KNOCKOUT - chapter 10 (part 2A)
Harry’s flat is in walking distance of the gym. They decide to take the scenic route, through the pretty wooded park and past an almost empty playground until the pair hit a main drag. It’s car horns and traffic lights for a good five minutes before the city quietens upon making a right.
They turn down a quiet street off the busy main road and the chill that whistles between them has Bo wish she’d brought something a little warmer. It was a mistake to take her hair down after the class as now it’s stinging her cheeks. She steps closer to Harry as they pass a dog walker before they come to a complete stop outside a gate.
Heavy dark clouds loom, gobbling up the twinkle of stars as night descends in a hurry. She’s busy watching the sky transform, head tilted back until her name is called.
Harry’s made the short journey from gate down to the front door and he waits for her to meet him at the bottom. The hand he raises in invite has her moving towards him through a thought once lost, legs walking a muscle memory. It would be hopeless to think she’d react in any other way but to go to him, to take his hand and let him lead her inside.
It’s warm, is the first impression Bo gets of the garden flat. A disorganised muddle of shoes is left just inside the door, and Bo adds to it as she toes hers off. She dumps her bag where harry leaves his before she’s free in her visual assessment. There’s peeling wallpaper, nicks of paint missing from the skirting board and original door frames with stiff brass handles. And Bo instantly loves it.
It’s disorderly and incomplete in a charming sort of way, which makes his previous flat pale in comparison. A sourness seems to fill her mouth upon remembering just how awful his conditions were before, no room to breathe with misery creeping in from every corner.
But here, it’s an easy sort of living space, one that he’s made home by just being there. It already smells of him, like this little flat has accepted Harry and approved of his occupancy.
There’s not much occupying the first room in the way of furniture, just cardboard boxes of varying sizes that Bo has a suspicion he’s let become a permanent fixture through simply being bone idle.
An old fashioned radiator is tucked into one of the alcoves opposite the door, a heavyset one that will throw out heat throughout the basement flat in the winter.
“There’s not much to see, but this is the front room. The kitchen is just through there and my bedroom and bathroom are across the hall.”
It’s almost as if he’s waiting for some sort of approval, standing off to the side as he nibbles at his bottom lip.
Despite its quirky flaws, this would have been Bo’s first choice for a place of her own.
“I have a garden, too. It’s not much but my mum and sister are going to help with doing it up a bit. Even if it’s just finding the patio under all the weeds.”
Bo had never thought in all the time she’d known him, Harry would ever get excited over a scrap of lawn and some crazy-paving. But she gradually comes to understand the fascination as he rambles about having his niece over and his plans for one of those fancy fire bowls. She makes a mental note of the possible gift for his new home. Well, more of a garden-warming present if you’re being fussy.
They stay within the living room so Bo can explore a little more. And with that inquisitive feeing harnessed, she sets about unpacking a box containing two lamps, a pack of brand new coasters (courtesy of Harry’s sister) and a small elephant ornament selected especially by his niece for the coffee table.
Harry chats as she fights with the sticky tab sealing the coaster box. But after a few short seconds it’s neglected because there’s a record player placed on the floor in a wall alcove, just to the left of some boxes overspilling with disks.
“It’s a bit hipsterish for you, isn’t it?” Bo teases, nodding towards the musical mess.
Her nose crinkles as she grins at Harry over her shoulder before dropping to her knees in front of the boxes. There’s a few records propped up against the peeling paint, music which Bo guesses were some of the first to christen Harry’s new place.
“Can I have a look?” she asks.
“Couse,” he continues. “It was a ‘congrats on your new home’ gift from my mum. Those old records are from the loft, I’ve not sorted through them yet.”
Bo’s fingers flick through the ageing sleeves; evidence of how they were used and adored very much apparent on the worn cardboard cover, a contrast to the unscathed disk.
“You’ve got some good ones.”
Harry’s mum was feisty. Straying away from the popular, more documented, trends in music and delving into bands and genres Bo’s never heard of. She flips a disk over to study the song listings.
Bo hears the amusement in his voice but the pride on his mouth is out of her line of sight.
“I don’t know most of them,” she admits, running her fingers over another mysterious album title.
“My mum had an eclectic taste, still does.”
“Well, I think it’s safe to say she was a fan of Rod Stewart,” she comments, flicking through five consecutive albums.
“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy.” The gravelly tone is enough of a musical interlude to cease her movement through the disks. Bo bursts out laughing, falling back on her butt and turning to witness Harry’s little performance.
“Come on, sugar, let me know.”
His deep bow finishes the ensemble and Bo almost feels like she should applaud. And that’s what she does as Harry dramatically basks in the praise.
“Good job I actually know that song, or I’d have thought you were coming on to me.”
“The night’s still young,” he counters and it’s to Bo’s surprise that she’s the recipient of a cheeky wink.
The gesture is enough to have her blushing cheeks think she’s being flirted with. A harmless game Bo thought she had become immune to, after hearing cheesy icebreakers in bars and no longer laughing at them.
