Harper looks towards her, his face instantly dropping. “I didn’t bring her any treats. I’m sorry, Honey.”
“Can she have a pup cup from the coffee shop?”
Harper’s grin is blinding. My heart promptly skips ten beats just at the force of his grin. “She loves those!”
“We’ll get her one on the way home.”
Happy with the turn of events, Harper pushes the plate away, and leans his chin on his hand to finish watching me eat. My stomach does this strange dip and dive at the feeling of his gaze on me. His eyes are so vividly green, like the color of grass after it’s rained. The kind of eyes I could get lost in, if he’d let me.
“Thank you for today. It was fun… I don’t get out much.”
“Why?”
“Why don’t I get out much?” Harper clarifies.
Pushing my own plate away, I cross my arms over my chest. My foot knocks into his under the table, but I don’t pull it away. Instead, I settle my foot against his, and bite back a grin when he doesn’t pull his own foot away. Small wins.
“Yeah, you’re young, have a good job, you’re cute as hell… why would someone like you hide away in your dark house?”
Harper’s eye twitches at my words. He reaches up one elegant hand to rub at the corner of his eye, clearly irritated by my question. But I’m not going to let him think there’s nothing desirable about him. I don’t care whatever the fuck medical condition he has, the man is funny, pushes all the right buttons for me, and he’s absolutely adorable. Who wouldn’t want him?
“I like to be alone,” Harper finally says, tone devoid of all earlier joy.
Fuck. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Harper grunts and restlessly drums his fingers on the table. He stays silent as I settle up the bill, not even trying to argue me out of paying for our shared meal. I try to not let that go to my head either. But I’ve always liked taking care of people. I like taking care of Harper, as much as he’s currently letting me.
I count it as a win when he lets me hold his hand again.
My attitude is instantly shattered when he quietly announces, “Please take me home.”
“But cupcakes!” I try to convince him.
Harper shakes his head subtly. “I need to go home.”
He’s silent the entire drive back, no longer humming to the music. His fingers smooth across his jeans repeatedly, almost as if in an attempt to soothe himself. A couple of minutes from his house Honey whines from the back seat and leans forward over the console to insistently press her wet nose to Harper’s arm.
“Can you hurry, please?” Harper asks, voice low, slightly worried.
I step on the gas, uncaring about the gravel bouncing up and hitting my car. The car slides a little when I park in front of the house but it doesn’t matter. Hopping out of the car, I race around the front to open the door for Harper. He climbs out, as elegant as usual, but Honey hops out and plasters herself to his side. His finger fumbles on the lock of the front door for a long moment, before a quiet beep sounds and he eagerly pushes inside.
“Harper,” I say softly.
He pauses with his back to me, his fingers restlessly tapping against his thigh. “Jackson. I’m going to go into my bedroom with Honey and have a seizure. You can sit in the living room and wait. If Honey frantically comes to get you, then please call911. She knows what to do. I will see you in a little bit.” He takes a deep, painfully shaky breath and whispers, “Please don’t tell anyone.”
With that final word, he flees down the hallway with Honey hot on his heels. A door closes softly, and then I’m left alone. Seizures. Fuck. I rub my forehead and pace the length of his living room. This is all my fault. I pushed him too hard. I shouldn’t have forced him into the rage room. God. He was hesitant and a little worried, but I talked him into it.
The silence emanating from the other end of the house is terrifyingly loud. Ten minutes pass by as I pace, wearing down the carpet in front of Harper’s television. But then, moments later, Honey’s nails clip against the wood as she approaches me with her wide brown eyes. She doesn’t seem panicked at all, but it’s clear she wants my attention. As I approach the bedroom, the odd feeling that I don’t belong, that I shouldn’t be invading Harper’s space overwhelms me.
Curled up on the bed is a painfully weeping Harper. My heart breaks into a million pieces just at the sight of him. Honey jumps onto the bed, protectively lying down in front of Harper. Slowly, Harper curls his fingers into her soft blonde fur. Harper’s knuckles go white as he clutches hard at her, a ragged sob breaking free.
“Harper,” I murmur helplessly.
I half expect him to push me away or send me packing. But what I don’t expect is him to hold his other arm out, tiredly wiggling his fingers in a silent plea for me to join him on the bed. I carefully lie down, curling around his back, until he’s a sentence and I’m a parenthesis around him. His sobs shake his lithe body, but I do my best to comfort him. I wrap my arm around him, tugging until his back is flush against my chest.
Tucking my head into his neck, I breathe in the comforting scent of him. Sandalwood and spice. A relieved breath escapeshim as his cries slowly ebb. He reaches back to tangle his hand in the front of my shirt, tugging me even closer, until my head rests underneath his trembling chin. Unable to stop myself, I softly kiss the hollow of his throat, letting my lips linger where his pulse pounds under his warm, pale skin.
Resting my palm over his slim hip, I rub my thumb along the sliver of skin peeking out between his sweatpants and t-shirt. He must’ve changed quickly before or after his seizure.
