To be given a chance - (BxB)

Chapter twenty - A certain kind of tension

A/N: Hello! I am so sorry I've been gone for so long. I'm also sorry this chapter sucks. My motivation to do anything lately has been non-existent. I legit can't remember how to write *cries* 2020 sucks. Since I can't really go anywhere hopefully chapters will be more frequent? (Not promising anything because I don't want to disappoint anyone) We shall see how things go. (This story needs serious editing, oh my gosh! Ahhh, the cringe... I'm so sorry)

Anyway, I hope everyone is doing all right despite everything. It's been a while.

A few more NSFW moments in this chapter... IDK, maybe I'm paranoid. Lots of sexual tension going on...

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The tiny mirror above the sink mocks me and so do the bathroom scales, which are not that well hidden behind the toilet. As much as my thoughts try to persuade me in to weighing myself, I manage to refrain. They're just numbers. Numbers. They don't mean anything. I wish my mind could see that.

I sneak a glance at myself in the mirror and grimace. I'm in desperate need of a hair cut and possibly a shave. I brush a hand over the light layer of ginger bristle beginning to grown on my chin and cheeks. Biting at my lip, I peek over at the door. My electric shaver is in my bedroom... and I don't want to risk walking in the room with an awkward bulge in my underwear, in fear of Harry being awake and noticing.

A small growl of need and frustration crawls up my throat. My grip tightens around the edges of the sink, sweaty fingers squeaking against the glistening white porcelain. I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to think of something else. Anything. Think of anything but Harry. Something. Nothing. Harry. A shaky moan forces its way past my lips despite them being clamped between my teeth. I can't think of him in that way. I can't. I blow out a breath in the hopes the problem in my boxers will soon subside.

It doesn't.

"Sh-shit..." Memories of Harry's kindness, warmth, the way he giggles and smiles swim around my head before shifting into something more sordid. The way his legs tangled up and intertwined themselves with mine. The feel of his arm draped over my chest. His own hardness pressing up against my thigh. The way he moaned out something resembling my name. Just the thought of them cause an intense shock of shivers to rush down my spine, warming up certain areas. My thighs tense and clench together. I can't help the small set of whimpers emitting passed my lips.

I can't do this.

Shame wriggles around in my stomach, digging deeper and dispersing into a firework of guilt. I feel so dirty. I feel dirty for thinking about Harry in such a way. We're not even - we don't... Harry's not gay... And even if he were, why on Earth would I think he'd fancy someone like me? Me. Sam. A fat blob of ugly. And here comes the self deprecation. Another thing to add to the list of why Harry shouldn't like me. He's too delicate to understand. He doesn't know the way I feel about myself, so why would it make a difference for him not to like me? I don't like me. Despite thinking I could be myself this morning... I'm not so sure now. I don't know how I feel because I've never experienced something like this before for someone.

I've never met anyone like Harry...

Groaning, I try my best to ignore the pressure and subtle twitches building up in my lower abdomen, forcing it to the back of my mind. I like Harry. A lot... I know I'm gay. And I know when I very first met him I didn't feel bad about finding him attractive. So why do I suddenly feel so guilty thinking about him in a way that's so natural? The way he sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach each and every time he smiles at me. The shy and gentle glances. His warmth and trust when he wraps me in a hug during a panic attack.