“You hate my flat?” Harry said.
Adam met his wounded gaze steadily, refusing to be moved by it. Although he knew Harry was oddly fond of this place, he wasn’t going to keep pretending it was nice just to keep Harry happy.
“Don’t you think it’s claustrophobic, Haz?” Adam said. “It’s tiny, dark, and too humid. I really hate leaving you here when I go home.”
His lips pursed, Harry looked around the tiny room. “This is all I can afford.”
Adam frowned. That couldn’t be true. He gave Harry ridiculously big tips in the hope that Harry would use the money to get a better place. “What do you do with the tips you get?”
“There’s a blind homeless man who sits around the corner from the coffee shop,” Harry said. “He needs that money more than me.”
Looking at Harry’s earnest face, Adam didn’t have the heart to tell him that the man wasn’t blind at all.
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t Harry’s fault he thought the best of everyone. He wasn’t angry at Harry. He was angry at the asshole who used Harry’s kindness to scam him.
“Haz,” he said. “Would you like to live with me? I have a spare room. And I’ll drive you to work so you won’t have to use the tube.”
Harry stared at him. “Really?”
Adam smiled at Harry, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head that kept saying he was making a huge mistake. “Really.”
“Only if you let me pay you for the room,” Harry said.
“Sure.”
A small smile appeared on Harry’s face before turning into a blinding one. “Thank you,” he said before suddenly lunging forward and hugging Adam. “You’re my favorite person,” he said softly against Adam’s neck.
Adam’s throat tightened. He told himself not to read too much into it.
“You’re mine, too.” He wasn’t sure when it had happened, when this odd, ridiculous boy had crawled his way into his heart and settled there. Fuck, sometimes he couldn’t believe it had been just six weeks since he’d met Harry. Before Harry, Adam had always thought it was such a cliché when people said that it felt like they knew someone forever.
“I’m so glad my parents sent me here,” Harry murmured, brushing his lips against Adam’s throat. “You’re my best friend.”
Right.
“Yeah,” Adam said, staring at the wall behind Harry.
Right.
CHAPTER 5
Harry was a terrible flatmate.
He was messy, he was terrible at doing laundry, he put his feet on the coffee table, he left his things all over the flat, and he monopolized the TV to watch Discovery Channel.
Harry also fancied himself something of an interior decorator. He got weird little things at a garage sale and decorated the flat, claiming that the place lacked character.
One day Adam came home to see a giant painting in the living room that depicted something that vaguely resembled someone’s puke.
“What is this, Hazza?” Adam said, torn between laughing and kissing him.
Harry beamed at him. “It’s art, silly. Isn’t it wonderful? The artist sold it to me for a mere ten pounds!”
Sometimes Adam was almost certain Harry was taking the piss, but looking into Harry’s sincere, open expression, he knew he wasn’t. Christ, Adam hadn’t known it was possible to adore such a ridiculous person.
The day Harry discovered yoga was the worst. He asked Adam to go with him to buy a yoga mat and then couldn’t make up his mind between a “sensible” brown one and a “cheerful” pink one. In the end, he bought the brown one and Adam bought him the pink one. After getting the yoga mats, Harry watched video tutorials and apparently decided he absolutely had to do yoga every evening wearing nothing but a pair of tiny white shorts that left nothing to the imagination.
Adam hated him. He hated Harry’s legs, and his oddly-shaped knees, and his ridiculous white shorts.
Except he really, really didn’t.
“You’re a masochist, mate,” Jake told him one day, a month after Harry had moved in with him.
He and Jake were lounging in front of Adam’s TV, watching a Champion’s League match. Harry, who didn’t understand the point of football, was in the kitchen, humming some song and cooking, which was his latest obsession. Harry was pretty good at it, actually, even though everything he cooked was a bit too spicy.
Adam said, “We’re just friends. Leave it.”
He ignored the look of pity on Jake’s face and focused his attention on the match.
Harry stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Anyone want ice cream? I made ice cream!”
“Sure, love,” Adam said.
“What kind?” Jake asked, shooting Adam a look that he ignored.
“Lemon,” Harry replied.
“Hmm, no thanks,” Jake said. When Harry disappeared back into the kitchen, Jake looked at Adam. “Since when do you like lemon ice cream?”
“Shut it,” Adam said without much heat.
Harry returned with a bowl of ice cream and a spoon. He gave them to Adam and snuggled up against him. “Who’s winning?” he said without much interest, slinging an arm around Adam’s middle.