Hello! As of right now, I personally had no plans to do a fic exchange this year, or at least doing it by myself. Last year I was in charge of it and had little to no help to organising it, etc, and that was so much stress, I’m still stressed over it lmao
If the community really, really, REALLY, wants it to happen, I can see about getting a few people on board to help (or handing it to someone else all together), but there needs to be a big enough demand for me to consider it!
The 2017 Summer Fic Exchange has come to it’s end. I hope everyone had fun writing and reading and everything in between!
The badge above is for all authors who turned in a fic! Display this badge proudly with your story if you choose to post it on your blog!
I would like to take a moment and thank @fromherlips for not only pitch hitting for one prompt, but TWO! Fran was so generous and willing when I asked her if she could help me ensure all original authors receive a fic, and I can’t thank her enough!
If you would like to look through all the fics for this years exchange, you can find them HERE!
Warnings: language, mentions of sexual content and alcohol
Summary:
Lennox Sloane was always taught that you shouldn’t make assumptions about anyone unless you wanted to make an ass of yourself. Unfortunately, that lesson never stuck with her as much as the lectures on safe sex (no glove, no love), texting while driving (it can wait), and the proper way to consume alcohol (liquor before beer, you’re in the clear).
A story about night classes, snarky remarks, and learning lessons the hard way.
As far as Lennox Sloane was concerned, there was a special place in hell for classes that started at eight in the morning, as well as night classes. Everyone who has ever attended a college class could vouch for her. No material should be taught at the ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m., especially on a Wednesday morning after Power Hour on Tuesday night or Friday morning after Trivia Night on Thursday. There was also something particularly tortuous about having to stay on campus long enough to watch the sun set.
Lennox avoided both the dreaded night and 8:00 a.m. classes for two years, breezing through her freshman and sophomore year with decent (not perfect, but close enough) schedules. She would never admit to it, but she nearly shed a tear while scheduling her classes for fall and spring semester of her junior year. The class selection was atrocious, only a section or two for each required class offered in the worst time slots. She heavily debated not taking the classes, but couldn’t risk not graduating on time because she refused to succumb to the two worst times a class could be held during.
So, after only two weeks of classes, she declared herself done. Finished. Finito. She was sprawled out on her friend Kaia’s bed, complaining loudly about how her semester was going to be an absolute nightmare.
“I’m going to spend so much money on campus trying to keep my stomach from not growling in the middle of a lecture,” Lennox groaned, sliding her body closer to the edge of the bed. Her shoulders teetered on the edge, her mousey brown hair dangling towards the floor. She could feel the blood begin to rush to her head, immediately pulling herself back up before it started to hurt.
“Your apartment isn’t that far from campus, Len,” Kaia pointed out, looking over her shoulder. Lennox was supposed to be working on an assignment like Kaia, but she needed to take time to properly vent about her crappy schedule. She truly felt that she could fully express her hatred for it after experiencing it for nearly ten days. “You could easily walk back between your big gap between your early afternoon and night class.”
Lennox scoffed, rolling her eyes at the suggestion. It wasn’t that Kaia was wrong. She was right, actually, a common occurrence within their friendship. “That’s beside the point,” Lennox said. “It’s the principle behind it. I can’t sleep in and now if I want to do something on a Monday or Wednesday night, I have to wait until after eight!”
“At least it’s not on a Friday,” Kaia said. “Your schedule could be worse, Len. Think about that.”
“Kaia, I love you dearly and appreciate your optimism, but Mama Lennox wants to complain,” she said, earning a laugh from her best friend.
They had a nice balance in their friendship. They met during spring semester of their freshmen year after Lennox pointed out that they had three classes in a row together. They spent the rest of the spring sharing notes during the week and sharing bottles of vodka they bought with their fake IDs on the weekends (okay, and sometimes during the week).
Where Lennox lacked in a positive attitude, Kaia made up for with her optimistic comments. She always let Lennox vent to her while also giving her subtle reminders that what she was complaining about wasn’t actually a big deal. Lennox wasn’t quite sure what she was offering to Kaia in terms of their friendship, but she liked to think that she was fiercely loyal to her best friend. She nearly ended up on the Wall of Shame at an apartment for punching a girl who Kaia’s ex-boyfriend hooked up with while they were still dating. It was a drunken mess and Lennox didn’t go back until a few weeks later when she was sure that something else more dramatic happened at a party there that could trump her moment.
“There’s got to be some sort of saving grace in all of this,” Kaia said, shutting the cover on her notebook. She turned her chair around completely, facing Lennox straight on.
Lennox racked her brain, trying to play along with Kaia’s usual game. If Lennox wanted to complain, she had to expect that Kaia would try to make her find the silver lining in every situation. The trouble with that was that sometimes there just wasn’t a silver lining. Not everything had a bright side. Sometimes things just plain old sucked.
“Well, that Niall Horan kid is in one of my classes,” she admitted. “I didn’t realize that he was in the same major as me.”
“Niall Horan as in the Niall Horan that you’ve been low-key stalking on campus since you nearly made out with him at every single party during the end of freshmen year?” Kaia asked, quirking a brow. “Sounds like a fucking silver lining to me.”
Lennox shook her head, rolling over so she was laying on her stomach. “Not quite,” she said, sighing. “I’m about 90% sure that he’s been dating that Hattie girl since last year. They’re everywhere together. I swear to god, they’re like fucking conjoined twins or something.”
Kaia snorted, rolling her eyes at Lennox’s dramatics. “They could just be friends,” Kaia pointed out. “Have you tried to do any digging?”
“Social media gave me nothing but more pictures of them together,” Lennox said. “I tried asking around last year, but everyone pretty much shrugged, said they didn’t know him, or said that they probably were dating but they didn’t know for sure. It was absolutely useless.”
“Well, regardless of his relationship status, he’s still the silver lining of your awful classes,” Kaia finally said. “No ifs, ands, or buts.”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
There was an unspoken rule amongst college students that no one should dare to break. College was meant to provide the classroom freedoms that didn’t exist in primary or secondary education. There were no dress codes (Lennox never wanted to hear the word ‘skort’ again), required gym classes, and certainly no seating charts. The latter, however, didn’t matter. College students were creatures of habits. Only a true heathen would try to change their unofficial assigned seat after the first two classes of the semester.
On Monday evening after an excruciatingly long day–one that started off with Lennox having to run to campus because she overslept and resulted in an afternoon nap at her apartment while she was supposed to be getting classwork done–the last place that she wanted to be was her night class. Despite coming home before her class, Lennox couldn’t be bothered with changing out of her borderline pajama like ensemble. It was the trifecta of a college girl's’ essentials: skintight leggings to make her butt look good, an oversized t-shirt that she nicked off of an old boyfriend, and a baseball cap to hide the fact that she hadn’t washed her hair since Friday evening before she went out to a frat party.
Lennox waltzed into class five minutes before the professor arrived, sulking towards the last row in the back corner of the room. If anyone took unofficial assigned seats too seriously, it was Lennox. She lived by the rule that you should choose wisely on the first day of class because that is where you’ll be for the remaining fifteen weeks of the semester. The seat in front of her used to be occupied by a girl that she knew from a biology lab that they had together freshmen year. This day, however, there was somebody new.
Niall Horan decided to fuck up the equilibrium of the classroom and change his seat in the third week of classes. What would normally be punishable by at least two weeks’ worth of glares was met with a small smirk as Lennox looked toward the ceiling to thank the higher power for making this happen. Sure, he might have been dating Hattie Redmond, but what better way to find out than by slowly befriend him throughout the semester?
The first day was a slow start to her end goal of friendship. It was a lecture-centric class with no group work or time to converse with anyone. Before Lennox could even get in a word, Niall had his bag packed and was out of the room. She tried to catch up but gave up when she saw him meet up with Hattie, walking out of the building side by side.
Their class on Wednesday night seemed a little more promising. She purposely arrived early so she could see him walk in, forcing them to at least make eye contact. She leaned back in her seat, switching between catching up on what she missed in one of her group messages and the reading from her class that morning. When Niall walked in, Lennox’s eyes averted upwards, waiting for the moment they locked with his. Sure that she had his attention, she curled the corners of her lips into a faint smile before looking coyly back down at her textbook. The polite route seemed like the way to go, rather than aggressively trying to befriend him (though that could be a later option if her first choice seemed to fail).
The professor lectured nearly the whole class again, but there was something different this time. In the pauses between slides and explanation of the vague points, Lennox heard a faint, muffled voice. She furrowed her brows, slyly looking left and right to see if anyone in the back row was whispering about something. Everyone was looking towards the front of their room, their lips pressed tightly together. Lennox shook her head, convincing herself it must’ve been from another classroom or a figment of her imagination.
Until she heard it again. And again. It wasn’t until there were ten minutes left in class that she realized that the mumbled voice was coming from Niall in front of her. She stopped paying attention to the professor, focusing in on what Niall was muttering between his statements.
“That’s not right, but okay,” Niall mumbled. Lennox stifled her laughter, but it sounded more like a sneeze. Slowly, Niall craned his neck, looking over his shoulder for a split second to flash Lennox a cheeky smile. As far as she was concerned, that was ten steps forward in their one-sided budding friendship. Niall didn’t stick around after class and still met up with Hattie afterwards, but Lennox left class feeling that she and Niall had a little secret, an inside joke that could spark something.
Lennox wasn’t typically this patient. If Niall were somebody she saw regularly at parties, she’d merely take a shot, stumble into him and compliment him on something stupid. She once told a guy that he had nice eyebrows and ended up staying the night at his apartment. Niall, however, either stopped going out or had better taste than the dodgy frat parties that Lennox and her friends liked to attend while they waited for people to turn 21 or get fake IDs. It foiled her usual plans, leading her to use alternative, less drunken methods (unless the opportunity arose).
Something about the fourth week of class made Lennox feel a bit luckier. Sure, she had her fist exam of the semester on a Friday morning at eight, but her night class for the week required group work both days. Lennox played her cool as the professor suggested everyone just work with the people around them. She didn’t bother looking at anyone next to her, staring at the back of Niall’s head while she waited to see if he would turn around. He wasn’t looking around at anyone either, merely staring forward at something.
Fucker, Lennox thought, internally groaning. She rolled her eyes, lifting her hand slowly before she tapped on his shoulder. He turned around, his legs swinging out into the aisle. He quirked a brow, waiting for Lennox to say something.
“Need a partner?” she asked.
“I do, thanks,” he said. “Lennox, yeah?”
“Mhm,” she hummed. “Niall?”
“Yup,” he replied, popping the ‘p’ sound loudly. “Hold on,” he said, sliding out of his seat. He grabbed the desk, turning it around so he was facing Lennox fully. He sat back down, fixing the papers that fell out of order during the move. “Okay, that’s better.”
“I don’t even know where to start with this,” Lennox said, picking up the rubric by the corner before waving it in the air.
“Me either,” Niall said. “I usually wait until I hear everyone else talk about what they’re going to do or for someone to ask the professor for help and eavesdrop on their conversation. Could be considered cheating, but I like to think of it as primary research.”
Lennox snorted. “Very resourceful,” she said, shaking her head at Niall. “I normally strategically place myself around people who look smart so that if the dreaded group work ever comes up, I won’t have to contribute much.”
“It seems that our group of two is going to get us a fantastic grade in this class,” Niall said.
“We’ll be fine,” Lennox assured him. “I might be an occasionally lazy student, but I’m getting my degree dammit and I need this class to graduate next year.”
“I feel you,” Niall agreed. Niall opened his mouth to say something else but soon became distracted by the group to his right. His body perked up, leaning towards them to catch a glimpse of their conversation. The second they were done with their first point, Niall leaned forward towards Lennox. “I have an idea.”
The hardest part of assignments was getting started. The two of them finished nearly half of the group work by the time class was dismissed, everybody filtering out at their own pace. Niall and Lennox packed up together, straightening out their desks before walking out of the room together.
