Sunday started off slow and lazy, as always, with the exception this time being another body besides mine that kept my bed warm. The realization came over me like a warm blanket when I turned on my back, still half asleep, and bumped my shoulder into another shoulder.

Unlike every other Sunday when I'd roll over on the other side of the bed and pass out again, I blinked my eyes open; in the barely lit room that felt like it was around 5 AM, Harry's dirty blond buzzcut was my primary view, and my eyes raked over the rest of his body—sprawled on his stomach across most of the bed, he left me about a third of the mattress to sleep on. His head was turned away from me, and his hands were tucked under his pillow. And he was so fucking endearing.

The emotion, whatever it was—warm blanket—pushed me toward him, or rather pulled me; I turned on my side, stretching in the process, and my arm found its way around his waist while my knee rested against his lower back. His warmth became mine, and endorphins became the only hormone my brain could produce.

The contentment was short-lived because, despite being careful in rolling halfway on top of him, I felt him take a deep breath, and a moment later he lifted his head.

My eyes stayed closed and most of my face was hidden in my pillow, but even if looking at me over his shoulder didn't give away the fact that I was awake, I felt that the sudden fast heartbeat that made my face feel hot would. He'd call my name, maybe shake me awake. And then I'd have to deal with the act of falling asleep next to me being, perhaps, a mistake, something that happened solely due to emotions running high, and that it'd be better if he went home or took the couch. I couldn't have that. Slow, lazy Sundays weren't made for rejections.

Harry lay his head back on the pillow, shifting closer to me until his back was fully against my front, and his hand found and squeezed the one I had around him. My anxious heart slowed down and grew three sizes at the idea that a similar warm blanket was pushing him toward me. I squeezed his hand back and smiled to myself. No rejection this Sunday.

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The slow and lazy Sunday feel was complemented by the playlist I chose to accompany me in my attempt to draw at my desk. My sketchbook and pencil tin case had fallen victim to a layer of dust, but that was solely due to the two hobby-oriented parts of my brain—the bass guitar one and the art one—only being able to work one at a time. When I grew bored of the bass I'd turn to my pencils or brushes, and vice versa, but never both at the same time.

This Sunday was the exception.

I could feel that the drawing/painting part of my brain was still asleep. There was no forecast telling me to expect dust to befall my bass guitar, but I had to go with the quieter of my two hobbies this morning. The soft snoring happening behind me would have been interrupted by the Fender amp that sat next to the guitar, and leaving the room to play was just not an option. Listening, at a very low volume, to the songs I liked playing was the next best thing.

Ten songs into drawing a button-nosed woman looking upwards, the steady breaths were replaced by the reason I chose not to use headphones for the bass or my playlist—a soft hum I otherwise wouldn't have heard, that had my head spinning around as if an alarm had gone off. Harry was facing me, but his eyes were still closed, and he did look like he was still fast asleep and maybe just dreaming. But then he blinked his eyelids open, and I was on my feet in an instant.

"Hey," I said, barely above a whisper, but held off asking or saying anything else while he adjusted to being awake. Half-lidded eyes followed me as I squatted in front of him, faces at the same level.

"Hi." His voice was beyond rough, sending him into a coughing fit, eyes squeezed shut and mouth against his forearm. He cleared his throat and looked at me again, eyelids out of the way, blue irises now completely visible. "Hi."

His voice brought a grin to my face, which in turn had him smiling back at me. Before I could help it, my hand left the edge of the mattress and found his scratchy jaw. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than I had in months."

The nod I replied with hid the fact that my heart was doing jumping jacks at his soft smile and soft eyes and soft everything. His entire soft existence, right here in my bed. Right where he's supposed to be. "I, uh..." I pointed to the bottle on the nightstand to avert any attention my pink cheeks could draw. "Brought you some water. If you need."

"Thank you."

"You feeling better?"

"Much." He grinned and his hand came up to my arm, thumb caressing the skin under my T-shirt sleeve. The warm blanket became a warm room, a warm house, an entire warm world with his blue eyes set on mine, his gentle touch meant for me, his mere existence.

"I like this song," he mumbled, and it took me a moment to tune in to the rest of the world that wasn't Harry Moran.

