A Moment Like This

You don't know how you ended up here.

Well, you assume copious amounts of some form of alcoholic substance - tequila, probably - assisted in the process, but you can't remember why exactly you're in his bed.

Maybe you're not. Perhaps you're still a little intoxicated and just imagining this whole thing. Maybe that would be the better option, too. It would lead to less complications in the long run, wouldn't it?

Then you feel his fingers brush your back, and you know that this is real. Very real. And you know that it's him, as well. You recognise his touch, the shape and warmth of his hands. Plus, you can smell him on your skin. But you're surprised that rather than dread filling your stomach, it's something very different. Something you've never experienced before.

You wonder what to say to him when he wakes up.

You wonder what he'll say to you.

Could this be the opportunity that you're pretty sure the both of you have wanted to arise for years now? Unless one of you chickens out, as you have done in the past.

You roll over to watch him sleeping, his handsome features relaxed and totally at peace with the world. Will he remember what happened the previous evening, or will he wake up in complete shock like you did ten minutes ago?

Of course, it's all coming back to you now. You're pretty sure that your hungover brain isn't deceiving you when it tells you that it was you that came onto him. That sounds very much like the sort of thing you'd do. Mind you, it also sounds like the sort of thing he'd do. Hmm…

It would be easier for you to point the finger in his direction. Make him feel guilty, take the responsibility of deciding what the previous night meant for you both.

Because you sure as hell don't know.

But, looking at him now, you realise that you can't blame him. You very clearly remember turning up on his doorstep with the DVD that neither of you were paying any attention to. You also remember - despite you both being positively blind drunk at the time - having the conversation about how you can never find a decent guy, half-hoping to provoke a reaction from him. You remember him telling you that everybody has a soul mate, even if they don't realise it. You definitely remember leaning in and kissing him after that statement, because it was just what you had wanted to hear.

What you can't recollect is what made you tread those dangerous waters in the first place, when you had known that a shark might have been there just waiting to bite you in the arse.

Luckily for you, this doesn't seem to be the horrendous worst case shark scenario that it could have been.

Mind you, he still hasn't woken up yet. As your gran used to say, 'Don't count your chickens before they've hatched.'

He just looks so content laying there that you don't have the heart to wake him yourself.

When you see the position of his hand, open and relaxed on the bed sheets in the gap between your two bodies, and you remember the position that you yourself woke up in, you can't help but wonder whether you fell asleep holding hands and you smile in spite of yourself.

You also consider the possibility that you might still be a little drunk.

He's still sleeping, and curiosity as to the time begins to plague you. But you can't see the clock from where you are, so you go back to musing about how you got to where you are in the first place.

You may have made the first move, you conclude, but he very definitely kissed you back - enthusiastically, some may say. That counts as reciprocating in your book, and therefore you are both as much to blame for this predicament as each other.

You sigh softly and roll over again, turning your back to him.

The thought briefly crosses your mind of whether you don't want him to wake up. Things are simple at the moment, you're happy. Albeit feeling rather ill.

When he wakes, you know you're going to have to have the talk that you've put off having for six years. That's a lot of putting off.

You're just wondering whether he's pretending to be asleep to delay The Conversation even longer, when you feel his fingers on your back again, except this time it's not just an involuntary comatose reaction, but a careful, deliberate one. You know what this means.

He's awake.

You think he thinks you're still asleep. You wonder if he thinks that you think that he thinks that. You stop thinking when your head begins to hurt.

You consider what you should do, now that you're both awake. If you were going to flee, then there was always the excuse that Leo wanted you in at the lab early that morning. He probably wouldn't get suspicious. Unless he was planning on using that excuse for himself, of course. Which he could well be.

You swallow hard when you feel those fingers on your shoulder, and you can't help the shiver that travels up your spine.

"Ha, I knew you were awake," he says triumphantly.

You roll onto your back in order to reprimand him, but you aren't quite aware of the close proximity between the both of you until it's too late.

Before you know it, your lips are once again firmly attached to his. This isn't what you wanted to happen. Or is it?

The swell of elation in your stomach and the fleeting dizziness would tell you that it is. It's definitely what you want, that's for sure. It's just not what should happen right at this moment in time.

You pull away from him and look him right in the eyes. "We need to talk," you tell him.

He shifts away from you, back against his own pillows. "Yes, I think we do," he says.

You tell him the thoughts and feelings that have been plaguing your mind for the last half an hour. You don't know when it became so easy to talk to him about it all, but it suddenly has. You suspect it's the tequila.

He listens intently as you tell him that you don't want to do anything that might jeopardise your friendship. You tell him that if he thought the previous night had been a mistake, then you'd forget it ever happened.

He doesn't say anything immediately, and you begin to worry. Then he looks you right in the eye and places a hand on your cheek.

He tells you that he doesn't want to forget what happened.

You smile.

You realise that he's stopped talking and you haven't said anything in a while.

The problem is that you don't know what to say. You don't know what he means and you don't want to put your foot in it by saying the wrong thing.

He laughs quietly. "I think this is the first time I've seen you at a loss for words," he grins, putting you at ease slightly. That way he always has done.

You feel your eyes fill with hot salty tears. Your brain is cloudy and muddled.

But that could just be the alcohol.

You tell him you don't know what to do, before reaching over the side of the bed for your blouse which has been haphazardly discarded on the floor. As you sit up to put it on, you don't quite miss the hurt and confusion that flashes across his face.

You don't want that, either.

You fasten the buttons on your top in silence, and for the first time that morning you can feel the awkward atmosphere descending.

Realisation seeps through your veins. You don't know why you're getting dressed, you certainly don't want to. You sigh, letting your hands relax and fall upon the duvet.

He looks at you, hope reignited in his eyes.

It's that look that makes you realise he's serious. He really doesn't want to forget what happened. And you realise now that you don't either.

"You really want this too?" you ask him uncertainly. He places his hand over yours, brushing his fingers lightly on your skin.

"If I didn't then last night would never have happened," he tells you, his voice soft and gentle. "You make my world go round, Nikki."

It's the use of your name. You don't know why, he's said your name countless times before of course, but hearing him say it with so much conviction, so much emotion - it makes your knees go a little weak.

You twist around to face him, placing your hands on his bare shoulders.

He asks you, quietly, if you regret what happened.

You tell him that you don't.

A moment passes between you, a moment that you're both very aware of. It causes goosebumps to erupt on your arms.

No guy has never done that to you before.

He knows that.

His head draws closer to yours, until it's only an inch away.

"I don't know, Harry," you whisper, still doubtful as to whether this is the right thing to do.

"We're brilliant together, Nikki. You know that," he says.

"But a full-on relationship?"

His lips are now practically brushing against yours. You swallow hard.

"Let's just… go for it," he breathes, gently capturing your lips in a proper kiss this time.

You don't know how you ended up here. But it's the only place in the world you want to be.

God, this was sickeningly cheesy. And I just want you to know that I'm aware of how cheesy it is, but for some reason I couldn't stop typing!
I've never really written much in 2nd person before, and I'm not sure whether I like this particular piece or not... Hmm...
Oh, never mind. I needed something to work on now that Let's Fall Back In Love is finished! :)

So... what did you think?
xxx