“Don’t skip out on me on Wednesday, okay Lennox?” Niall said, standing back so she could walk out of the room in front of him. “We have to present out absolutely brilliant group work so we can wow the rest of the class.”
Lennox laughed, waiting for Niall to catch up to her before she walked away from the room. “Oh, I’ll be here,” she told him. “Hopefully in something other than leggings and a t-shirt, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Oh, I assumed that was the group’s dress code. That’s what I was going to show up in on Wed–hey Hattie!”
Lennox tried her hardest not to scowl, but she could feel her brows furrow as Niall’s attention averted from their conversation. Hattie stood in her usual spot near a group of high-top tables full of campus newspapers and magazines. She waved at Niall, slipping her iPhone back into the front pocket of her denim shorts. Lennox followed Niall towards Hattie, unsure if she should just say goodbye before she was subjected to the ‘Are they or are they not dating?’ debate up close.
“Hattie, this is Lennox,” Niall said, introducing the two girls. Lennox and Hattie shared the same pathetic wave, both smiling without their teeth in the polite way that girls always seemed to do when they meet someone for the first time.
“Cute shorts,” Lennox said, looking down at Hattie’s distressed cut-offs. She paired them with a blue and white vertical striped off-the-shoulder blouse that Lennox had been eyeing at a boutique the previous month. “I should get going. My friend and I have a hot date with a bottle of wine and tonight’s episode of The Voice.”
“Ooh, I love Adam and Blake,” Hattie chimed in. “Have fun!”
“Isn’t Adam just positively dreamy?” Lennox asked, batting her eyelashes. “Nice meeting you Hattie! I’ll see you Wednesday Niall.”
“See ya Lennox,” Niall replied, slinking his arm around Hattie’s shoulder. Lennox turned quickly on her heels, eyes narrowed forward. She walked the ten minutes to her apartment scuffing the bottom of her sneakers against the sidewalk, kicking pebbles along the way.
Kaia was waiting on Lennox’s couch with a bottle of rosé already opened. The episode was paused, the opening title frozen on the screen. She dropped her backpack next to one of the chairs at the small kitchen table, her shoulders still slumped without the bag weighing her down.
“Get over here bitch, we’re already fifteen minutes behind!” Kaia chirped. “I’ll pour the wine.”
“Fill it up!” Lennox cheered, kicking off her sneakers quickly before hopping over the arm of the couch to sit next to Kaia. “I wonder if tonight will be the night where Adam and Blake finally kiss…” she said, her voice trailing off into a giggle.
“I hope so,” Kaia sighed. “There’s so much tension between them.”
“So, I have a Niall Horan update,” Lennox said, holding out her hand for Kaia to pass the glass to. “He changed his seat in class and is now sitting in front of me.”
“And?” Kaia asked, settling back down onto her side of the sofa.
“We got partnered up for group work, which was all fine and dandy,” Lennox explained, pausing to take a sip of her wine. “And then mid-conversation on our walk out of class, he saw Hattie and introduced me to her.”
Kaia winced. “Ouch.”
“He put his arm around her shoulder and I have no fucking clue if they’re dating or not,” Lennox groaned. “This is ridiculous but I can’t just ask him.”
“Saturday Night Lennox could,” Kaia pointed out.
“Ah yes, but Saturday Night Lennox cannot meet Niall Horan because she will do stupid things that would make class very uncomfortable,” she replied. “So, now I’m stuck over analyzing his friendship-slash-relationship until I can figure it out myself. Maybe I should follow them sometime.”
“Maybe you should hush, drink your wine, and let me unpause this so we can watch some auditions,” Kaia suggested, nudging Lennox gently in the side with her elbow.
“Ugh, fine,” Lennox said. “But we’re talking during commercials!”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Niall Horan was, by far, the worst person to sit behind during class. He didn’t throw things over his shoulder or draw attention to the back of the room while Lennox tried to spend the boring parts of the lecture scrolling through her Instagram feed. He was, however, an absolute menace.
On the outside, Niall appeared to be a fairly normal guy. His demeanor was unimposing, too chill to be an issue. Lennox had never been in a class with him before, so she couldn’t be sure whether this was a regular occurrence or a special treat because of the class or professor. Throughout class, Niall would mumble snarky comments to himself about what the professor was saying, only loud enough that Lennox could hear. Or at least, she was the only person who didn’t pretend not to hear them. At least five times a class she had to stifle her laughter, trying to pass it off as a coughing fit to avoid a stern glare from the professor.
It was impossible to pay attention with Niall muttering things under his breath, let alone keep a straight face. She, without a fail, would smack Niall between the shoulders if he seemed to be going overboard during class, not that it ever stopped him from making the comments. In fact, it might have served as motivation for him.
They were six weeks into the class and had a midterm coming up in a couple of weeks. Lennox couldn’t focus on what the professor was saying about the structure of the exam, too preoccupied by listening to whatever nonsense Niall would whisper under his breath.
“I’m going to kill you!” she squealed, shoving his shoulder hard enough to separate them as they walked out of class side by side. “You’re going to be the reason why I fail this class and never graduate college. I’m going to be a student forever!”
“Lennox Sloane, you’re being very dramatic right now,” Niall told her, rolling his eyes. “I’m trying to make the class more enjoyable for you and now you’re putting the blame on me for a hypothetical failing grade? That is just plain rude.”
“You’re just plain rude for trying to distract me during class!” she argued, her palm pressed against his shoulder, seconds away from shoving his body away from hers again. “I need to do well on the midterm! How am I supposed to know what’s going on in class with you making some salty-ass comments about god knows what?”
“You live for my comments, don’t deny it,” he said. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who needs to do well! I lose out on class material too trying to think of those things to say.”
“Well shit, that’s not my fault!” she said, snorting. “All I’m saying is that if I have anything less than a B on my midterm, there will be consequences that I will make you face. Mark my words.”
Niall shuddered, pretending to be terrified by her empty threat. “I’m shaking in my boots,” he deadpanned.
By this point they would have split ways, each on their way to their respective destinations. Instead, they stood by the high-top round tables that Hattie usually occupied, neither seeming like they were in any rush to get moving.
“Where’s Hattie today?” Lennox asked, looking around the open area of the building’s atrium.
“Oh, she had some sort of group thing tonight, I don’t know,” Niall replied. “I’m supposed to go meet up with her later.”
“Oh okay,” Lennox replied, nodding. He doesn’t know where she is. That didn’t really mean anything, though. He could’ve just been a terrible boyfriend who didn’t care to know where his girlfriend was. “Well, you know the drill…The Voice is on tonight. Kaia might get mad if I make her miss any of the blind auditions. They’re our favorite part. We like when they make us cry.”
“Cry?” Niall asked, raising his brows. “You cry watching a music competition show?”
“Don’t act all high and mighty,” Lennox said. “First thing, music competition shows are always mega-emotional because these people are all insanely talented and haven’t had it easy. But also, The Voice has these dramatic back stories on some of these contestants and air them before their auditions and there are some real tear-jerkers in there. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
“Maybe I don’t,” he replied. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your place so you don’t piss your friend off.”
“Both Kaia and I appreciate it,” she said, bowing to him. “Tell Hattie I said hello!”
“Will do,” Niall said. “Hey Lennox, wait,” he added, stopping her as she began to turn on her heels. She pivoted around toward him again,
“What’s up?”
He opened his mouth to say something, leaning in. Before he could get a word out, he shook his head, seeming to stop himself. “Nevermind. I’ll see you on Wednesday,” he said.
“Alright Niall, see ya later,” she said, holding up a peace sign to him before heading towards the doors. She wanted to overanalyze Niall’s last minute decision to not say anything at all with Kaia when she got back to the apartment, but she was certain that her best friend was getting sick of her constantly bringing up Niall.
To be honest, Lennox wasn’t sure where her sudden fixation on Niall came from. Sure, she’d tried more than once to make something happen with him their freshmen year (which he either forgot about or chose not to bring up), but she spent the entirety of their sophomore typically unaware of his existence, unless she spotted him with Hattie around campus. Even then, it was pure curiosity than anything else causing the pique in interest. But now Lennox had no explanation as to why she was beginning to pine after a guy who was potentially in a relationship with the gorgeous girl that he seemed to be inseparable from.
While she and Kaia split a bottle of wine and shed a tear or two watching blind auditions, Lennox’s thoughts drifted periodically to what Niall might have wanted to say. Did he have a question? Was he just bluffing, prepared to make another salty comment just to mess with her? What could he possibly have wanted to say that made him change his mind?
Niall Horan was both to blame for any sleep loss or failing grades on important midterms. That was Lennox’s declaration and she was sticking to it. She was thankful that she didn’t have an early morning class on Tuesdays, making her tossing and turning all night less painful when it came to waking up to her alarm the next morning. Luckily, the restless sleep was a one night only occurrence, partially because Lennox insisted that she, Kaia, and their friends Frieda and Carmen take advantage of Power Hour at a local bar that was lenient with IDs and generous with their pours.
Lennox ended up passed out in her only her tiny denim shorts face down into her mattress, completely bare from the waist up. She wasn’t sure what time they ended up getting home because she ran into a guy she talked to during the previous spring who bought her a few drinks, no doubt in hopes that she would leave with him. Instead, her friends rounded her up and helped her into the back of an Uber before she could do anything she regretted.
The entire night should have been considered a regret. She woke up the next morning reeking of stale alcohol with her makeup still caked onto her face. When she checked the clock, she realized that she only had thirty minutes to shower, eat breakfast, and get ready for her eight a.m. class. She scrambled around the apartment, fighting the urge to vomit every time she made a sudden movement. Why did she convince herself that getting plastered on a Tuesday night was a good idea? Under no circumstances was it ever a good idea to need assistance getting into the back of a car on a run of the mill Tuesday evening. And yet, that was how Lennox spent her evening and there was nothing that was going to change that.
She ended up skipping her class at eight, texting one of the girls she knew in the class that she wasn’t feeling well so she could ask to borrow her notes. Lennox hoped that she hadn’t seen any of her drunk Snaps before she got a chance to delete them that morning. Lennox was only slightly ashamed to admit that she had two iced coffees and a massive breakfast sandwiches delivered to her apartment through Postmates, too hungover to attempt to make her own breakfast.
If the midterm in her night class wasn’t coming up, Lennox would have skipped her full day of classes entirely to lounge in her bed and watch Law and Order: Special Victims Unit all day until her roommates got home from work and classes. Instead, she attempted to make herself somewhat presentable, trying to shower away her sins from the night before. Why she ever thought to mix liquors and beer was beyond her, but she was certainly feeling it in the pit of her stomach and the pounding in her head.
Lennox piled damp hair into a bun on the top of her head, her face free of makeup aside the concealer underneath her eyes. Her outfit was something that she would sleep in any other night, a pair of leggings and an old ratty sweatshirt from her older brother’s college. The fall weather was starting to make nights chillier, the entire campus easing out their fall wardrobe (aside from guys, they worked the tragic combination of cargo shorts and flip-flops all year round).
She strolled into class only a few minutes before it started, dragging her feet behind her as she made her way to the back of the room. When she and Niall made eye contact as she walked down the aisle, he cocked his head to the side, raising a brow in confusion. Lennox groaned as she sat down, immediately slumping down into her seat.
“You doing okay back there?” Niall asked, turning around in his seat. “You look like hell, no offense.”
“Plenty taken,” she scoffed. “I feel horrendous. Power Hour and beyond got the best of me.”
Niall winced. “Ouch,” he hissed. “Suppose I shouldn’t ask you for a drink tonight then, huh?”
Drink? With Niall? Lennox cursed her bare face, hoping that her cheeks didn’t go completely red without any foundation on them. “Don’t even mention the word ‘drink’ around me,” she said. “I’m never drinking again.”
“So I won’t see you at the Kappa Sigma party on Friday? Or Sigma Nu on Saturday? Or–”
“I get it, I get it, I go to a lot of parties,” Lennox groaned. “Hey wait, how do you know that?”
Niall shrugged. “That’s where we met freshman year,” he said. “Plus, I have friends who talk. You’re quite the hit.”