"Uh..." I knew that I knew the song, but I still needed to turn toward the sound to get the wheels in my head turning. "Sistinas. By Danzig." I looked back at Harry. "It's about loneliness and isolation."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Of course it is. Sweet tune, though."

"Did the music wake you?"

"No, but I think I stayed awake because I liked what I was hearing," he said. "What was the song before this one?"

"Um..." I stood to check the playlist. "When the Wild Wind Blows," I answered and left my phone on the desk again, returning to kneel in front of the bed. "Iron Maiden. Their bassist wrote it."

"I liked that one too."

"It's based on an animated movie about an elderly couple who build a shelter to protect themselves from a nuclear attack."

Harry blinked, eyes wide open now; any cell in his body that might have still been asleep was shocked awake by the explanation. Then he blinked again. "Does it work?"

"No. They die."

"Is the bassist evil?"

A light laugh was my response, though I found his coming to terms with the ending of an animated film heartwarming, even if it was just for my amusement. "He just took the plot of a cartoon and made it into a song." I pointed to my bass, aware I was about to volunteer this information willingly. "I actually named my bass after him. Steve Harris."

"Your bass guitar's name is Steve Harris?"

"He lets you call him just Steve when you get to know him."

Harry craned his neck to look at the blue Fender before looking back at me, amused. "Gotta be the least sexy name for an instrument. Ever."

"Clifford was a strong contender." He gave me a blank look and I added, "Cliff Williams from AC/DC and Cliff Burton from Metallica."

"Two Cliffords," he concluded.

"Mm-hmm."

"Both play the bass."

"Burton hasn't played since '86."

"Why?"

"He died."

"Ah." He nodded, face void of emotion. "Did you bring me to your place to trigger a heavy metal-induced depressive episode?"

I laughed heartily at his dramatics, but still began to stand up. "Okay, hear me out. It's not all death and destruction. Just let me find you a happy song."

"I have a better idea."

Harry took my wrist just as I stood to my feet, and mischievous but determined eyes met mine.

"Come to bed."

I blinked, the engines searching for a happy song screeching to a halt along with the rest of my brain. "Huh?"

"Bed." He moved back a few inches, patting the newly created empty spot on the mattress, looking way too casual for the proposition he was making. He pointed a finger at me and then himself, each movement accompanied by a single syllable. "You. Me."

"I'm..." Having a heatstroke, apparently. Or a heart attack. Or a naturally induced heart enlargement coming straight from his words. "Wearing apartment clothes."

"You're what?"

"I can't get in bed unless I'm wearing pajamas."

"So change," he said what he clearly thought to be the most reasonable thing in the world. Not a tremor in his voice, not even a glint in his eyes that would suggest he had any kind of big emotion toward his own proposal. His blue eyes were calm and soft, the complete opposite of the big emotions that cemented me to my spot. "Promise I won't look. Here."

Pulling the fleece blanket over his head with unnecessary aggression worked like a charm. I watched him ball up into an oversized, vaguely human-shaped croissant, and couldn't help giggling, and giggling, and giggling the stupefaction right out of my body. "Okay," I said, relenting, "but if you look, the deal's off."

Looking, or not looking, or seeing me stark naked right in the sunlight seeping through the blinds was not the issue. The physical aspect of things, as rigid as I was at times, brought on more excitement and fast heartbeats and the good kind of knot in my stomach than it did any negative feelings.

It was every single emotion I'd swept under the carpet in the past month ambushing me at the sight of his face. It was the way he cried in my arms last night, how he told me he'd rather not live than keep going through the agony he was still experiencing. The way the morning started with a casual music discussion while the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. The nausea I felt every time I thought about how I couldn't help him at this stage in any significant manner, how he'd just have to endure the pain until it hopefully paid off.

Even now, pulling on the sweatshirt and shorts from last night after a goofy exchange, I felt what could most accurately be compared to motion sickness. The misery was just waiting to be addressed while we danced around it to depressing heavy metal songs.

"Okay," I said in a small voice, hands on my hips while I watched the live ball of fleece on my bed; a moment later, Harry emerged from the blanket and held his hand out, the glimmer of impatience in his eyes perfectly contrasting my sudden shyness. I took his hand and a deep breath as I got on the mattress. The motion sickness intensified.

