"Harry?" I said, not even sure what I wanted to ask but wanting him to look at me.  His already sharp jaw clenched, making it stand out even more before he turned towards me.

"Hmm?" he responded, eyes meeting mine.

"Um... " I stalled, somehow unable to come up with anything to ask when there was so much I wanted to know.  "How old is your sister?" I wanted to slap myself for asking such a lame question, but it was a start.

"She's 22," he said, slightly confused by my random question. 

"So was she at school when we were?" I asked, doing the math quickly in my head.  He shook his head.

"No, she graduated the year before we started high school," he answered.  "She's in college now to become a teacher."

I was surprised at his addition to his answer.  Usually the only information he volunteered was exactly what I had asked for, nothing more.  "And your mom?  What does she do?"

"She's a personal chef," he started. "She's an amazing cook."

"That must be nice, no one in my house can cook," I added, giggling slightly.

"Hey, I liked your mom's spaghetti," he replied, smiling slightly, sticking up for my mom.

I rolled my eyes at him.  "Please, anyone can cook spaghetti.  It's like the easiest meal there is."

"Besides grilled cheese," he said, a smirk definitely playing on his lips now.

I opened my mouth playfully in mock insult.  "Hey, you didn't have any complaints about it."

"That's because I gave you my trade secret," he rebutted, grinning at me, dimples showing.  His glasses pushed up his face a little bit as he did so, causing him to reach up and adjust them. 

I shrugged. "I never claimed to be a good cook.  You, on the other hand, seem to be all talk."

He laughed nervously and fidgeted with his fingers. "I know some stuff."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, some."

"Care to prove that sometime?" I challenged.

"If you want me to," he said shyly, a similar response to when I asked if he'd sing for me.  If I wanted him to.

"I do," I said as he turned his face back toward me, looking me in the eye once again.  I was just about to add something when the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of our pizza.  I rose from the couch to go answer the door and pay for the pizza.  Harry got up off his side and followed me up, passing me in his with his long strides to beat me to the destination.  He opened the front door, greeted the pizza man, took the pizza and handed it to me before waving me off as I held out some cash. 

"I've got it," was all he said before pulling his wallet out of his pocket and paying the man.

"No, Harry, let me, it was my idea," I protested, trying to get around him to get to the man before his arm pressed to my shoulder, grinning as he pushed me back slightly and closed the door with his other.  His arm that was pressed against my shoulder lingered for a moment as he grinned down at me, pleased with himself for successfully paying for the pizza. 

I glared up at him, feigning anger, before saying, "You should have let me pay for it."

"No way, my house, my rules," he replied, then motioned to the kitchen, taking the pizza from me.  "Help me with plates and stuff."

"Well, thank you," I said, still wishing he would have let me pay for it.

I followed him into the kitchen, where he showed me where I could find plates and napkins.  While I was gathering those, he held the pizza with one hand while opening the fridge and extracting two cans of soda, which he carried between his fingers.  I could feel myself staring yet again at his massive hands and was thankful I'd managed to keep my jaw from falling.                  

"Ready?" he asked me, looking at me from over his supplies.

"Yep!" I said, jumping a little as he said it.  He shot me a weird look before nodding and heading back downstairs, where we discovered we had yet to start the movie.  The screen showed the start menu for the DVD, which must have popped up earlier when we had been talking.  Harry sat down on his side of the couch, leaving me to decide just how close I was going to sit with him.  Bravely, I placed myself on the middle cushion of the couch, right next to where he was sitting.  I felt him tense up and heard him gasp when my thigh leaned against his.  I smirked.

It seemed his nerves were worst when we were sitting near each other.  Other times, like when we handled the pizza a few moments ago, he seemed completely at ease.  I glanced down at our touching legs, liking the way I could feel his heat through our jeans to my own skin.  It was electrifying yet comforting at the same time.  I wondered what it felt like for him. 

After a few seconds of nervously eyeing the small distance between us, Harry reached forward to start the movie and grab a slice of pizza.  Following his cue, I reached forward and grabbed one, too.  I watched as he puckered his lips slightly, their round shape forming into a soft 'o' to blow on his pizza, and I forgot all about my slice.  Transfixed by his mouth, all I could do was stare as he relaxed his lips and opened his mouth, laying his tongue out flat peculiarly before taking a bite. I had never seen anyone eat like that.  He chewed politely, mouth closed and swallowed before laying his tongue out again to take another bite.  It was then that he noticed me staring.

"What?" he asked after swallowing his second bite.  I felt like he asked me that a lot.

"Has anyone ever told you how weird you eat?" I answered his question with a question, giggling quietly.       

"What do you mean?" he looked puzzled.

"You stick your tongue out funny, I've never seen anyone do that," I said, imitating him by laying my tongue out before taking a bite.

He wrinkled his nose at me, "I don't do that."

I laughed as I swallowed, probably finding this funnier than I should.  "Yes, you do! You just did it twice!"