“Not sure if that’s a good thing or not,” Lennox admitted.
“Oh shit, not like that,” Niall immediately said, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Are you aware that there are fights about which team gets to have you for Flip Cup? I’ve heard people have even paid to make sure that they have you for a guaranteed victory.”
Lennox snorted. “It’s true, I am a not-so-secret weapon,” she said.
“I’d believe it,” he said.
“When did you stop going to parties?” Lennox asked. “I stopped seeing you them at the beginning of fall semester sophomore year.”
Niall shrugged. “Not sure, really,” he admitted. “Hattie doesn’t really go to parties so…I don’t know. I normally just pregame with some friends and chill at my apartment.”
Lennox nodded. “Cool,” she replied. “Well, you know, if you ever need to find me on a weekend, you know where.”
“Maybe I’ll have to tag along sometime, for old time’s sake,” he said, winking at Lennox.
She pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say after that. She was saved by the bell, or rather, their professor walking into the room. Inwardly, she let out a sigh of relief, watching as Niall spun back around towards the front of the classroom. The professor spent a majority of the class lecturing on new material, his overpowering voice making Lennox’s head pound even harder. By the end of the class, he was reminding everybody about the midterm in two weeks. Everyone collectively groaned, earning a hearty laugh from their professor.
Lennox rubbed her temples as the classroom began to empty out. Niall remained seated, packing his backpack up slowly. She saw him take a peek at her as he bent down to put away his notebook, his eyes watching her curiously.
“You sure you’re feeling okay?” he finally asked, turning around completely.
“Feeling like a million bucks,” she told him. “Can I Uber back to my apartment?”
Niall laughed, shaking his head at Lennox. “Come here,” he said, standing up. He stood in the aisle next to Lennox, facing her with his arms outstretched. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“Just my big breakfast,” she replied. “I was too lazy to make lunch or dinner.”
He rolled his eyes, flexing his fingers to get her attention. “C’mon, we’re getting something to eat. I’m starving,” he said, offering a hand to help her up.
“Alright,” she sighed, taking his hands. “Can I request chicken fingers and french fries?”
“Onion rings too?”
“A man after my own heart,” Lennox joked.
Most things on campus closed around six when most of the commuters left, leaving very few options for Niall and Lennox to dine without venturing off campus. They ended up at a place called Rusty’s, one of the few places on campus that took dining dollars and meal swipes aside from the dining halls. They sat at a small table near the bar, watching the red light blink on the buzzer as they waited for their food.
Lennox sipped quietly on her pop, waiting for Niall to finish up a text he was sending. She made sure her roommates knew that she was coming home late, omitting the part about grabbing a bite to eat with Niall. They knew all about him and she was certain if they found out where she was, she’d get far too many eggplant emojis sent her way and one thousand prying questions the moment she walked through the door. Besides, this was just friends getting food. Hattie was probably busy that night or waiting for Niall back at his place. For all Lennox knew, he was just killing time before he went to meet up with her somewhere.
She tried to shake it out of her mind, focusing on anything else. Luckily, Niall set his phone down at the moment their buzzer went off.
“I got ‘em,” he told her, sliding out of his chair before walking back towards the front counter. Lennox didn’t even argue, stretching her legs out underneath the table while Niall was gone. She scrolled through her message notifications, letting Kaia know that she was, indeed, feeling slightly better than she was this morning, but not much. She ignored her reply asking her what she was up to, choosing to wait until she was back in her apartment so she wasn’t lying when she said she was just chilling at home.
Niall balanced the tray full of their food, maneuvering through the tables until he was able to set it down in front of Lennox. “Okay, so I wasn’t sure if you wanted ketchup so I got a lot,” he told her, pointing to the smattering of ketchup packets filling the empty space on the tray.
“I like it, but please tell me you’re not one of those heathens that puts the ketchup directly on the french fries instead of dipping them in,” Lennox said, immediately picking up a fry and taking a bite from it.
“I’m offended you’d even ask, of course not,” he replied. “You’ve got me all wrong, Lennox.”
“Just call me Len, but never Lenny,” she told him. “Much easier to yell.”
“Is that so?” he asked, wriggling his brows.
“Oh god, not like that,” she groaned. “Like…I don’t know, it was easier when I played sports in high school! I’m just not going to say anything. I’m eating my dinner in silence.”
Niall laughed, ripping open a few packets of the ketchup. He squirted them onto the edge of his plate, immediately picking one of the onion rings up to dip it in. “This dinner would be very boring if it was just the two of us eating. I might have to start talking to the food.”
“Be my guest, weirdo,” Lennox snorted, ripping off a piece of a chicken finger. “So that midterm is going to destroy my soul.”
“I’m not ready for that class to complete fuck me yet, but I think it might happen after that exam,” Niall agreed. “We should study next week considering it’s clear that neither of us are ready to tackle it on our own and as far as I know, we don’t have any other friends in the class to mooch answers and notes off of.”
“Ugh, biggest mistake this semester was buddying up with you and not one of the smart people in the first couple of rows,” Lennox said, smirking before folding a fry into her mouth.
“That was hurtful,” Niall said, clutching a hand to his chest. “I’m going to revoke my studying invitation.”
“Aw, don’t do that Niall,” Lennox whined. “Study after class on Monday?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” he said.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Lennox and Niall were fully equipped when they scoped out their nook on the only floor of the library that wasn’t a quiet zone. Lennox provided the caffeine and water while Niall took care of sustenance. They took up an entire table for six with just their belongings, laying out their textbooks, notebooks, and articles from the professor amongst their feast.
Their professor lectured the entire class about one of the last lessons listed on their study guide from the week before. Lennox tried to pay attention the whole time, but she could feel her mind drifting elsewhere periodically. There were holes in her notes that she hoped Niall’s notes could fill. His muttering during class had significantly decreased, but Lennox had a feeling that it would come back around after the stress of the midterm relinquished its grasp on them.
“What coffee did you get?” Niall asked, picking up the cup to the right of Lennox’s notebook. Before she could tell him, he picked it up and took a sip, scrunching his nose. “Is this shit black?”
“Sometimes I like black coffee!” she argued, grabbing her cup back from him. “Not my fault you needed sixteen shots of caramel in yours.”
“It wasn’t sixteen,” he muttered. “My coffee tastes happier than yours, by far.”
Lennox rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her perfectly normal drink. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said. “I like black coffee and you drink gross, warm beer. To each their own, my friend.”
“Don’t you even try to compare beer to coffee,” he replied. “Come on, black coffee is on a whole other level of gross.”
“Agree to disagree,” she said. “Are we going to debate beer and black coffee right now or are we going to study so we can pass this course?”
“I don’t know, this debate is pretty important,” he joked. “Fine, fine, want to start going through the study guide and filling it out? I’ll set up a Google Doc for us to share. What’s your e-mail?”
“Just my first and last name at G-Mail,” she told him.
“Lennox…Sloane,” he said slowly, his fingers tapping against the keyboard. “Okay, sent!”
Lennox opened up her e-mail invitation, clicking on the link to bring her to their shared document. While she flipped to the front of her notebook, she heard Niall’s keyboard again, his giggles taking up the space between the clicks of the keys. Lennox ignored him, finding the section of the notes that corresponded with the first point on the study guide. She looked back towards her screen to make sure she was in the right place, but her eyes drifted to a message written in red Comic Sans at the top of the page.
Fuck u Sloane
She shook her head, immediately highlighting Niall’s message to her and erasing it. In its place, she used Georgia in an aqua color, typing something else for Niall.
Suck a dick :P
Niall snorted, clearing out her message before adding a new one of his own.
Right back atcha
Is that an invitation?
Naughty…
Lennox was glad she was wearing foundation that day, her cheeks surely flushed beneath the layers of makeup.
What do you call sexting through Google Docs?
Niall snorted, nearly kicking Lennox’s shin under the table. She smirked to herself, waiting to see if Niall would reply and continue their game.
Not sure if sexting has gotten that advanced yet.
True, guys still think that unsolicited dick pics are the best that they can do.
Heyyyyyyyyyyy
(That’s supposed to be a secret)
Pretty shit secret if you ask me
Rude. Invitation has been revoked.
Thank GOD.
“Double rude,” Niall said, erasing their entire conversation so their study guide wasn’t tainted with their…conversation. Lennox didn’t even know what that was. Playful banter? Flirting? She tried to shake it out of mind, doubling down on actually getting a semblance of studying done that night. The longer they sat at the table trying to compare notes to fill out the guide, the clearer it became that their legitimate studying was going to have to be done when they were separated. Sure, they got a majority of the study guide filled out, but it took nearly three hours to finish a page and a half because of all of their pissing around.
Lennox and Niall were in hysterics as they walked out of the library, both clutching their stomachs. Niall had tried to throw their garbage out and missed entirely, his coffee spilling out onto the tile floor next to the trash can. In his attempt the retrieve the spilled cup, he slipped on the coffee and fell straight onto his ass. Where Lennox would have been beyond embarrassed, Niall laughed so loud that somebody peeked their head out to glare at him.
“Sorry man!” Niall told him before pushing himself off the floor. “Oh yeah, you’re enjoying this, now aren’t you?” he asked. That was around the time they both burst into laughter and moved their fit to outside of the library’s doors.
“Okay okay okay, in all seriousness, are you okay?” Lennox asked.
“Not sure. Might need you to check my ass for bruising,” he said.
“Nice try,” Lennox said, shoving his shoulder to push him away from her. “You can examine your own ass in a mirror at your apartment.”
“Worth a try,” he joked. “So, same place Wednesday after class?”
“We’re never going to get any actual studying done, you know that, right?” she asked.
“Oh, I know,” he replied. “So…”
“I’ll pencil you in,” she told him. “You know, you should feel very special. I missed watching The Voice tonight for this.”
“You really made a huge sacrifice to be here tonight, thank you Lennox,” Niall deadpanned.
“Asshole,” she snorted. “Alright, well, it’s getting fucking cold out here, so I think I’m going to sprint to my apartment now to get warm again.”
Niall laughed, shoving his hands into the pocket of his shearling lined denim jacket. “Alright Len, see you on Wednesday.”
“You too,” she said, taking a few steps backwards before turning completely on her heels. She had only taken a dozen steps before she heard Niall’s voice calling her name. When she turned around, he was still standing with his hands in his pocket, his upper body turned towards her. “Forget something?”
“Yeah, uh, could you just text me when you get home?” he asked. “Just to make sure…ya know.”
“Okay Niall,” she said, waving and she spun back around. “Have a good night!” she called out with her back turned to him. She smiled at the ground beneath her feet, the bounce her step not lost on her.
Niall was a shitty study partner, but Lennox wasn’t much better either. Their study sessions on Wednesday after class and Sunday afternoon weren’t much more productive than Monday night in the library. At least their study guide was completed with more details than they could wrap their heads around. Because of the excess of information, both of them seemed to lose interest less than an hour into trying to learn the material. The conversation would start to drift further away from the course, veering off into stories about party fouls, their friends (mutual or not), and their other classes that week.
On Sunday, Niall greeted Lennox with the largest cup of coffee she’d ever seen in her life and a small pill bottle full of ibuprofen. She was, as he suspected, not in the best shape. Her head was still pounding and there was still the feeling of needing to vomit lingering in the pit of her stomach. But hangover be damned, she was making it to study with Niall. It was all Kaia could tease her about the night before, pulling Lennox away from every guy she was trying to talk to. Granted, Kaia would’ve pulled her away from the guys in general (friends don’t let friends make mistakes like that), but she would always giggle something about not wanting be with anyone but Niall.
Lennox had caved and told Kaia about their partnering up to prepare for the midterm. She might as well have told her they were having wild sex right on the table at the library by the way Kaia reacted to the news. It was all she could talk about. Even when Lennox rolled out of bed and ran into Kaia in the kitchen (she’d passed out on their couch rather than going back to her own apartment across town), she wiggled her eyebrows and asked if Lennox was up so early so she could be with her “beloved Niall.” It was the reason she didn’t cancel, but that was beside the point.
