I'm a little swamped with homework right now, but oddly enough, I still find time to write, which I didn't even think was possible. Not complaining though! Okay, so I've noticed that I'm getting quite a few views, but no one is commenting, voting, rating, or subscribing. Those things, especially the comments section, are there for a reason, you know! ;)

I would just really appreciate it if I got feedback, hopefully some rates, and some subscribers! Please make me feel loved! (That sounds really wrong er mah gurd...)