To be given a chance - (BxB)

Chapter eight - We care

I would look at him all day if I could. The way his deep, apple green eyes flicker with trust every time he glances up at me. I love the way fluffy, loose ringlets cascade down his forehead to hide his eyebrows. I could play dot to dot with the light dusting of freckles, that are scattered across his cute button nose, and never get bored. The adorable crinkle of his nose when he is confused gets to me the most. Is it bad that I don't feel bad for staring? I'm not being creepy, just... enjoying the view. I have to give George some credit, ever since he had flirted for me, Harry seems to blush every time I look at him. Sadly, all of this is very unprofessional; especially on my end of the stick.

We are sitting at my desk in the office again. I had remembered that Harry never finished the registration form - he had missed out most of the questions. So I have been helping him when he gets stuck, or doesn't understand what the question means. We've been in silence for the last half hour; it's not an awkward silence, though, it's comfortable, it's relaxing.

I hear Harry huff a breath, scrunching his nose as he sticks out his tongue to concentrate. Tilting my head a little, I catch a glimpse of him giving me a glance from the corner of his eyes. He seems to have calmed down a lot since this morning, which, of course is a good thing. Progress. He hasn't flinched as much as he had yesterday, again we are making progress, little by little.

Frowning to myself, I remember the way he asked if we were friends. It makes me wonder how much kindness he has encountered, if any. How many friends he has had, again, if any. Maybe because I have shown him kindness, he trusts me more than he did the first moment he got he here. Obviously, minus the time I had left... it's a little confusing for me to understand - I mean, most people tend to be a little more guarded when they're in a vulnerable position, denying any kind of trust toward anyone. Some tend to be overly trusting, clinging to a single thread, hanging on to nothing but straws of kindness.

Harry, on the other hand, is both. He hardly knows me, yet he has been clinging to me like a baby monkey. He trusts me, yet, not enough to open up. Harry is vulnerable, but still guarded. Naive, yet skeptical. Curious, but won't act on it. To put it simply, Harry is like a game of pass the parcel; each removed layer reveals something new, something different about him. And perhaps with more time, more trust, I could eventually remove the last piece of paper to reveal the prize.

I give Harry a tired smile as he hands me the form he has now finished. A content sigh escapes my lips as I glance at the small, squiggly letters that form words on the paper - the gap where 'Surname' was once left blank, now filled with the name; Hesterson.

Harry Hesterson. The feeling of delight washes over me, his name sounds even nicer; a beautiful piece of alliteration.

"Harry Hesterson," I find myself whispering under my breath. Samuel Hesterson... Sam Hesterson... Sammy Hesterson. What the hell am I doing? I'm acting like a bloody teenage girl, for crying out loud! If that's not bad enough, I can't seem to look Harry in the eyes. My hand shakes as I run it through my partially greasy hair; breathing through my nose doesn't exactly help either.

It's safe to say that I'm completely immersed in my own thoughts, that I almost crap myself when the office door creaks open. I see Harry sink into the chair he is sitting on; like a snail retreating into their shell whenever a threat appears. He gives me an uncertain glance, looking at me from under his curls.

"It's alright," I sign. It's Marie, she's hovering at the doorway, waiting for a signal as if to make sure it's alright for her to enter. I give her a quick nod and she wanders over to me, her steps a little uneven. It's strange, she has her hair down today which is a rarity for Marie; that is, unless she went out last night, also a rarity.