It seemed only appropriate since they’d suffered through the trouble of studying together that they’d celebrate finishing the exam as well. Niall had finished before Lennox, giving her a small wave as he’d walked out of the room. Lennox was on her final essay question, her hand starting to cramp up the closer she got to the bottom of the page. She nearly let out a sigh of relief as she finished off her conclusion, setting her pen down with a loud click against the desk. The professor gave her a nod of acknowledgement as she handed over her exam sheet, hiking up her backpack so it stopped falling off of her shoulder. There were a few students still taking their exams as she walked out of the room, happy to be finished not only with the exam, but half of the course.
“Lennox!”
She jumped, her heart beginning to race. She spotted Niall sitting at a chair across from the classroom, hopping out of his seat when he saw her.
“Why are you still here?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Thought we should get celebratory drinks,” he said. “Unless you’re still feeling the drinks you had this weekend.”
“I could probably handle a drink or two,” she told him. “You sure?”
“Fuck yeah, need a drink after that exam,” he said. “You okay to go from here or do you need to go back to your apartment?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine,” she told him. “Fina’s?”
“Is there any dodgy off campus bar better than Fina’s?” he asked. “Worst beer in the city.”
“Cheapest beer in the city,” she corrected him. “First round’s on me!”
Lennox recognized some of the faces at the bar when they walked up to grab their side-by-side seats at the end of the wrap-around counter. Some of them were tenured professors, others the younger adjuncts that she’d had for a random elective here and there. Then there was the two token 21-year-olds settling into the corner of the bar, celebrating the halfway mark of the semester and completion of a midterm from hell.
As promised, she ordered the first round of drinks, flashing her ID to the bartender before he started to fill the cups with the cheapest beer on draft. They both clinked together the rims of their glasses, already laughing before they took the first sip.
“So bad,” Niall complained, going back into for a second sip.
“The worst,” Lennox agreed. “Speaking of the worst…the exam was a piece of shit and I hate that class.”
Niall snorted, setting his beer down on a bar napkin. “That study guide was useless,” he said. “All of that half-assed studying for nothing!”
“Students of the year right here,” she said. “I’m just glad it’s over and now we’re almost done with the semester. Kind of.”
“Still another seven or eight weeks to go,” Niall reminded her.
“Well which is it?” she asked, raising her brows. Niall hesitated to answer, taking a sip of his beer instead. “Oh my god, Niall do you not know when this semester ends?”
“Sometime early December,” he replied with a shrug. “Don’t give me that look! I have other things to remember.”
“Mhm, okay, like what?” she asked, pursing her lips.
“You know, stuff,” he mumbled. “I dunno!”
Lennox snorted. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she said.
“Aw, thanks Len,” Niall cooed. “You’re much too kind.”
“You’re starting to become a massive pain in my ass,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “You’re a major distraction in class, what with all of your smartass comments.”
“The one’s you constantly laugh at? Yeah, I can hear your snickers, even if you try to be quiet,” he said. Lennox rolled her eyes, ignoring Niall’s observation. Before either of them could say anything else, Niall’s phone vibrated on the bar. He flipped it over to look at the front screen, the screen showing a call from Hattie. Instead of answering, he merely ignored the call and flipped his phone back over.
Lennox felt her stomach tie into knots. Why was Niall ignoring his girlfriend? There was an overwhelming amount of guilt that washed over her when the realization hit. Even if these drinks were strictly platonic, Niall still probably had a girlfriend and as far as Lennox knew, he had blown her off last week on Monday and Wednesday after class and now tonight.
“Ah, you know what, I’m really sorry Niall but I think that I might still be nursing that hangover,” Lennox said, bringing her hand down to graze her stomach. “I think I should probably call it a night.”
“Wha–okay,” he stuttered. “Can I walk you home?”
“I’m fine. You can finish up my beer,” she said, motioning to her half-full glass. “I’ll see you in class on Wednesday.”
“Yeah, okay, see you Wednesday,” Niall muttered, chugging the rest of his beer.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Lennox didn’t know why she did it. After class on Wednesday, instead of waiting for Niall, she bolted. She mentally cursed him for calling her name, practically jogging to catch up with her before she could push through the doors leading to the exit.
“Len, where ya going?” he asked, the sound of his footsteps ceasing. She let out a sigh, turning on her heels so she was facing him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to chase after you. I just…I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry Niall, I made plans with Kaia to work on a paper at her apartment and she gets mad if I’m late,” Lennox lied. In truth, Kaia was already at Lennox’s apartment because she tended to hang out there most of the day after classes. She might as well move in rather than keeping her cheaper apartment across town where she lived with two people she wasn’t even close with.
“Oh okay, sorry to keep you,” he apologized. “I guess I’ll see you Monday then?”
“Yeah, Monday,” she said hurriedly, waving briefly before she bolted out of the door. She felt awful blowing Niall off, but she wasn’t sure how to act around him. She didn’t want him ignoring Hattie when she was around. Lennox hadn’t even seen Hattie waiting around for Niall in weeks, not since before they started studying for midterms. They used to be attached at the hip. It was rare to spot either of them on campus without one another. And now he was ignoring her calls while he was out for drinks with Lennox and lord knows what else.
Lennox tried not to overthink it, not at least until she had Kaia sitting in front of her ready to listen to her barrage of venting. She was in serious need of girl talk, one over a big glass of wine with somebody who wasn’t going to judge or steer her in the wrong direction.
Kaia could sense Lennox’s frustration the second she walked into the living room, groaning the entire time it took for her to open a fresh bottle of wine.
“I’ll get the glasses,” she announced, standing on the tips of her toes to get the nice glasses from the top of the cupboards. Lennox poured them a generous amount each, motioning for Kaia to follow her back to her room. Kaia grabbed the glasses while Lennox carried the rest of the wine. The second the door to Lennox’s room shut behind them, Kaia handed her a glass and plopped down onto the edge of her bed. Lennox sat in her light blue desk chair, immediately taking a long sip of her drink.
“Spill,” Kaia instructed.
“Niall Horan,” Lennox grumbled.
“You’re going to need to be more specific dear,” Kaia said. “What has he done?”
“Well, we’ve been hanging out and what not as you know,” she started. “And the other day we were out for drinks and I saw that Hattie was calling him and he flat out ignored her call instead of like…texting her and telling her he was busy. I don’t know, it rubbed me the wrong way. And then I realized I hadn’t seen her in a while and that made me paranoid that he was blowing off time with his girlfriend for me?”
Kaia nodded, pursing her lips while she took in what Lennox had explained. “Are they definitely dating?” she asked.
“Well I mean, I never asked,” she replied. “But it’s heavily implied.”
“Could they have broken up?”
“Ew, so I’m a rebound? Pass.”
“I’m just saying,” Kaia replied, rolling her eyes. “Lennox, you’re looking too far into this. You and Niall and friends and while you might have thought it was rude that he ignored his maybe girlfriend’s call, he might have thought it would be rude to you to answer it or text her in the middle of having drinks with you.”
“Oh,” she breathed out. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Yeah you big ole worrier!” Kaia said, grinning at Lennox. “Now, since we’ve only covered about half of your worries, what else is going on?”
“What do you mean only half?” she asked.
“Oh come on, I still see that look in your eyes. There’s more to say,” Kaia replied. “Tell me more, Leonard.”
Lennox rolled her eyes at her freshmen year nickname, flipping off her best friend. “That was all that was bothering me,” she said. Kaia raised her brows, peering over the rim of her wine glass as she took a sip. Her glare told Lennox that Kaia knew she was full of shit. It was going to be a long night if Lennox didn’t start talking, but she wasn’t even sure of anything. Her feelings were a tangled mess, a dangerous web that would no doubt end in somebody being hurt, most likely herself.
“Fine, if you’re not going to talk, I’m going to do it for you,” Kaia grumbled. “I think you like Niall Horan. More than you did freshmen year when all you wanted to do was shove your tongue down his throat and take him back to your room.”
“But he probably most likely has a girlfriend,” Lennox whined. “I hate that I don’t even fucking know. Like, it’s driving me absolutely nuts.”
“Just call him and ask,” Kaia said.
“I can’t just ask him that!” Lennox hissed. “I’m not calling Niall at all. I think I just need a break from him.”
Kaia rolled her eyes. “Leonard, you’re being ridiculous right now,” she said. “If I didn’t love you, I’d smack you upside the head.”
“You smack me upside the head all of the time,” Lennox reminded her. “Look, even if you say that it’s not complicated, for me it is. I…I dunno K, I really don’t.”
“Awww babe,” Kaia cooed. She leaned forward, reaching towards my desk to set down her glass of wine. “I’m sorry everything’s a mess right now. Wanna get frozen yogurt? My treat? It’ll make you feel better! It’s the best way to forget about your problems, especially boy problems.”
Lennox nodded, taking one final sip of her wine. They both put on jackets from Lennox’s closet, bundling up to brace the fall nighttime breeze. The conversation shifted away from Niall to their plans for the weekend. Kaia mentioned a few different parties that the frats were having, but none of them sounded all that interesting to Lennox. There was always the option of pre-gaming at her apartment and heading for the clubs, just with a smaller group than usual.
The list of weekend plans continued as they walked around the corner to the main street. Lennox’s rent certainly reflected the close proximity to one of the main drags in the city, but the convenience of being able to walk around the corner from her building to have access to food and entertainment was well worth it.
Lennox and Kaia knew the girls who were on working the counter at Berry Berry, which meant too many free samples and a generous employee discount. Lennox and Kaia took up their usual spot on the hot pink tufted sofa that faced the floor to ceiling window looking out onto the street. They shared their concoctions with each other–Lennox went the mega sweet route while Kaia went from something lighter and fruity–while they enjoyed the unique mix of 90s pop and mid-2000s punk rock.
“Hey! Look, isn’t that Hattie?” Kaia asked, interrupting their moment of peace.
Lennox squinted, her eyes averting to the girl standing on the opposite side of the window. “Shit, yeah,” she confirmed, hoping Niall wasn’t nearby. Instead, she was greeted by somebody else much taller and blonder than Niall. She nearly dropped her cup when she saw the guy bend down for a kiss, which Hattie obliged to.
“Holy shit,” Lennox said.
“Well this just got interesting,” Kaia commented, spooning a large glob of frozen yogurt into her mouth.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
How do you tell somebody that their girlfriend is cheating on them?
How do you nicely let your guy friend know that you saw their maybe girlfriend kissing another guy outside of Berry Berry?
GPA calculator
How to nicely break it to someone that you saw their girlfriend kissing someone else?
Lennox’s search history was an absolute mess. It had been three weeks and she didn’t know how to process what she had seen. Either she had seen Hattie cheating on Niall or she had just witnessed a completely normal and not morally wrong kiss. How was Lennox supposed to bring it up now? Oh hey Niall, are you and Hattie dating? Why? Oh because I saw her kissing somebody that wasn’t you. Oh yeah, you are dating? Sweet, good luck with that.
She felt awful distancing herself from Niall, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. She could feel the confession sitting on the tip of her tongue every time they partnered up for group work in class. Lennox slipped out of the room and disappeared before Niall could track her down to talk after class. She was being a grade A coward and wasn’t afraid to admit it. Ashamed, sure, but this was not the type of confrontation that she wanted to deal with.
Her extensive googling didn’t help her in the slightest. She was given mixed answers, some telling her to mind her own business, others telling her that it would be the right thing to do, especially if he was her friend. It made her head spin, all of the options that she was supposed to follow. The best way to keep herself from becoming too overwhelmed was to subtract Niall from the equation completely, even if that meant losing the most entertaining part of her Mondays and Wednesdays.
After years of hating to be ignored by people, Lennox should have expected that Niall would fight back. She wasn’t sure when it was going to happen, but she had an inkling that he wasn’t going to let her play games and give him the silent treatment out of the blue (from his view, at least).
Lennox packed up her backpack at lightning speed at the end of Wednesday’s class, fully prepared to bolt out of the room to avoid Niall since the Hattie sighting. Before she could even take two steps, Niall stuck his arm out into the aisle, stopping her in her tracks.