He tilted his head, as if considering what I was saying before taking another bite.  His eyes widened in surprise as he realized I was right.  "Oh my god."

I couldn't help the cackle that burst out of my throat. "Told you!" I said smugly.  He looked a little bit self-conscious now that I had pointed this out to him, looking reluctant to take another bite.  "Oh, don't worry.  I think it's adorable," I reassured him.

He looked nervous again, but seemed to accept what I said because he took another bite.  Soon we had both all but stuffed ourselves with pizza and had shoved away our plates in defeat.  He groaned slightly as he leaned back, resting his hands on his stomach. 

"I'm never eating again," I said, copying his position.

"Never, ever again," he agreed.  "What does your mom do?" he asked abruptly, as if he had been wanting to ask for a while but wasn't sure when to do so.

I giggled quietly before answering.  "She's a nurse at the hospital.  I think she loves being there more than she does being home."

"I noticed she's not home much," he said quietly before tensing his jaw, as if realizing too late that this might not be appropriate for him to say.  I didn't mind; he was right, after all.

"Yeah, she takes a lot of extra shifts.  But I mean... if she loves it, who am I to stop her?" I really was glad my mom had a job that she loved so much, although I suspected there was a little more as to why she worked so often.  With my dad being gone so often for work, I think she felt lonely being in our house alone. 

"That's... that's really good of you to understand," he said.  It was an odd complement, but it made me smile none-the-less.  I didn't say anything now, thinking about my mother, sad that she was probably lonely.

"What about your dad?" he asked, sneaking a glance at me.  I itched a spot on my neck before turning myself slightly so I was facing him more, knee overlapping his lap a little now.  He tensed again at the movement but seemed to relax after I settled. 

"He works in medical sales, I'm not really sure what exactly, but he travels a lot so he's hardly ever home," I told him.  "I think my mom misses him a lot when he's gone," I added.  Why not, he was asking, and no one had really asked before.  Everyone else thought it was cool that my dad was gone so often and that my mom was a workaholic so I practically had a house to myself.

"Do you miss him?"

I pulled my lips together and nodded, looking down at my lap.  After being quiet for a few seconds, I began to feel guilty.  Here I was pouting about my absent father, when Harry's hadn't been around for nearly four years now.  At least my father could come back.  At least he was alive.

"You haven't got any siblings, right?" he asked, sounding like he already knew the answer.

"No.  I wish I did though," I said.  "I think I could have been a good big sister."

"I think you would have been, too," he told me.

I smiled sadly.  "It'd be fun to have someone to teach stuff and help them stay out of trouble with mom and dad.  Just show them things I've learned, you know?"

"Yeah, you'd protect them," he said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"You protected me," he said, shrugging.  "No one's ever done that before."

"I didn't even think about it..." I said before changing the subject.  "Do you miss yours? Your dad?" I ventured, almost sure he wouldn't answer me.  He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again and let out a breath.

"Yes.  Everyday," he said sadly.  I raised my gaze from my lap to look at his face.  He was staring at a spot on the ground, probably not really seeing it. 

"Were you guys close?" I asked, almost hitting myself again.  What a stupid question.  Of course they were close, there was evidence all over his house.

He nodded.  "Yeah... he taught me everything I'm even remotely good at now.  Boats, cars, guitar..." he trailed off, seeming to get lost in his thoughts.  "He was the best dad I could have asked for."

I was surprised he had answered me at all, but even more surprised at the honesty in his response.  Seeing his face, it was clear that he desperately missed his dad.  I didn't want him to be sad, and I suddenly felt bad for bringing the topic up. 

"I'm sorry, Harry." It was all I could think to say.  The corners of his lips twitched up a bit in a sad smile before pulling himself out of his reverie and looking at me. 

"It's alright, it was a while ago," he replied, a response he had surely given many times before.

"But still," was all I said.  I gingerly reached across his lap to grasp one of his hands.  He watched me as I did it, breath catching quietly in his throat.  I ran my thumb across the wide expanse of his knuckles, trying to make him feel better.  When his fingers squeezed mine, I felt a jolt run up my arm and my breathing picked up a little bit.  Both of our eyes were examining my hand in his, dwarfed in comparison.  I could hear my heart pounding in my ears now. 

We were touching in more than one way- my thigh resting on his, our hands connected, fingers twisting against each others, faces only inches apart.  Wanting more of him, I brought his hand up to my lips, pressing tiny kisses to each of his knuckles.  His eyes followed my lips, captivated by their every move.  Each time I pressed a kiss to his hand, his breath would seem to stop in his chest.  When I had finished the attention to each knuckle, I lowered our hands back into my lap, resting where my ankles crossed. 

The movie played in the background, completely forgotten by both of us.  I let my eyes travel up from our hands, up his chest, along his neck, his lips, and finally to his eyes, still hidden behind his glasses.  Tentatively, I reached up with my free hand to pull them from his face.  He breathed softly against my wrist as I did so, keeping his eyes in steady contact with mine.  He shifted his body so we were fully facing each other now.

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