Callum & Harper (Sleepless 1)

My throat instantly dried and the smirk that graced my stupid face fell.

“Wa-with you?”

“Yes,” she said turning her back toward me and taking a t-shirt and some shorts from her piles of clothing and heading for the door. She stopped at the edge. “You sleep with your feet at this end and I’ll sleep with my feet at that end.”

Harper winked at me before leaving to change.

“Oh,” I said to no one, the blood returning to my face but disappointment following soon behind. You’re still sleeping right next to her, genius.

I used the time she was gone to ready myself for bed. I usually slept in my boxers because I didn’t make it a habit to sleep with women, hardy har, har, but wasn’t sure what to do because I didn’t have anything else. I scrambled through my belongings and found a pair of old Adidas track pants. I removed my t-shirt and threw on the pants.

Harper

I can’t believe I suggested we sleep on the pallet together. I know why I did it. I genuinely couldn’t let him sleep in that gosh awful chair but if I was being honest with myself, it wasn’t the only reason why I did it. You can’t lie to yourself, Harper. And I couldn’t. Alright, fine. I did it because I wanted to know what it was like to lie next to a warm body, to feel close to someone sincere because sincerity is one of those rare human qualities that feels a bit like discovering a lost treasure. It is a rare commodity but once found, is absolutely priceless. That was Callum, pretty much in a nutshell. And I, to be perfectly frank, could count the people I’d found to be genuine on my right hand.

I came to the door and knocked before stepping in, so as not to disturb him getting ready.

“Come in,” I heard.

But there wasn’t enough preparation in the world to ready me for what I saw when I opened that door. Callum, standing above the pallet, the lights out but the faint glow from the hallway glistening across his perfect chest and highlighting the eight pack that painted his stomach. I gulped audibly. I stood there, staring like an imbecile.

“Uh, Harper?”

I shook my head. “Um, yeah?” A blush crept up my neck and plastered my face in crimson.

“You okay?”

“Uh, huh. Why do you ask?” I said, biting my bottom lip to keep from a nervous laugh and staring at everything in the room but Callum, a feat in and of itself.

“Because you’re just standing there. Listen, if you don’t want to sleep with me on the pallet, I understand.”

“No, it’s okay.” I answered as breezily as I could. I set all my stuff on the table with our clean laundry and headed for the soundboard to turn on some low tunes. “Do you mind?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he said. “I can’t sleep without it.”

I look at him, surprised. “Neither can I.” It’s how I used to drown out the nightly yelling my last three foster parents used to embark on every evening after getting drunk or when they were getting in a fight or when I just wanted to drown out my situation.

I turned and walked over to the pallet. He watched me settle in before laying on top of the blanket I was underneath, his feet at my head, pulling another quilt at his side over his own body. Basically, we were as far apart as two people sleeping next to one another could get. After a few moments, he turned out the lights and it became pitch black and that’s the moment I chose to start laughing uncontrollably which, in turn, caused him to follow suit.

o;Callum, that is beautiful,” she exclaimed.

I stopped playing, a heat creeping into my face and up my neck.

“I-I didn’t realize I was even playing,” I said, attempting to shake the humiliation from my face.

“Don’t stop,” she begged quietly, sending my blood to an ultimate boil. She moved to sit in one of the other swivel chairs next to me.

I coughed into a fist. “Um, okay. Any requests?”

“Well, since you’re actually familiar with Barcelona. Could you play Please Don't Go? If you know it, that is?”

I smiled. I did know it and immediately start singing it to her, strumming the strings softly. The melody is simple but beautiful. It incited waves of intensity to roll off Harper and they hit me like a hydrogen bomb. My fingers almost stilled from the shock of it. She’s ridiculous extraordinary, I admitted to myself. She closed her eyes and grinned at the lyrics.

While most people act awkward and uncomfortable when others sing to them, Harper surprised me by letting it be what music was, natural and beautiful. She moved her eyes with mine and it seemed to be the most unfeigned, unpracticed thing in the world. She even sung harmony with me for the chorus and I was completely taken by her by the end of the song.

She leaned in closely with glinted eyes. “Play another,” she whispered.

And I did. Four more, actually and Harper Bailey made me feel like a freakin’ rock star instead of the nobody I really was. She wrinkled her nose adorably and sang along, scrunched her eyes closed and bit her lip to prevent herself from beaming a bright smile at her obviously favorite parts, and raised her hands, dancing and twirling around during songs with an accelerated beat, her hair fanning around her.