Harry pulled the blanket over me as I lay on my side, and used it as an excuse to draw me closer to him. Oh, he used the shit out of it, the hand around my back loosening its grip only after my chest collided with his, bare legs awkwardly brushing and resisting the instinct to entwine with his, faces merely two inches apart. The same hand pushed my hair out of my face, and then he used that as an excuse to caress my cheekbone with his thumb.

He had a small, content smile on his face. I had a big, desperate plea to God that he wouldn't accidentally feel my raging pulse while his fingers were in the vicinity of my neck.

"Hi."

There was no helping the smile on my face at the sound of his whisper, crystal clear with the proximity of our faces. I tucked a hand between my head and the pillow while his hand relocated to my waist, neither one of us breaking eye contact. "Hi," I whispered back.

"How'd your midterms go?"

A laugh escaped past my motion sickness at the random question. If nothing, we were at least smiling while avoiding the big, sad cloud that hung over us. "Good. I got one C-, but I'll get over it. You?"

"Lowest I got was a B."

"Show-off."

A beautiful truth was then uncovered—the speed at which his hand grabbed my wrist as I went to poke his ribs could only indicate that Harry Moran was a ticklish man. Beautiful, beautiful truth. I was a little less thrilled about him twisting my arm behind my back, but then he worked his fingers from around my wrist to in-between my own.

I didn't let the cozier embrace or the hand-holding—or being folded like a sweater—distract me. "How was Colorado?"

"Good," he answered cheerfully, just as casual about our tangle. "Good, hadn't been home in a long time. Since spring break or something. It was actually nice."

"Is independence really that important to you?"

"Hell yeah. I mean, I've also been too sick to travel a lot this year." The big, sad cloud seemed to drop a bit closer to us. "But, yeah, I like my little life here better, so my folks usually visit me. I go for Thanksgiving and Christmas, mostly so I'm not a complete asshole for never going home."

"So you see your family..." I squinted. "How many times a year?"

"Three or four. I fly home a couple of times, they use their vacation days to visit me here."

"You really make them spend their vacation in a college town instead of, like, Bora Bora or something?"

An amused frown wrinkled his forehead. "I don't think my parents have heard of Bora Bora." He leaned closer, his nose touching mine. "And don't tell them about it, either. I'm so close to getting a new car out of 'em."

I let out a breathy laugh, before both the mention of a car and the fact that he didn't move away from me made me swallow thickly. His hand released mine from behind my back to settle on my waist again, and I couldn't quite make out much of his face with our close proximity but I could tell that his eyes were half-lidded, indicating the object of his focus was most likely the same as mine—soft, pink lips.

"What about you?" Came from his mouth before the moment could carry us too far; his hand traveled beneath my sweatshirt to the top of my shorts, lazily brushing his fingers over the elastic that hugged my waist. "When's the last time you went to Manhattan? You probably go more often since it's closer."

I pulled my lips between my teeth, brain immediately searching for an exit off of the highway leading to my home and, more importantly, my feelings about home. "It's been a while." I searched for the exit a moment longer, anything to make him forget his question. "I was planning on going sometime soon, but not before I called you."

His smile fell when his lips parted, the warm expression getting replaced with a look of neutral surprise; a few beats later, he found his voice again. "Called me?"

"Mm-hmm. Next week."

"You were gonna call me next week?"

"Yep," I answered, my light tone clashing with my nervous heartbeat. "Like, officially. Had it marked on my calendar and everything."

The least I expected was some teasing about setting a specific time and date I expected to be ready to see Harry, ask Harry out on a date, maybe even kiss Harry without freaking out about it, but I was instead met with silence and an undecipherable expression that stayed too long to indicate anything good.

Finally, a breathy chuckle and beautiful smile happened and my fragile heart jumped with optimism, but they only lasted for a moment; he suddenly pulled a face, as if wincing in pain, before forcing another smile. "That's good, because I'd made plans to pick up. Colored in my whole calendar for whenever it happened."

Even if I wanted to pin it on my imagination, the hard swallow that followed his words put my doubts to rest. "What just happened?" I asked. "What was that face? You feeling okay?"