“Avoiding me?” he asked.
“I would never do such a thing,” she replied. “Worried that I’ve forgotten about you?”
He laughed, slowly lowering his arm so it fell back at his side. “Something like that,” he said. “Would you wait up for me today?”
She nodded, fingers curling around the straps of her backpack while she waited for him to pack up his own belongings. They were the last two students left in the room, the building seemingly empty after their class let out. Hattie wasn’t waiting for Niall. Lennox wondered if maybe he had found out for himself before she remembered that Hattie hadn’t been around after class since the beginning of the semester.
“So what’s up Lennox?” Niall asked, leaning against the wall right outside of the classroom. They didn’t wander far, standing too close to be face-to-face in Lennox’s opinion.
“Not too much,” she replied. “You know how it can get towards the end of the semester. Lots of projects and what not.”
“Yeah, I understand,” he replied. “Just wanted to make sure. You’ve been…well…kind of weird since we got drinks after midterms?”
“Oh,” she breathed out, pretending to be surprised by his observation. “I hadn’t realized. I’m sorry, things have just been, you know…”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Well, for what it’s worth, I missed ya and your disgusting black coffee.”
Lennox’s eyes averted from Niall’s gaze to the floor, the heat rising to her cheeks. “You’re an ass,” she finally said, chuckling softly. “You just miss having somebody to pester, don’t you?”
“Duh?” he said, almost as if it were a question. “And, if you’ll have me, I’d love to pester you this weekend. We’re having a pre-game at my place before we head out to a party on Saturday. It won’t be a frat party, so do you think you’d consider going to just a regular old apartment party?”
“I go to non-frat parties, dweeb,” she scoffed. “I suppose I could come to your pre-game. Is it cool if my friends come?”
“The more the merrier,” he replied. “So…you’ll be there then?”
“I’ll see you on Saturday.”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
16 times.
That’s how many times Lennox announced on Saturday that she wasn’t going to Niall’s pre-game. Kaia originally had planned for it to be a drinking game amongst the groups of girls that were getting ready at Lennox’s apartment, but they would have for sure gotten some kind of alcohol poisoning only an hour into the night. Still, she kept count, marking tallies in lipstick on the mirror until their friend Mickie told Lennox to “shut the fuck up.”
Her room was torn apart, clothing piled up in tiny dunes across every surface. She couldn’t see her bedding beneath the sea of jeans, crop tops, body suits, and dresses that she decided were not worthy. For a solid half an hour, she had sat in the middle of her mess in just her bra and thong, internally panicking about the night. Or at least, she tried to keep it internalized. Instead, panic struck across her face, rendering her absolutely useless.
She was overthinking everything. What did it matter if Niall invited her over to his apartment? They were friends. That’s what friends did. Hattie would be there and Niall would be all over her as he should be because they were probably most likely dating. Well, at least until Niall found out that Hattie was kissing somebody else. Unless that was their arrangement?
That was the moment Lennox decided that she needed to be absolutely sloshed. There was no chance at over-thinking everything if she could barely see straight. She enlisted the help of her friends to get her dressed and finish her makeup, declaring that she was going to take at least three shots before they left for Niall’s and that there was nothing that any of them could do to stop her. And they tried. They attempted to replace her vodka shots with water, but she ended up locking herself in her room with the bottle and a shot glass, counting out each as she took them.
Kaia was the only one who could drag Lennox out of her room, coaxing her into the bathroom so she could do last minute touch-ups. She’d ended up wearing her typical party uniform, a pair of skintight black jeans ripped at the knees and a long-sleeved black bodysuit with a plunging-v. Kaia expertly smoked out her makeup, adding a nude gloss over her lips to perfect Lennox’s pout. She examined herself in the mirror, fluffing her loosely curled hair before smirking.
“You good now?” Kaia asked.
“Totes,” she said. “Who’s calling the Uber?”
“I got it,” Kaia said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Round up the troops!”
It took five minutes to wrangle up all of the girls, everyone gathering near the door. They ordered an XL car that was only a minute or two away from the building. They shuffled into the elevator, everyone taking their final selfies before their Snap stories became absolute drunken messes full of embarrassing videos and potentially incriminating photos, ones that would certainly be screenshotted for future blackmail (more like Instagram collages or birthday posts on social media).
Lennox ignored the text from Niall asking if she was on her way. Kaia caught her smiling at her phone’s screen, peering over her shoulder to see what the fuss was about. She nudged Lennox’s arm, trying to get her attention. When Lennox looked over, Kaia was wiggling her eyebrows and making kissy faces. Lennox merely rolled her eyes, settling back into her seat while she waited for the drive to end.
One of the girls knew the code to the building, punching in the numbers as fast as possible so they didn’t have to stand out in the cold for much longer. His apartment was on the third floor towards the back of the building. There was no question where the pre-game was, the music echoing down the hall. The group was met with loud cheers and a heavy bass when they walked into the apartment. There were probably ten or so guys spread throughout the overlapping kitchen and living room. Lennox’s eyes scanned their faces until she spotted Niall popping the cap open of a beer bottle.
Kaia poked Lennox in the small of her back, making her jump. Lennox glared at her friend, swatting her hand away. “What?” she hissed.
“Go get your man!” she said. “You look hot and if Niall doesn’t see that, I’m sure one of the four guys that are currently whispering about you now would gladly take his place.” The second Lennox’s eyes snapped to where Kaia was pointed, the guys all looked away, taking sips of their drinks.
“Whatever,” she grumbled. “Who took the drinks from my place?”
“Red,” Kaia said, referring to their friend Diana aptly nicknamed for her fiery locks. “Lennox, be smart!”
“Yeah yeah,” she said, craning her neck to spot Diana and her trusty backpack that always served as the transport for their drinks. Lennox grabbed a Twisted Tea, pulling the tab open with ease. She planned on meeting up with Kaia again, sponging onto her best friend to put off seeing Niall. Her plan was, no surprise, foiled by Niall himself.
“Len, you made it!” he announced, holding his arms wide open for a hug. Lennox wondered if he tried to get himself purposely drunk early in the night too or if he was just this friendly always. “Was going to ask if you needed a drink but it appears you’ve got that covered.”
“Always travel with my own stash,” she said, gently shaking the full tall can back and forth.
“Well, if you want something other than that, I’ve got some liquor in my room that I suppose I could share with you,” he said.
“Secret shots before the party?” she asked, quirking a brow.
He nodded. “Sounds like a bad idea to me,” he said. “Find me before we go and we’ll do them, yeah?”
There wasn’t any need for Lennox to find Niall before they left for the party. They hardly separated the entire night. He fought to have her on his Flip Cup team (he agreed to do his roommate’s laundry for a week), stayed to her left when they decided to switch over to the dice game, and plopped down onto the sofa next to her when she decided to take a water break. The more they drank, the harder it became to pry them away from each other.
“Lennox is a funny name,” Niall said, giggling into her ear as they took a break from the action of the pregame. Somebody had started up a game of beer pong, one that they had no interest in partaking in or watching.
“Niall is an even funnier name,” she replied. “Buncha silly names around here.”
“Len…nox…” he said slowly, drawing out the syllables for dramatic effect. “It’s a nice name though.”
“Thanks,” she said. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten. We should probably get going to the party…” he pointed out. “Still wanna take a shot with me?”
“I promised, didn’t I?” she replied. “Tell everyone we’re going soon. It’s going to take my friends at least ten minutes to fix their makeup before they head downstairs to the party.”
Niall stood where he had been sitting on the couch, cupping his hands around his mouth to create a makeshift megaphone. “It’s party time!” he yelled. “We’re leaving in ten! It’s on the first floor here!”
Lennox giggled at Niall’s announcement, finding humor in everything she could. He nearly tumbled off of the couch when he tried to get down, losing his footing on the edge. Instead of being embarrassed, he merely laughed, his voice cutting through the music.
Niall held out his hand to Lennox, wiggling his fingers until she gave in and slid her hand into his. He squeezed gently, leading her through everyone until they disappeared deeper into the apartment. They stumbled down the hall before Niall tugged them into a room off to the right. He flicked the switch to turn on the overhead light before shutting the door behind them.
“Your room is so clean,” she commented, looking around at its spotless nature, much different than her disaster she called a room. “Do you have accent pillows?”
“They look nice, don’t they?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. He knelt down in front of his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer that was full of beer and bottles of liquor. Lennox had a stash of her own, hiding her favorite bottles of wine and splurge-worthy vodkas at the top of her closet so she didn’t have to share them unless she wanted to. “What are we taking shots of?”
“Whatever,” she said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. She immediately pressed her palms against the mattress, subconsciously working out how comfortable it was. Firm, but not too firm–focus Lennox! “Make it double.”
“You trying to blackout tonight?” he asked, stifling a laugh. “Alright Lennox Sloane, double the shots you wild thing.”
“Long week,” she lied. It had been a fairly easy week, but there was no way she was telling Niall now about what had been bothering her for the past three weeks. “Why’s your room so clean?”
“You’re very fascinated by my tidiness,” he said.
“Not sure if you’re aware, but most men are slobs,” she replied. “I once hooked up with a guy who had to fish out plates and empty chip bags out from under his comforter before…you know…”
Niall’s face scrunched up, his lip curling up at the corner. “That’s…fucking disgusting,” he said, chuckling. “I like a clean room.”
“You sure you don’t just clean it every weekend just in case you have visitors?” she asked, wagging her brows at him.
“It’s like this all week, Len,” he said.
“Ooh, you’re prepared all days of the week?” she asked, moving her palms further behind her so she could lean back. “My room’s a mess right now.”
“Why is that?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against his dresser. A bottle of Fireball sat on the top behind him, along with two empty shot glasses.
She shrugged, looking away from Niall. Or rather, looking away from his broad shoulders and toned muscles flexing beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. “Couldn’t find the right outfit,” she explained.
“I think the outfit you settled on is great, really,” he told her. Lennox looked at him out of the corner of her eye, watching the way his swallowed hard as he eyes struggled to stay focused on her face. “Um, so, shot?” he asked, clearing his throat.
She smirked, pushing herself off of his bed. “Sounds great,” she replied. The alcohol started to make her feel a bit braver. She took a few more steps closer to Niall, leaving little space between their bodies after he had poured the shots. Her eyes averted from his only momentarily while she grabbed the shot glasses from him to ensure she didn’t accidentally spill.
“Cheers,” they said simultaneously, clinking their shot glasses together before tilting their heads back to down the shots. Lennox hissed, her eyes immediately closing as the alcohol ran its course. She could feel the cinnamon burning in her nose, her throat temporarily on fire as she tried to keep the shot down.
“Still want a second?” Niall asked, reaching his arm back to feel around for the bottle. Lennox merely nodded, unable to tears her eyes from the single drop of alcohol glossing over the corner of Niall’s lips. The moment he ran his tongue along his bottom lip was when Lennox forced herself to look away, staring at the ceiling instead. The Fireball smelled even stronger as Niall poured a generous amount into both of their glasses.
Lennox took a deep breath, staring at the amber liquid as it swished back and forth in the glass. They repeated the same process, toasting to the night before taking the second shot in their series. This time Niall was the one to hiss, his lips curling in disgust. Lennox merely laughed, though she wasn’t feeling that much better. A second shot wasn’t the best idea, something she’d surely regret when she couldn’t get out of bed the next morning.
“Heyyy,” Niall whined, grabbing their glasses and setting them behind him. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“S’cute,” she told him, watching the way his face reacted.
“Yeah?” he asked, brows quirked. His stubble looked even darker in the low lighting of his room, dusted perfectly across his jaw. His stare was intense, boring through Lennox as the room started to close in on them.
“Yeah.” Lennox inched forward, her hips leading while the space between their bodies closed. She pushed her chest out, watching Niall’s eyes busy themselves to find someplace else in the room to look.
“Interesting,” he hummed, his hands fidgeting at his sides. His body tensed up, his back rigid as she continued to move closer.
