~ All I Ask (25)

lips parted, not knowing what to say or how to respond. His smile lingered as he reached inside his coat and pulled out a notebook. He pushed it my way, his eyes studying my every reaction.

It took me a while to pull myself off of a world where instead of this, he'd laid his lips upon mine, and to gasp. It was my planner. I shook my head fast and grabbed it, as if I needed actual contact to believe what he's given me. I could feel my wide smile widening as I looked up at him. "I've been looking for it all week! Thought I'd actually gone crazy. Where did you find this?"

"You left it in the elevator," he simply said.

I blinked. "Weird. I never leave it anywhere."

He tilted his head in a humorous yet questioning manner. "Never?"

I nodded fast, almost too fast actually.

He chuckled. "That's impossible. You must've lost it at least once."

"Nope. I've never lost a planner in my entire one hundre-" I stopped abruptly. Shit. What the hell was I about to say? I almost gave out my bloody secret!

He cocked his eyebrow. "Entire one hundred what?"

Bewilderment washed over me. I needed to fix this. Now. Before he could suspect something, anything.

"Planners," I muttered quickly, unsure of what I was even saying. But hearing myself say it out loud, it made sense. What's even better is watching the curious and cautious look wash away from Harold's face and witness a brilliant smile appear as a replacement.

"One hundred planners? You're shitting me," he scoffed.

I let out a short breath of relief that he didn't notice before responding. "I'm not lying. Maybe one day I'll show them to you."

His eyes shot up at my words. He seemed caught off guard for a second. I liked that. Pretty much because I've been stuttering around like a lost child ever since he appeared. I still am. Seeing him this way for even a split second calmed my nerves.

But those sweet seconds ended and he snapped out of this thoughts. "Are you flirting with me?" He teased.

My eyes widened in bafflement, but I quickly got control over myself. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Mh-hmm."

"Shouldn't you know?"

"Know of what?"

"Whether you're flirting with me or not."

I almost laughed. "I do know, I just don't think it's any of your business."

"Ah, I see," he nodded, "I'll leave you to your business then."

"How sweet of you," I teased.

He cocked his eyebrow boastfully. "I know right."

A laugh escaped me and I shook my head. I spoke a moment later, letting our humorous and short exchange die off. "So, how have you been since that day?"

I almost regretted asking him about last week when his smile faded. Maybe it wasn't something he wanted to remember.

"I've been good, I guess you could say," a dry chuckle left his lips, "it's not every day you experience a near death situation."

I could do nothing but nod in agreement. After all, he wasn't far from reality. "I don't know. I've been walking around like a Zombie afterwards. I'm still trying to remerge into my life."

His eyes softened and he leaned closer, concern gradually building in his expression. "How bad is it?"

I sighed, not because I was trying to exaggerate how awful I'd felt about leaving him the way I did then, but because there was so much more to it that I couldn't say to him, to anyone really. "Not as bad as you're imagining it to be," I smiled as an attempt to release him of the unnecessary concern his expression held, "but I just sulked around. Tried to get through the days..." I trailed off for a second, trying to think of the best way to continue and put my thoughts into honest words without saying too much.

Much to my surprise, Harold finished my sentence for me. "With the thought of how close you'd come to death? How, within a matter of seconds, the life you'd long known had come to a frightening stop. One more thing could've slightly gone wrong and our lives would've been lost. But there was comfort in knowing that someone else was there, going through the same experience and possibly feeling the same emotions as you. You weren't alone. And no matter what, you knew you weren't going to die alone in that moment. You wouldn't live the fear you'd tried to conquer for decades. And that knowledge was the reason I have yet to lose my mind due to what happened. I wasn't alone," his eyes wandered across my face, searching for something. He was so lost in his words, in his thoughts and I could do nothing else but watch and listen as he spoke. And when he continued, I nearly passed out. "You were with me. And though we were, and I guess we still are, strangers, there was something about you that reminded of me of a haven I once had. So, thank you."

My mouth gaped open before I managed to stutter, "For what?"

He smiled. "For being there."

"Oh," I nearly cried, "Harold, you know your presence meant as much to me as mine did to you. You don't have to thank me for anything. You helped me out more times than you'd know in the time we spent in that elevator."

He smiled and reached out for my hand holding it in a tight grasp. My heart jumped and I stopped breathing for a short second. He had this look in his eyes, like he was trying to find an answer from within mine, which were staring at him with wonder. "Why do I feel like I've met you before, before last week?"

His question hit me hard, because it's the same damn question that has been running through my mind, lingering for a solution, an answer I have yet to come up with. "I wish I knew," I whispered, "because then maybe I could answer the same question for myself."

"You feel it, too?" he asked quickly, a hint of bafflement hiding in his tone.

In return, I squeezed his hand, trying to add an emphasis on my answer. "Yeah. I've been feeling it since I left you standing there last week. As soon as I walked out that door, something hit me hard. Something I couldn't put my finger on. It was an ugly, painful twist that grasped my heart in a torturous manner. I immediately wanted to come back inside, find you and apologize. But my pride got the best of me and I didn't do what I should've done. That's what was eating me up all week. My cowardly action. But I can't turn back time and I just have to deal with it," I let out a soft sigh as I watched his eyes flood with questions and understandings. My heart hurt as I spoke the next words. "Maybe if I hadn't been a coward, things would be different."

He shook his head slowly, like he was trying to get a complete grasp of what I'd just said. Maybe I put too much on him, saying all that nonsense.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that," I began to thread backwards, aiming for the much safer place we were in earlier before I brought up the elevator. "I just-

I couldn't finish my sentence, my stupid and foolish sentence.

Harold had grabbed the hand I had started to withdraw and pulled me to him, finally connecting our lips.