"I'm okay, Ev, I just have... this... anxiety about, uh, everything. It's fine, though. It's normal."

I leaned my head back to study his eyes, the subtle smile that told me he found my ricocheting questions amusing not helping my concern. "Were you not really going to pick up?"

"Of course I was gonna pick up."

I released the air from my lungs, but the heaviness in my chest stayed, layered with a sense of uncertainty that his mixed response fueled further. "Whatever's going up in your head, I'm here and I'll listen. I want to be someone you share these things with, Harry. Remember my nagging pass?"

Another smile lit up his eyes for a fleeting moment before the same sadness clouded them over. "There's not much to say about it, I mean, it... it takes a toll on your psyche. When it all started, I was like, okay, it's just four months. It's just one summer. Not like my whole life will pass me by. I'll be fine by the end of the year. But then..." He shifted, more out of awkwardness than discomfort. "I don't know what happened. I started to think, well, what if it doesn't end after four months? What if I have to keep taking this pain juice that makes my blood feel like it's on fire? And I... sort of... got more scared these past few weeks than I'd been the whole time."

My hands reached for both of his cheeks and I wiggled closer to him, knee bending to innocently sit atop his thigh, as if my nearness could heal him. I frowned at him, while he looked back at me with a complicated mix of emotions on his face. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I wish I was there for you."

The entire time we were apart I'd thought it was better that way, that I would have caused him more distress than the opposite, because in no way was I in the right headspace to do what I was doing right now. But the vulnerability in his voice and sadness in his eyes as we inched closer to the heartbreaking things he'd said last night were clouding my judgment and making guilt rain down on my conscience. Maybe, just maybe, having me there in any of my various mental states would have been better than being on his own.

In the same needy manner as last night, his hands slid around my sides and pulled me in a hug; I lay my head in the crook of his neck and bent my leg around his thigh, all restraints thrown out the window, while he pressed his lips against my forehead. We had our arms around each other, but not in the secure, carefree embrace I always imagined with Harry. With the weight of life pressing down on us, it felt quite the opposite.

"I don't want to push you away. And I know you don't want me to," he spoke in a low, sober tone. "But I'm also worried about how all of this will end. I'd been responding well to chemo, but if I get my results back and it didn't work as expected, I don't know what I'm gonna do. And I don't want to start something with you if there's a chance I could die and break your heart."

"Don't say that," I whispered, closing my eyes as the stinging behind my eyelids sharpened. We'd reached it, the misery that was briefly buried underneath heavy metal music talk, but I wasn't sure how to go about it now without completely falling apart. "Don't say that when I couldn't imagine doing anything else or being with anyone other than you."

"You deserve someone who can give you a future, Evie. You can't hate me for thinking that."

Of course I couldn't hate him. Not for looking out for me and trying to protect me. But that wasn't up to him. "I'd rather have you," I said quietly, earning a deep exhale against my hair. "For better or for worse. Whatever future has you in it, that's the one I want."

The silence that followed was loud with thoughts I hadn't said out loud and feelings I had yet to express, but it felt a tad lighter. Like we were getting somewhere despite standing on opposite ends of the issue. "This isn't what you signed up for," he quietly spoke after a minute.

"It's exactly what I signed up for," I retorted. "You've been sick since before we got married, remember?"

"No, I mean... I wasn't this hopeless before. I used to be so confident that I'd beat this thing, and my first, immediate order of business would be wooing you."

"Wooing me?" I laughed.

"Yeah, you know. Buy you flowers. Take you out. Kiss you some more." He played with the hem of my sweatshirt while my lips pulled into a stupid smile against his collarbone. "Now, I just keep thinking how better off you'd be without me, even if it broke both of our hearts. I keep feeling guilty for dragging you into something that might not be worth it."

"First of all," I began, wiggling out of Harry's hold, leaning up on my elbow to take a good look at him. "You didn't drag me into anything. I dragged you into this marriage. I'm here because I want to be. Second, you'll have plenty of time to woo me, because you'll be okay. I believe it. If you don't, that's fine, because I have enough faith for both of us. I know it's gonna be worth it. I know you're tired of it all, but it's gonna be worth it."