“Do you think anyone has actually left yet?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him.
“Don’t really care,” he replied, leaning down until their foreheads nearly touched. Lennox froze, her lips parted as Niall started to further bridge the gap between them. She could smell the cinnamon on his breath, fanning across her neck. Niall brought his hand to the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. There was a split second where their lips brushed, enough time for Lennox to snap back to reality.
She turned her head abruptly, stumbling backwards. “I can’t,” she mumbled, her cheeks burning red. “I…I gotta go. I’m sorry Niall.”
Lennox didn’t care what it looked like as she stormed out of Niall’s room, hurrying past everyone that still lingered in the living room instead of heading down the party. Kaia caught onto Lennox’s arm before she could reach the door, stopping her in her tracks.
“I need to leave,” she told her best friend. Instead of arguing with her, Kaia nodded and called an Uber for the two of them to share back to Lennox’s apartment. Kaia didn’t force Lennox to tell her anything about what had happened, though she did ask if it had something to do with Niall. Lennox merely nodded, resting her head on Kaia’s shoulder for the rest of the drive.
As suspected, Lennox spent a majority of the night staring at the toilet water with tears streaming down her face. Kaia helped keep her hair out of her face, rubbing circles into her back while periodically asking if Lennox was alright. She dry-heaved for a short period of time before she finally felt well enough to at least finish taking off her makeup and brush her teeth. Kaia tossed the piles of clothes off of Lennox’s bed, pulling back the covers for her friend. She let Lennox know that she was going to sleep on the couch, leaving her with a full tumbler cup of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on her bedside table.
Lennox felt wretched when she woke up the next morning. Her head felt like it weighed ten tons, her stomach twisting into nauseating knots. She nearly vomited the moment she rolled over onto her stomach, pathetically reaching her arm out to grab the edge of the small trash can underneath her desk. She puked on top of the crumpled up sheets of paper and makeup wipes, hoping this was the last time that she would need to puke for the rest of the semester.
She felt absolutely drained, completely empty from head to toe. There was hungover and then there was whatever heinous feeling that Lennox was suffering from. She still felt like she was asleep, her eyes barely opened as she rolled onto her back. She felt around for her phone, tucked underneath the pillow next to her. She could barely make out any of the notifications on the screen, everything a complete blur to her. She ignored them for the time being, setting her phone back down before passing out again.
Lennox repeated the process of waking up to puke two more times before staying awake at noon. She felt less than stellar still, but she was certain that there was going to be no more puking for the day. The headache hardly subsided, but that was something she would deal with for the day if it meant no more heaving the contents of her stomach into the trash can that she would surely have to throw out.
She tackled the notifications on her phone next, turning the brightness all the way down so the blue light of the screen didn’t hurt her eyes in the dark. She scrolled through the Instagram notifications, pausing over a string of messages Niall had sent her the previous night.
Len im sry if i didsomethign
R u ok????
Cnwetalk?
Lennobx plwedse
There were a few new messages from that morning, ones that were more comprehensible than the ones clearly sent while he was drunk the night before.
Hey Lennox, look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay this morning, after everything.
Lennox replayed the night before in her head. She was so preoccupied with trying to make herself too drunk to dwell on the Hattie incident that she didn’t even think about the fact that she was flirting too heavily with Niall. For gods sake, she nearly made out with the boy (amongst other things) in his room.
Hey Niall. Look, I’m sorry too. And I feel like shit, but I’m alive so…
Thank god you’re okay. I was worried. You ran off and you, well WE, were really drunk and I just wanted to make sure you made it home.
I wasn’t even thinking, I’m sorry.
You don’t need to apologize. What happened to you last night though?
In your room?
Yeah
Lennox’s fingers froze, hovering over the keyboard at the bottom of her screen. She would have preferred to have this conversation in person, but there was no way in hell that she was going to be able to leave her bed until the next day. She couldn’t keep putting it off and letting it get between the two of them. She let out a deep breath, typing out everything she hadn’t been able to say out loud.
I would’ve rather told you in person, but whatever. There was one night that I told you that I was going to Kaia’s apartment to work on a paper, but in reality I just went back to my place where Kaia was and we ended up going out for frozen yogurt. While we were there, I saw Hattie kissing somebody else outside and got freaked and didn’t know how to tell you. So I just…ignored you. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to meddle, but I also didn’t want you to be blindsided by it.
Wait what?
I’m sorry Niall. I should’ve told you.
Told me what? I’m really confused, Lennox.
That I saw Hattie kissing somebody else?
Why would that matter?
What do you mean why would that matter? I saw Hattie cheating on you!
Lennox…holy shit, have you thought that Hattie and I were a couple?
………….
Lennox, please.
You’re always with her!
We’ve been best friends since we were kids. She doesn’t know a lot of people here besides me and her boyfriend Peter. Which is probably who you saw her with.
I’m going to go die in a hole now. So…I didn’t see Hattie cheating on you two weeks ago then?
No, you saw Hattie making out with her boyfriend of a year.
Is this really why you’ve been so weird lately?
Partially. I also got mad at you when you ignored her call when we were out for drinks that one night because I thought you were blowing off your girlfriend.
I would very much like it if we weren’t having this conversation via text message right now.
I feel like death. You can’t see me like this. Or smell me like this.
Lol. Noted. But just to clear the air…I am not dating Hattie, nor anyone. I’m very single.
Just to clear the air…I’m going to go into hiding for the next twenty years.
Will you be in class tomorrow?
I think it’s best if I’m conveniently absent this week.
Lennox come on.
She told herself not to reply anymore. She was only digging herself deeper into her hole of embarrassment. She couldn’t believe that she assumed for over a year that Niall was dating his best friend who had a boyfriend of her own. She was mortified, sure, but more so pissed off at herself for not asking him about Hattie in the first place.
She read over the last message he sent to her, pointer finger tapping the edge of her iPhone. She sighed, her thumbs gliding against the keyboard.
Hattie = friend?
Hattie = friend. That’s it.
Lennox grinned, locking her phone before setting it down next to her.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Lennox, as promised, didn’t show up to class at all that week. Without even asking, Niall sent her pictures of the notes, not even pushing her to talk further than a “thank you” with a smiley face emoji. She was happy that he was respecting her space, but she wasn’t sure what came next. It had been established that Niall was single (very single, in his exact words), yet Lennox struggled with how they were supposed to act around each other now.
She would be lying if she said that her ego wasn’t hurt slightly. She felt like an absolute idiot, not only for misinterpreting a friendship, but for skirting around the issue for nearly the entire semester. It was the week of Thanksgiving, leaving only three weeks after the holiday before final exams and projects. It was stupid to be upset that she felt like she had wasted an entire semester under a complete wrong assumption, only due to her own fear of asking the truth. What would have happened if she had asked only a few weeks into class, curiously inquiring like any friend or acquaintance would? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Kaia sent Lennox good luck texts before her class on Monday night, partially to ensure that Lennox actually showed up. She assured Lennox that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. In reality, nothing between Niall and Lennox had changed, yet it felt like everything was different when she was walking to class. Really, things had only changed from her side. The person she had once thought was in a committed relationship turned out to be single, and well, she was certain that Niall knew that she wasn’t seeing anybody either.
She had her roommates help pick her outfit out for the first time all semester. Lennox wasn’t one to care about what she wore to class. It didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, but she wanted to put forth a smidgen of effort for her debut after crawling out of her dark hole of embarrassment. In truth, she really only swapped out her oversized sweatshirt or t-shirt (depended on the weather) for a cute cardigan and flowy tank top combination, courtesy of her roommate Elaine. She had on a new pair of fleece lined leggings, the insides still soft and smooth against her legs. Cognac leather riding boots replaced her usual pair of worn out Adidas sneakers, completing the cute, but still casual look.
Lennox was running a few minutes earlier so she had planned to wait outside of the classroom until class started, slipping in at the last second to avoid awkward small talk with Niall. She froze as she walked through the doors closest to the classroom, her eyes landing on Niall leaning against the wall. She took a deep breath, exhaling loudly before continuing forward. Niall’s eyes looked up from his phone as the heels of Lennox’s boots clicked against the tiled floor. He immediately smiled, lifting his arm to wave.
“Hi Niall,” she said, drumming her fingers against her thigh nervously. “I…really don’t know what to say,” she admitted.
“Me either,” he replied. “I…I dunno, I thought if I caught you before class started, we could talk. But now that we’re here…” his voice trailed off.
“Talk after class then?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he agreed. “Shit, now I’m not gonna be able to focus all class.”
“Welcome to my world,” she joked. “You’ll finally understand how I’ve felt sitting behind you all year.”
“Hardy har har,” he said, letting Lennox walk into the classroom first. Niall was right though. It was impossible to focus on anything the professor was saying, more than usual. Her mind raced with what they could talk about it when class was over. There was a lot to discuss and catch up on. But at the same time, they also had a clean slate, one without any preconceived ideas about each other.
The singular thing that Lennox heard come out of her professor’s mouth was that Wednesday’s class was canceled, not that Lennox was going to go anyways. She had plans to leave after her eight a.m. class on Wednesday to make the two-and-a-half-hour drive back home for the holiday and long weekend. Still, it was nice to know that she wouldn’t be missing anything, especially given her absence for both classes the previous week.
Lennox and Niall waited for the classroom to empty out before packing up their bags, taking their time to leave. Even when they made it outside of the class, they lingered near the tables they usually stood around, practically fiddling their thumbs while silence ensued. Finally, Lennox did what she hadn’t done the entire semester.
“Do you want to hang out at my apartment?” she asked, bypassing any of the awkward small talk they would have no doubt exchanged.
“Right now?” he asked.
“Yes, right now,” she confirmed.
The corners of Niall’s lips curled up into a smile. “Sounds great,” he said. “Lead the way.”
Niall and Lennox walked side by side down the sidewalk, their breath visible in late November air. The silence, for once, didn’t feel uncomfortable between them. They needed to talk in person still, sure, but for the first time all semester, everything felt right. There was no guilt, no endless curiosity, not even the lingering feeling of humiliation (okay, maybe just a little).
“Oh, I didn’t know you lived in this building,” Niall commented Lennox walked up to one of the main doors to her apartment. “I have a few friends who live on the second floor here.”
“Really, who?” she asked, fumbling around the side pocket for her keys.
“Liam Payne and Harry Styles,” he replied.
“Oh, yeah I know them!” she said, leaving out the part about one of her friends hooking up with both of them in the same weekend last year. Niall had probably heard about that story. It was a wild weekend right after exams and nothing good ever happened when there were no classes to worry about for a month.
They rode the elevator up to her floor with a few other people, putting a pause on their conversation until they had a moment of privacy. Niall smiled at her from across the elevator, immediately scrunching his nose up to make a funny face when she noticed. Lennox rolled her eyes, unable to fight the smile that spread across her face.
“I’m going to suggest that you stay in my room while I go break the news to Kaia that we will not be watching tonight’s episode of The Voice together,” Lennox explained. “If she or my other roommates see you, they’re going to pounce.”
Niall laughed, nodding as she began to strategize outside of the door to her unit. “Okay, sounds good,” he said. “I can hide out for a bit.”
“It won’t take long, I promise,” she assured him. The door was already unlocked and her room was to the left of the door off of a short hallway, allowing them to sneak in unseen.
“Did you clean for me?” he joked, noting the rare pristine nature of Lennox’s room. She wouldn’t admit it to him out loud, but she did clean proactively just in case this had happened. Her smirk gave him the answer that she could never utter herself. “Alright, go sort out your TV show stuff and I’ll be here snooping through your drawers.”
“Perv,” she scoffed. “I’ll save you some time: bras and panties are in the top drawer,” she said, winking before turning on her heels. She could hear the TV loudly in the living room, followed by Kaia’s cheers for whoever was performing.
“Lennox! You’re missing a good ass episode!” Kaia yelled, looking over the back of the couch to spot her friend.
“Hey, so, I’m going to need a raincheck for tonight’s episode,” Lennox said, trying to keep her voice as low as possible.
