Page 29 of Fever Dream
And in turn, I told Harrison things about me that not many other people know—things like my wildly addictive personality and how my mum had done her upmost to focus that on productive pursuits, like football and cricket. I told him about the space between my head and how my thoughts are a very loud, ever-present companion that rarely leave me alone.
And of course, I told him about my first kisses and first times having sex too because unlike him, Idokiss and tell. Even though each of those occasions were highly awkward and not exactly anything for me to brag about. Still, Harrison kept his laughter to the appropriate level.
I’m just tying my laces when I hear the knock on the door, and I rush downstairs to find Harrison on my doorstep. He’s dressed in loose gym shorts and a clingy grey t-shirt that shows off his pecs but I’m most pleased to see the red headband is back—trying and failing to tame his curls. I grin as I knock the door wider, inordinately pleased to see him.
“I should just give you a key,” I say, speaking my thoughts out loud.
“Please don’t,” Harrison laughs.
“Is this a boundary thing?” I guess, stepping out onto the porch.
“Yeah, Case. It’s a boundary thing.”
“But you practically live here,” I protest, falling into step with him as we head towards the green. “It would make sense.”
“Let’s just keep things as they are, yeah?” he says instead, and I just shrug and drop it. I really wasn’t joking when I told him I didn’t getboundaries. Or when I overstep them.
The morning is fresh and lovely—a typical early April Sydney day with that warmth still in the air and the interesting blend of eucalyptus, salt and concrete. I take a deep inhale, enjoying the low light cresting the horizon.
The Pilates class has already started by the time we join in at the back row and I’m kind of pissed we missed sun salutations. I find the yoga part of the class so relaxing, kind of a way to switch off the overactive part of my brain for a brief second or two. But then again, Harrison has that same effect on me too, like his inner tranquillity somehow captures me in its wake. Maybe that’s why I always find him such a safe, cosy place to be.
The class ends with a relaxation exercise, and I find it hard to move when it’s over. Harrison lays beside me, head inclined my way and a relaxed smile on his face. The sun paints golden streaks across him as it ascends in the sky and it makes him look like a work of art. So very pretty.
“Hello there,” comes a voice, interrupting our moment and we both glance up to find our teacher, Andy, staring down at us. “Enjoy the class?”
We both hurry to sit up, Harrison hauling me to my feet.
“We did,” he replies on our behalf.
“I’m glad. It’s nice to see repeat customers coming back,” he grins. He looks between the both of us but he directs most of his attention at Harrison. It’s kind of annoying.
“It’s a great way to start the day,” Harrison smiles back.
“It’s Harry, isn’t it?” Andy asks.
“Harrison,” he corrects, and I hide my grin. Yeah, Andy, onlyIget to call him Harry.
“Harrison,” Andy repeats, drawing out each of the three syllables like he’s tasting the word. “And?” he prompts, eyes on me.
“Casey,” I tell him, holding out my hand.
“Right. And you two live around here …?” Andy is clearly fishing for some kind of information but I can’t quite catch his angle. I haven’t picked up any vibes that he recognises me but maybe he’s secretly a fan.
“This one does,” Harrison tells him, knocking his head in my direction. “I’m just along for the ride.”
“Ah,” Andy smiles, nodding his head. “So, partners or …?”
“I’m Casey’s physio.”
“Ah. Got it. Makes perfect sense. That explains how you’re so … flexible.” Yeah, Andy, Harrison’s flexible. So what?
But Harrison just chuffs out a laugh and I don’t get it. “Anyway,” Andy continues, eyes solely focused on Harrison now, like I’m some kind of chopped liver standing over here. And yeah, I get he’s pretty and all but still, rude. “I wanted to give you my card. For professional interest’s sake of course. It has my number.” Andy manages to fish out a card from somewhere in his tight yoga pants and hands it over to Harrison who thanks him and pockets it. “I’d love to exchange professional views sometime. Maybe over coffee?”
“Anyhoo,” I butt in, not used to being the sideline act. “Harryand I have to get going. Things to do.”
“Of course,” Andy says, stepping back from us. “Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.” His eyes are still fixed on Harrison in a way I don’t like, so I grip his elbow and pull him along beside me, not letting go until we’re back on the footpath.
“That was a bit rude,” he says, rubbing at his elbow. “We didn’t even pay.”