The skeptical look in his eyes stayed, but the curve of his eyebrows showed there was some optimism bubbling under that miserable cloud that had overtaken him in the past few weeks. "You're so unbelievably stubborn," he mumbled after a pause, and I knew I'd won.

"No, I'm psychic. Remember? It's how I knew your name was Henry when I met you."

I nudged his shoulder lightly, the sour expression on his face slowly melting away. He wasn't totally convinced, but that was fine. All we had was time. "I remember." He nodded, eyes darting across my face. The air kept feeling lighter. "I remember the first Uber we shared. Getting your number. Being a jackass to you and you somehow still marrying me. How we both wanted to throw up at the city clerk's office but still a hundred percent sure we were signing those papers."

"Changing my origin to Baltimore for your mom," I added with another nudge to his shoulder, earning a laugh from him. "Forcing you to move in with me so you wouldn't give me nightmares anymore."

Falling for you, I added in my head, the thought sending a fireball through my whole body, even if I wasn't brave enough to say it out loud yet.

"I remember how my visions will come true and you'll get the news that you're in remission," I listed in the same lighthearted fashion as until now, rather than say what was really on my mind and has been on my mind for a while. "And I remember I'll tell you 'I told you so.'"

"That so?" He grinned up at me, shoving a finger between my ribs, and grabbed my hand when I tried batting him away.

"Yes." My heart felt full while I watched his face. "That's all I want right now. For you to get better. The future, and the wooing- everything can wait until you're better. Nothing else matters."

The melody my phone played immediately after my words had me bursting into a giggling fit; while Harry raised his eyebrows, confused but curious, my laughter morphed into a grin and warm cheeks. "There's a happy heavy metal song for you," I beamed, nodding toward the music and squeezing the hand that held mine. "Nothing Else Matters. Metallica."

Metallica, he mouthed. Then he closed his mouth to swallow, his eyes not leaving my face, suddenly looking like the concept of Metallica had evaporated from his head. A beat passed, and then his hand was on the back of my neck, pulling me down in a light, hesitant kiss that still made my heart feel close to giving out. His other hand found my cheek and caressed it as gently as his lips brushed mine.

The doorbell blared throughout the apartment and I wanted to cry. Harry's lips were barely pressed against mine before they had to part, and we both looked toward my bedroom door before our eyes met again. "What are the chances that's Violet and she can wait outside for two minutes?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but instead offered him a slight frown. "Two minutes? Really?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly—obliterating anything that was left of the moment—and I barely contained a laugh. I shook my head and answered his question, "Violet is asleep in her room, and that would be my parents at the door."

His face fell. Now we'd definitely crashed back onto Earth. "Your- your parents?"

"Yep. Aw, man," I grumbled as I sat up. Nothing Else Matters hadn't even reached the first chorus. "Uh, yeah, my parents. I have to get dressed."

"Okay."

"They won't be long," I continued, fully out of bed and hastily throwing on the same clothes I wore before I changed into my pajamas. My back was turned to Harry, but it wasn't like I had time to be shy. "We're going out for dinner tonight, so they're just stopping by for coffee. Think they're going shopping or whatever."

"Okay."

I turned around, decent, and bit back another laugh at Harry's gob-smacked stare burning a hole through the floor. "Okay, uh..." Tell him? Tell him not? "Long story short... I got mugged last week."

Just like that, all of his brain activity had returned to his eyes—he blinked and gave me the wide-eyed look I'd already received from Violet. "You what?"

"That's why my folks are here. My dad insisted they come and help me buy a car so I don't have to walk as much, so I'm... getting a car tomorrow, I guess."

"You got mugged?!"

"It's not a big deal. I was fine, seriously," I assured him while I switched the music on my phone off and put away my pencils. "Not traumatized or anything. I can tell you about it later. Will you be, uh, alright for like, half an hour? I swear they won't be here longer."

My hand was on the doorknob and my eyes were on Harry's ever-shocked face, sitting up on his elbows in my bed, looking like he got slapped by an invisible force. And he did, twice—one force was my parents, the other my getting mugged. "I, uh..."

"Unless you..." I interrupted him, ignoring the second ring of the doorbell. "Wanna have coffee with us?"

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