“What the fuck, why?” Kaia asked, furrowing her brows.
“Because Niall is currently in my room,” she replied.
“Say no more!” she said, shooing Lennox away with a flick of her wrist. “Go do what you’ve been waiting the whole semester to do. Wait, no, basically your whole college care–”
“Thanks Kaia!” Lennox said loudly, cutting off her statement before she could finish it. Kaia whistled as Lennox walked back down the hall towards her bedroom, shaking her head at her friend’s antics.
Niall was sitting on the edge of Lennox’s bed when she walked back into her room, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up from his screen, immediately setting his phone down when he saw that it was Lennox. “All good?” he asked.
“Totally cool with it,” she assured him. “Soooo….” she hummed, rocking back and forth on the tips of her toes.
“Did you really think I’ve been dating Hattie this entire time?” Niall asked abruptly, his brows pinched together.
“Uh, yeah,” Lennox admitted. “Since last year, actually. I just always saw you two together and when I asked around last year a lot people said yes and a few said they didn’t know but probably so I just assumed.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me?”
Lennox shrugged. “Wasn’t really sure how to bring it up,” she said. “I mean, it didn’t really just come up in conversation and if I brought it up, I’d either seem like I was extremely nosy or was interested for my own selfish reasons.”
“I see, I see,” Niall said. He puffed his cheeks out before letting out a long sigh. “I’m torn between thinking this is really hilarious and also being really mad at myself for not making it more clear earlier in the semester.”
“Making what more clear?” she asked.
“I dunno, lots of things,” he replied. “I forget that people here don’t know that Hattie and I have known each other forever and that she has a boyfriend that goes to school about thirty minutes away, so he’s not really around campus. I also should’ve probably made it a bit clearer that I’ve been trying to flirt with you all semester.”
Lennox pressed her lips together, struggling to stop the smirk from pulling up the corners of her lips. “Ah, yes, that would’ve been convenient information,” she coughed out. “So now here we are…you…me. The air has been cleared…” she rambled, sliding her sock clad feet across the hardwood floor to move closer to her bed.
“It has indeed,” he agreed, watching Lennox inch forward at her own painstaking pace. Niall rested back on his elbows, using his legs to push off of the floor and move his body further back onto the mattress. One leg at a time, Lennox planted her knees onto either side of Niall, straddling his waist. Niall’s hands snaked underneath the soft knit of her cardigan, pushing it off of her shoulders until it pooled at her sides. She removed it all together, tossing it across the room so it was out of the way.
“So this is nice,” she murmured, her gaze locking with Niall’s. His hands rested on her waist, his thumbs slipping underneath the hem of her tank top. “You sure Hattie isn’t going to burst through the door right now and yell at me for making out with her boyfriend?” Lennox joked, dragging the tip of her finger across the stubble on his jaw.
Niall groaned, rolling his eyes. “Please don’t talk about other girls while you’re on top of me,” he begged. She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears to stop the loose strands from falling onto her face. Niall parted his lips in anticipation, his eyes starting to close before their noses brushed. At the last second, she redirected her proper kiss a little to the left, kissing only the corner of his mouth. “Lennox Sloane, I never pegged you as such a tease,” he sighed.
“Just a fun new thing I’m trying out,” she said. “I think I’m a fan. What about you?”
“Not a fan,” he grumbled, pushing his lips out into a dramatic pout.
“I’ll take that into consideration then,” she murmured, gently pressing her fingers against his cheek. She tilted her head to avoid bumping noses with Niall, parting her lips enough to trap Niall’s top life between hers. She felt his body relax beneath her as he kissed back, tilting his head to the opposite side before taking the reins. His hands settled onto her hips, holding her body steady while they continued to find their rhythm.
Lennox wasn’t sure at what point Niall had flipped her body underneath his, or how long they had ended up making out on her bed. Niall’s hands made calculated movements, slowly migrating from the safe area on her hips up to the skin beneath her ribs where her high waisted leggings ending. She shuddered at his touch, momentarily breaking their kiss before Niall drew her back in. She smiled into their kiss, another momentary pause that made Niall groan.
“You’re very impatient,” she hummed, running her thumb along his bottom lip as she pulled away.
“I’d like to think that I’m very patient,” she argued. “I’ve wanted to do this all semester, remember?”
“Ah yes, very true,” she replied. “I suppose we should continue to make up for lost time now, shouldn’t we?”
they had a beginning, a middle, and an end, just like everyone else. but unlike everyone else, it didn’t quite happen in order.
They hadn’t spoken in years.
And Harry almost feels her presence before he hears her voice calling out to him in the middle of the crowded pub. Something in his stomach jumps and when he turns around instinctively, he catches sight of her immediately.
He turns back around, still running from a past he cannot unwrite, but she calls out for him.
She always did have an affinity for making him feel like a deer caught in headlights.
“Fancy seeing you here,” she semi shouts over the music and the chatter once they are standing barely a foot from one another.
She is exactly like he remembers. The memories awash on his skin, like a phantom itch in the hardest to reach corners of his back. Fissures of some kind of electricity jolts run up and down his spine.
He knows the feeling intimately. It’s how he feels when he’s around her.
Almost as though her pulsating energy is infectious.
Harry chuckles, grinning painfully awkward through his teeth because it’s what you do when you bump into your ex. You also lie, when you bump into your ex; the hopelessly single people say they’re seeing someone, the unemployed and unsure say that their job is going great, and so he figures he can try that too.
“It’s nice to see you again, Roe.”
A look that resembles disbelief flits through her eyes and she leans in so not to shout, “Careful there, it almost doesn’t sound like a lie.”
Rowan Géroux did always have a knack for calling him out on that shit. And Harry Styles had spent the years since she left doing everything and anything to convince himself that everything that’s come to happen in the past belongs firmly there, in the past. So seeing her is definitely not atop his list. Not when he’s spent so much time moving around, convincing himself that his future lay in Paris or Tokyo or New York, somewhere far away from reminders of the girl with dark hair and dark eyes.
Unfortunately for him, Rowan is someone particularly hard to escape from. No matter where he moved to, her face is a constant thanks to the internet. Technology makes it hard to get over your ex. And harder still when she’s somewhat of a celebrity. He’s not bitter about it really; he’s always known that her future would hold greatness. She moves with grace on the tennis court and speaks to everyone with an ingrained familiarity that just gets under your skin.
He’s known first hand how her laughter can loosen up just about any knot in one’s stomach, and she too is laughing a little out of sheer awkwardness. Her chuckle hits his nerves like an jolt of lightning and he feels lit up like a neon sign on a bustling Asian street night market.
He’s not so good with the lying as she’s always been keen to point out, so they just don’t talk about the fact that they spent a better part of two years together. They dance around the fact that they were never really together together and they dance around the fact that they never really broke up.
They had a beginning, a middle, and an end, just like everyone else. But unlike everyone else, it didn’t quite happen in order.
…
Harry sighs as he looks around the changing room he’s been instructed to set up in. It’s spacious and the overhead glass windows ensure an outpouring of natural light, perfect for what he intends to do with this particular shoot.
The downside, as it is with most changing rooms, is that it smelled like a sweaty changing room.
He shouldn’t be surprised, the whole thing is a stink fest. Not the player he’s supposed to photograph (he’s actually seen the said tennis player in action, photographed the tournament she played in, and for a not a sports person, Harry was gobsmacked by the ferocity contained within her slender frame) but the fact that he’s there not just to photograph her but also interview her.
Stupid and stinky, he thinks to himself.
Not particularly articulate thoughts, but it’s also eight in the morning and he had to carry all his gear on top of his notes, so he didn’t have a spare hand for coffee.
That, and the fact that Harry is not a writer.
As a second year photography student, his professor managed to harangue him into signing up for the school magazine to broaden his scopes and get more practical training in. He didn’t know why exactly he took the advice of the class professor for History of Photography in Fiction but that’s just what ultimately culminated in him being told not to just photograph the month’s feature story, but also write it.
And he is not a writer. Not even a little. Not even at all. But when he confronted his editor about this added role, his editor had exactly two things to say; one, that the readers wouldn’t know proper journalism if it bought them a drink and stripped naked, and two, just ask some questions and take the damn pictures.
It’s integrity written all over the face of the unpaid student run organisation, but it is a free rag that most use to roll roaches with, so the man isn’t exactly wrong.
Harry takes the camera in both hands to take a few test shots for light when she saunters into the changing room, breathily apologising for being late without any real intent in her voice. Harry lets his eyes run up and down her like a bullet and he’s winded.
Despite the arrogance that leaps and bounds off of her, Rowan Géroux is absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.
“You must be the photographer,” she says, confident and all smiles. The fierce happiness that swoops and bounds through her every movement permeates the air.
The other sportsmen and women he had photographed had all been beautiful and lovely in their own way, but there’s a charm about her that Harry just can’t really get over. When she stretches out her hand for a shake, he’s tempted to ignore it and get on with the shoot before it becomes obvious that he’s absolutely besotted, but Niall as he recalled, told him to be nice in his series of texts offering tips and insight of how to conduct an interview, so Harry takes the offered hand with a gracious smile.
Her grip is firm and he can feel the years of racquet wielding on her hands.
Their eyes meet for a second and he’s stepping back suddenly, hands lifting the camera to capture a candid shot of the light streaming in and highlighting her features perfectly.
“Do you mind lying back on the bench?”
“We’ve only just met, Mr. Styles. Buy a girl dinner first,” she teases but moves towards the bench anyway.
She doesn’t even need telling what to do next, playing with the camera like she’s playing with month-old kitten. He’s sure he’s already half in love with her after ten minutes worth of shooting. But when they move out onto the tennis court, her hair windswept and her feet quick and fast, Harry knows he’s in deep.
As she breaks a sweat under the morning sun, she rests the racquet on her shoulder and walks toward him.
“You got it?” Rowan asks once she’s right in front of him, raising her free hand to shield her vision from overexposure to the sun.
The sun is almost fully up and the sky is a riot in the background as he scrolls through the pictures for her to see; all baby blue and azure with a tinge of yellow, orange and fluffy whites.
He’s never been so unsure if he’s ‘got it’ in his life.
When she points out the ones that she likes, it’s a full blown smile. None of that polite twisted lip, achingly muffled type of laughter. He notices that about her.
He decides that he likes it.
…
A week or so later, he calls her up under false pretenses of the article he’s writing.
“You’ve caught me at a really bad time,” Rowan apologises as he kicks himself quietly, “I’ve got five minutes if you start talking now though.”
He decides not to be the invasive prick who doesn’t know when to quit and just leaves it be. He jibbers something about fact checking his notes, asking a few brief questions before simply hanging up. No ‘let’s grab a coffee’ or ‘what are you doing this weekend’ because she’ll see right through it anyway.
So he just leaves it be.
As young adults often do when in this particular situation, he gets on Tinder and goes on a series of different dates. But none of them compare.
He half wishes that all he had to do was taken her pictures. Because now he’s stuck in the awkward barren landscape between being the guy who took her photographs for a magazine and the guy that she’s dating. He’s the creep who isn’t quite friends with her but knows too much about her from all that poking and prodding she successfully maneuvers in their interview session. And wherever he goes now, all he can see is reminders of the girl walking towards him with her tennis racquet on her shoulders.
She is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
It’s the briefest of moments, but he’s sure he sees her in the club when he’s out with Louis and Niall, blowing off steam for finally closing the month’s edition and sending it off to the printers. Sure that he’s spotted her with her arms looped through her friends’ and a smile on her face.
But between the crowd and the strobe lights, she flashed into view as quickly as she flashed out.
His friends think he’s lost his mind and they clink their glasses together. They’re probably right. He is losing his fucking mind over this girl. So he just flicks his phone out and swipes his aggression away on Tinder.
…
It’s three in the morning when the copious amounts of alcohol in his veins refrain him from sleeping while his phone aids and abets. Blindly, he picks it up off the bedside table and the bright light from said phone very nearly blinds him with a message from an unknown number.
how big do you think the hulk’s dick is?