Her face still feels warm with playful atmosphere when she lifts her head and finds Harry’s hand outstretched. She takes it without hesitation, allowing herself to be hoisted upright into the perimeter of Harry’s body. Too close to be considered casual and torturous on Bo’s senses.
With a smile like a siren song and stormy, green ocean eyes to match, it’s somehow difficult for Bo to try and find her sea legs.
And that about does it. With a couple of adamant nods Bo pulls away before something ridiculous happens, like her telling him she misses the way his mouth fit with hers.
“What colour are you painting it in here?” Bo asks, fingers grazing the sofa arm, heart positively thundering as she meanders to the other side of the room.
She’s glad to see Harry provide some distance, taking the temptation away as now she’d have to volt the back of the couch to jump his bones. It isn’t the sofa from the old flat, this one is a bit ostentatious in the pattern with scuffed wooden feet. And as Bo sits, it’s like falling into a marshmallow, squishy, soft and the perfect place to take a nap.
“A mate sold it to me for cheap,” Harry answers her unasked question, watching as Bo takes to her feet again before rearranging the cushions.
“As for the colour, I was just going to leave it as is.”
Bo frowns, swivelling to look at him, still with fringed cushion in hand.
“It’s rented, I’m not sure my landlord would want me slapping paint on the walls. I’m hoping he’ll let me buy it when I get the funds together.”
Harry stands leaning against the doorframe, watching as Bo investigates his new living room. There’s not much in the way of furniture at the moment, but Harry had made sure the first items unpacked were framed photos of his mum, sister and niece.
“I’d have it a really soft green.”
Bo hums as if imagining the transformation of the room with a new splash of colour.
The wooden floor creaks slightly with her movement as she gravitates to a focal point.
“Mmm, and I’d make that into a proper window seat so you could wake up with a cup of tea and just sit,” Bo nods at her plan. “Oh, it could be a reading window!”
“I don’t really read,” Harry admits, her face softening. “I listen to audio books now.”
The atmosphere quietens and Bo feels silly for raising the subject. That is until Harry opens his mouth again.
“Or hey, it would be a nice spot for a quickie.”
Bo rounds so fast she nearly stumbles into one of the many unpacked boxes by her feet. She stables herself with an outstretched hand to the wall.
He wanders over to the window, pressing his palms flat to the wooden sill to test its weight capacity.
“Well,” Harry makes a pained face, “if you’re both like olympic gymnasts or something.”
The space in nowhere near his full arm span, a measure he frowns at when trying to swing his feet up. They end up propped against the wall with his back pressed opposite, Harry folds himself into an unnatural position for someone of his height. He looks like a giant dog trying to squeeze begrudgingly into a cat bed.
“Get some cushions or something, it’d be perfect.”
“It’s the window though,” Bo admonishes, worrying her bottom lip and trying not to smile.
“Below street level.” Harry’s counter challenge is coupled with a shrug.
“Yes, but still a window,” she presses.
“My neighbours are old and fucking nosey, would give’em something to gossip about at their neighbourhood watch meetings.”
He makes quite the scene unravelling to stand at his full height before moving away from the sex-seat to the doorway, where he disappears through it moments after.
Bo’s left in a whirlwind contemplation before Harry pops his head back through.
“Sure,” she agrees, still fighting the smile curling the corners of her mouth as the conversation snappily changes from sex to food.
“I’ve not really had time to food shop,” Harry calls through from the kitchen. “Are you alright with a take-away? I think I have a leaflet somewhere.”
“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” Bo responds, weaving her way towards his voice.
Harry’s busy with riffling through take-out phablets when she reaches him. The kitchen is small but manageable with the window opening out onto a decreasingly gloomy garden. He sorts the menus from the addressed post before turning to Bo stood in the doorway.
“Are you alright? You look a bit pink in the cheeks.”
With her mind still dwelling on Harry’s idea of a window seat, it’s the only way she’ll be able to settle her thoughts.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Despite the nod to his head, Bo thinks he looks a little reluctant to hear her what she has to ask.
“When was the last time you were with someone?”
The immediate response she receives is a crinkled brow and full assessing gaze.
“I saw Matt from the gym the other day, we went to the pub just down -“
“No, I mean - romantically,” Bo attempts to delicately approach the subject, despite the tightness in her stomach and dampness of her palms. And once again, she receives a nonverbal, cryptic answer through somewhat of a pained facial expression. “Sex, Harry,” she blurts. “I mean when did you last have sex?”
Eyes wide, he takes a few seconds to ground himself and try to decide the best approach. He clears his throat like he’s not just chocked at her question. “We’re just diving right in then?”
“You don’t have to tell me, I jus-“
“It’s been a while,” Harry interrupts. “Long time,” he swallows. “You want Chinese or Indian?”
“It’s just, what you said in the living room,” she aimlessly thumbs back through the doorway.
He’s a little firm with his reply and it makes Bo feel guilty for asking.
“Did you want pizza, I think I have a app?”
Harry turns away to pick up his phone and Bo’s left trying to decipher what defines a ‘long time’. Not that it should really matter, they haven’t been together for nearly four years and she’s not entitled to the information anyway.
