“Do you want some food . . . or a coffee . . . or I have some asparagus if you want that?”
I snort out a laugh. “Is that a euphemism?”
“No. I just really like asparagus. Don’t you?” He sits on the bed. It looks very snuggly. “Does my flat smell bad? I can’t smell it.”
“It smells fine. Like clean laundry and fading emulsion.”
“Like paint?”
“Yeah, like the property developers zipped over all the walls with white paint before you moved in. How long have you been living here?”
Harry scratches his nose and looks off to the ceiling rose. “Six months. Or . . . no, yeah, six months. Do you want some asparagus?”
“Oh my god, what the fuck is with you and asparagus?” I’m laughing too much to hear his answer. “Doyouwant some asparagus? Is this you hinting that you want me to cook some for you?”
“Yes, please,” he says, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms behind his head. I still can’t get over the fact that he’s naked.
In the kitchen, I’m unable to locate any asparagus. Instead, I bring him a selection of processed snacks. He doesn’t have anything that doesn’t contain dairy or milk powder except one pack of original veggie Percy Pigs. I fill a glass of water for him and carry it through.
“Are you a barfy kind of drunk? Should I fetch you a bucket?”
“No, I’m fine.” Harry necks the water in one go. I refill it from the tap in his en suite.
“This does not live in your bathroom,” I say, holding out the bottle of eau de parfum I gifted him. “It’s too warm in there. Keep it in this drawer.” There’s lube and condoms in his top drawer, and for some bizarre fucking reason a weird dull ache forms in the centre of my chest. I drop the perfume inside and close it quickly.
“I’m drunk,” Harry says.
I sit next to him. “Honestly, nobody would notice.”
“Do you want some asparagus?”
I have to kneel beside him and hold his face between my hands. “Listen to me, Harry Ellis, you do not have any asparagus in your kitchen.” His expression drops, but I don’t let go. “Would you like anything else?”
It’s the saddest I’ve ever seen anyone look. His eyes are drooping, brow creased in a wibbly line, bottom lip quivering. “Did I eat it already?”
“Probably. I could go to the shops and buy you some more, but by the time I do that and get back here, I can guarantee you’ll be asleep. Let’s watch the telly, and just chill out for a bit.”
“Okay, that sounds good,” he says, hopefully forgetting all about the motherfucking asparagus. “Are you staying over?”
“If you want me to.”
“Yes, please. I don’t want to wake up alone tomorrow.”
Oh, that hurts more than it has any right to.
“Give me a few minutes to get ready for bed, then.”
I use Harry’s bathroom, brush my teeth with my finger, and rummage through his drawers for anything resembling pyjamas. Right at the back of the bottom drawer, I discover some green PJ bottoms with The Grinch’s face plastered all over them. I pull them on. They’re a little too big around the waist, and a little too short in the leg, but beggars can’t be choosers. I also find a clean white tee that I’m certain he won’t mind me borrowing.
Harry’s miraculously still awake when I return. He’s watching the TV, remote in one hand, Rice Krispie Square in the other.
“I have those pyjamas,” he says, pointing at my legs.
“These are yours,” I reply, and Harry’s face flames bright red. He doesn’t say anything. “Is that okay? I find it really difficult to sleep naked.”
“Yeah,” he squeaks. “That’s okay.”
As I’m climbing into bed, he says, “Is it alright if we snuggle?”