As if trying to shake her from her thoughts, Harry pulls up the app before waving it enticingly. She huffs a laugh before grazing his left side and standing with him to scroll through choices.
“The meat tastes weird on those pizzas,” Bo informs him, scrunching her nose. “If we share and go half and half, I want mine margarita. If we order the chicken, you get a free dip.”
Harry’s head is bobbing like a nodding dog on a car dashboard. The lights are on, but Bo can be pretty sure that nobody’s home at the moment.
“Since you slept with someone.”
Bo’s eyes shoot to the ceiling as if performing maths off the top of her head. Stupidly, she hadn’t expected this, hadn’t begun to think that his thoughts might stray to her bedroom antics.
Harry pockets his phone, the prospect of food instantly forgotten as his full attention gravitates to Bo and her inability to hold his eye contact. She feels flushed for a second, checking to see if the window is open.
“You told me you’d never had sex with James.”
“It wasn’t James. It was only the once.”
He moves closer, stumped by the look on his face, Bo isn’t quite sure how this conversation will pan out. All she can hope is that it ends quickly without any emotional casualties.
Of course he’d ask, but why should it matter? Why should she have to explain her sleeping arrangements to a man she hasn’t had a relationship with in years.
Heat prickles at the back of Bo’s neck as Harry stands waiting for an answer. But it’s not a demand, it’s more of a concern for him.
“Someone from my course. It was really early on in first year before we saw each other again.”
Harry backs up a little after the words leave his mouth, shying away from the potentially hurtful answer as he bites the inside of his cheek. He knows it was a mistake to ask. Nevertheless, the question makes Bo’s stomach squirm because they’re both fully aware that the only experience she has to compare it with was with Harry. And wasn’t that the full experience package.
If Bo’s being honest, the guy was a pretty lousy lay. There wasn’t particularly anything special about the evening and the whole thing was wrapped up in under ten minutes. Apparently Harry had spoilt her when they were together.
“No complaints,” Bo replies, testing the waters.
“Was he at your graduation?”
It’s almost as if she can see him straining to remember faces from the crowds of graduates. And as he does so, the subtle inclination of his body towards hers is duly noted, as if trying to shelter but not stifle her.
“What’s with all the questions?”
“Just asking,” he clips, jaw drawing taut.
“He might have been, I didn’t talk to him though.”
It’s cruel to push him further, but she’s rather delighted in the physical reaction it’s provoking. There’s no joy in making him angry, but to tease. It might be fun.
“You may have seen him. Huge guy with blond hair and as tall as the doorframe, biceps the size of my thighs. I think he’s a little bit older, too.”
Bo hums. His expression is tight as he mulls over the information and comes to a conclusion she will admit she wasn’t expecting.
“Sounds like you shagged Thor.”
Bo can’t prevent the smile from creeping up on her, cheeks tinted a light shade of pink.
There’s concern plastered on Harry’s face upon hearing her confession.
“No, I just didn’t enjoy it,” she pauses. “It wasn’t - I’ve had better,” Bo admits before she can really process the meaning behind the words. Had better.
She’s a little mortified by the knowing tug at the corner of Harry’s mouth. And before she can say anything else he’s displaying a full on smirk.
“Piss off,” Bo thumps his arm and he takes the hit with a dramatic stagger away. “You know what I mean. He was shit, I didn’t enjoy it and it was really awkward afterwards seeing him in lectures and stuff. It didn’t go any further.”
A few seconds more and the spirited exchange takes a nosedive.
“What about us?” Harry carefully asks from across the kitchen table.
“I don’t think it was the right time for us then.”
In the months post their reconciliation, Bo had exams to prepare for and lecturers to impress with heavily researched essays. All on top of social expectations and a house search for second year which was a steep learning curve. Finding anything half decent, which didn’t once have a zoo in the back garden or actually had a properly functioning electric meter was practically a miracle.
And during that time, Harry was in no man’s land, between stages of his life that felt like the odd, uncertain few days between Christmas and new year. He was on the brink of a fresh start but was teetering on the edge just waiting for the push. Bo couldn’t have known at the time, but she was the catalyst; a WhatsApp message of,
“I made too many pancakes for pudding because I was thinking of you. Tiff ate yours. I miss you.”
“And now?” Harry asks, turning the silver ring on his index.
“Well now,” Bo starts, worrying her lip with if what she’ll say will be a push too far. “Now, I want you to kiss me.”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
They both jolt when Harry’s foot catches the chair leg, his stride determined before he comes to stand in front of her. Bo peers at him, head tilted back slightly to assess any emotions he lets slip through the crease between his brows or the pout he used to try and hide when something was amiss. As it is, he’s not giving her much to work with.
The disappointment she feels settles heavy in her stomach when a kiss is instead pressed to her forehead. A feeling that soon edges to mortification and shame that she’d pushed him too far, cornered him into a situation he isn’t ready for.
The apology is stolen from her lips by the softness of his as another sweet kiss is placed high on her right cheek. Then proceeds a series of kisses, the last pressed to the tip of her nose which entices a giddy sort of smile, especially when he rubs his nose to hers.
All credits go to han-rawr