Any other day and he's pretty sure that being woken up by a message from an unknown number asking about Hulk’s dick would be a meet cute that leads to semi-stimulating conversation. But on a day where he is told that his article is shit and his photos are sub par and he’s possibly failing a class because he’s spending so much time on extracurricular activities and then follows that news up with extracurricular drinking, he’s not quite in a good place for that kind of thing.
Especially when he needs to attend the class that he’s almost failing first thing in the morning to try to salvage that.
What?
Texting a quick obligatory response of confusion before turning his phone onto silent, he gently lowers his head back into bed because his temples are quite literally pounding like a couple of rabbit humping on crack. Pretty much instantly, he gets a reply.
Multiple replies as a matter of fact;
need to settle an argument.
kind of important.
do you think it’s proportionate to his body?
or no?
The phone finally stops buzzing but whoever was texting is absolutely frantic and the persistence seems quite endearing in his strange, sleep deprived state. So he picks up his phone yet again and squints at the unknown number.
Who is this?
Without missing a beat, as though she had been staring at the phone, anxiously awaiting a response, a series of replies start lighting up his phone.
let me get this straight.
you took my number.
called to ask if my mom is indeed a dentist.
and then you don’t save my number?
Harry squints at the screen, his mouth stretching into a grin despite the jackhammer sensation that the buzzing is doing to his head.
Sorry, kind of drunk right now
so what do you think?
To be honest, I don’t really think about Hulk’s dick all that much
*toxic masculinity alert!
What is that supposed to mean?
just because we’re having a conversation about a fictional character’s dick doesn’t make you gay, okay?
I’m just not sure that right now is the best time to be having any sort of discourse on genitalia
something wrong?
Like I said, drunk
And apparently failing some classes
And also
Okay
Give it to me straight
There’s a couple of seconds of silence that follows his texts as opposed to the nearly on-the-spot replying from before. In his alcohol dazzled mind, it seems pretty clear that he’s asking about the article. But clearly, not so much to a sober recipient.
His phone buzzes and the screen lights up again.
is there a particular subject in which you’d like to be given to in a direct manner?
The article
There’s another pause. As though she is considering the options even though she is the the elusive, mysterious, three-in-the-morning texter who started the conversation with Hulk’s dick to begin with.
i thought it was good.
But?
what makes you think there’s a but?
There’s always a ‘but’
He feels something shifting, something subtle. Despite the constant pounding on his head and the particularly fresh wound they are prying into, he had a smile on his face. Her company, he realises, even in a virtual conversation box, has him forgetting about the world around him.
i mean.
you weren’t exactly great at embellishing facts.
but the pictures were good.
you actually had me looking semi decent.
So you’re saying I’m bad at lying
basically.
Then, because it’s late, and drunk, and been wanting to talk to her properly beyond being the weird guy who asks her questions about her life and offering nothing in return, he keeps texting her back. It isn’t until he is trying to putting his left shoe on his right while still waiting for her next reply that he realises she’s she’s ruined him for just about everyone else. And she doesn’t even know it.
…
It takes exactly three weeks and four days for Harry to admit that that texting thing with Rowan is not a one time thing. She invites him to dinner with the rest of the tennis team four nights in a row and texts him late at night at least twice a week; drunk, raucous and happy.
There’s no room for anything else between them but they just are.
And he’s tried to contain himself, he really has. He tries to text her as minimally as possible but she’s always the one texting first, always in some kind of ranty, bantery mood and talking about how dolphins and sea otters aren’t as cute as they seem and are mostly savage sea rapists.
But when Jameson, his prick editor, calls for a meeting with a few of the previously featured students and editorial team for a bigger video feature and she unexpectedly breezes in late before plopping herself into the seat next to his asking what she’s missed, he knows that he’s in trouble.
He blames her hair. The wispy soft locks that smell of a mixture of tropical fruit and vanilla.
Or maybe it was the fact that she has a smile so bright that her eyes shine like constellations. Or the fact that she’s a treasure trove of random animal sex facts. Or the fact that her bones jut out just slightly from her lanky frame and she can’t ever sit still with an unseen magnetic buzz bouncing off of her skin.
A breeze comes from nowhere and he thinks it’s definitely her hair. Or at least whatever shampoo and conditioner combo that she uses because all he can seem to think about now in the dimly lit editorial meeting room is her in the shower.
And the worst thing, Harry ponders, is that she’ll probably never know what she’s doing to him.
“It’s Bath & Body Works,” she whispers suddenly as Jameson breaks out his moodboard for the video he wants them to shoot.
“What?”
Heart hammering against his chest too loudly, he tries to breathe as slowly and as calmly as possible because for some reason, the specimen next to him has got him feeling like there are butterflies fluttering around the pit of his stomach.
And he doesn’t know what to make of that. Or about anything really, while she’s there next to him eyes gleaming like some kind of electric shock.
“My friend got me some candles from the States, that’s what you’re smelling.”
His confusion must be evident because for a brief moment after her declaration of imported scented candles, he wonders if she could read minds. He breathes in a gasp at the thought, panicked to find his chest tight like there’s no air left in his collapsible lungs.
“Don’t worry, I’m not a mind reader, you’ve just got a very easy to read face,” Rowan chuckles.
He has never been so aware of anything his entire life. And it is simultaneously terrifying as it is exhilarating.
…
The dingy little diner is completely deserted, and that makes it look seedier. Harry must’ve walked by the place a dozen of times and he's never really noticed the little diner there before. Which is why when she tugs him along the street promising that he's going to have one of the top 5 meals of his life, he didn't expect to find himself in what resembles the set of a horror film.
Grimy tiles, buzzing fluorescent light and a painted on sign on the door that says 'Bakso Beast' doesn't quite scream one of the best meals of your life. But then again, Harry thinks that maybe it's the kind of good that nearly kills you.
The menu looks like it's a foreign language and when the waiter comes along, Rowan, who apparently speaks the language, mutters a string of gibberish at waiter.
Apparently they're acquainted and she knows him by name, calling him Mas.
It’s an unpleasant and not entirely unfamiliar sensation that hits him at the thought of them being acquainted.
Mas walks away and she fixes her gaze back at him.
"You're staring."
“I’m not staring at anything,” he says, feigning innocence. But Rowan doesn’t buy it for a second, and rightly so. Harry is almost always exclusively staring.
And the half smirk on her face says that she knows that he's always staring.
"And you’re wondering what that gibberish was,” she explains, not missing at beat.
He laughs. Because he's an open book. Always has been. And especially with her. He hopes to whatever deities that lord over the place that she doesn't sense his envy because really, he doesn't have a right to be envious of the people she may or may not know.
"What was that anyway?" He diverts the subject, not allowing a moment more of reliving the awful feeling he felt when he saw her whisper into Zayn's ear earlier.
Harry Styles has been jealous a grand total of three times in his life. The first was when Gemma started college and left home. The second was when Jameson called Liam 'the better photographer' and sent him to shoot out a ‘where is our alumni now’ feature story which included a really cool indie band he had been following.
The third is everything and anyone that came into contact with Rowan.
Unlike the first two fleeting pangs of jealousy, this one is a constant. Making him increasingly intolerant and constantly on the verge of breaking skin on the inside of his cheek.
"The gibberish?" Rowan asks, chuckling, as Mas returns with two huge plastic cups filled with an icy light amber liquid, anchoring him back to the present.
"It's Indonesian," she explains, "And this is what they call a Monster Tea. By the way, text Zayn and Louis our location, my battery's almost dead."
"I thought your mom's Malaysian?" Harry asks, confused, whipping out his phone reluctantly while sipping tentatively on the Monster Tea.
The flavour assaults his sense and his fingers stop their mission of notifying his flatmates of his whereabouts. It's not unpleasant but the jealousy that plants itself squarely in his stomach for having to share her company is.
"I just spent a lot of time in the South East Asian countries growing up."
"Because your dad worked in Asia," he continues for her before whipping up his head, horrified at how much of a creep he sounds like. He’s pretty sure they’re not quite at know each other too well and inside jokes and abrasive nicknames yet. But Rowan just nods at his statement, sipping up the tea by the gulpful.
He smiles at that, but is certain he's not looking any calmer.
…
Harry is sitting in his living room when it happens. He’s texting her and she’s taking a while to respond because she’s just getting off practice and Louis and Zayn are making a racket out of killing zombies when he just snaps.
Well, it’s more than just snapping. It may have something to do with the fact that Zayn has taken it up as a personal mission to get him jealous as often as possible and is asking for Rowan to come over through him.
It is then, that suddenly, his resolve and sense of self-preservation, all breaks it half. He’s spilling all over the place like an iridescent, viscous broken glow stick.
He just cannot keep it in anymore.
Harry grabs his jacket, ignoring his roommates’ calls after him and dashes out of there, rushing to where it all started. The damned changing room drowning in the weak English afternoon light that pervades. He slams into the changing room with all the subtlety of a bus and Rowan is just there on that bench, looking up at him with one shoe on, sweat dotted across her forehead.
He wants to say something, but there is something caught in his throat. Instead Harry starts towards her and she stands up instinctively even though she’s only got one shoe on and he crashes into her.
Their teeth clack against one another, lips pressed together with a bruising force that makes him see stars, and when he slips his tongue into her mouth. It tastes a bit like shockwaves and a thrumming pulse. But that could just be his head misfiring electricity signals all over the place.
He pulls back, brushing against her lips gently and letting out a whisper of a breath, shaky and deep.
Her eyes open after the force behind the kiss and she stares at him long and hard for a moment. Their faces are inches apart and she is breathing so softly it’s almost like listening to a melody.
“Look, Roe,” he starts saying, her name like honey on his lips and he feels a rush of boldness saying so much out loud. Except he doesn’t know what exactly it is he is trying to say. So he just allows it to push him further in until he’s completely submerged and flailing for air.
“I just– I just wanted you to know. Okay?”
She stares for a minute, dumbstruck, then takes a step closer and grabs his put on backwards jacket and kisses him so forcefully his heart forgets itself.
Almost as if to say, ‘Took you long enough.’
…
She’s got that look, the one he can’t resist, and he finds himself saying yes no matter what she suggests.
It’s the most tedious post tennis tournament party in the history of post tennis tournament parties. Everyone is tittering and nodding along enjoying champagne and canapes and he feels about ready combust if Jameson tells him to take one more generic shot of some nobody society who and who. And that’s when she sneaks up behind him and declares she’s got a better plan.
Rowan looks quite like the cat that got the cream and Harry is’t normally one to be worried. Except in this case, he has a feeling he might be the cream.
He passes his camera off to Niall who hushedly yells after him exclaiming he doesn’t know how to work the damn thing and they’re a mass of giggles and tangled limbs as they duck into a narrow service hallway. Hearing the chinking of trays and the rolling of trolleys and the eventuality of being told they’re not meant to be back here, the raven haired couple sneak into a broom closet that so happens have one small window overlooking the garden below.
She wiggles her eyebrows at him suggestively.
“You jump, I jump, Jack.”
And suddenly they are flailing fabrics on moonlight kissed grass. He instinctively wraps his arms around the gangly girl and laugh, deep and unrestrained. She leans in and kisses him, once, twice, forever. He can’t bring himself to care.
“I can’t believe you let me fall,” she laughs into the kiss as they stay there on the grass.
He might have miscalculated the jump that she suggested, but she is far from the one who’s fallen because he’s the one who has. He’s fallen for her since day one and he’s falling for her still. A hundred different falls in a hundred different ways.
And he can’t catch his breath even though his feet is already on the ground.
He lies back on the grass, ignoring the dampness seeping into his one good sports jacket which he’s busted out for this occasion. She follows suit and the both of them spread out on the grass like the most romantic pair of dead bodies. Except, he’s sure they’re alive because his pulse cannot seem to control itself around her. Like the way his limbs go on autopilot whenever she’s around and suddenly he has a camera in his hands and he’s taking photograph after photograph of her.
But for the night, there is no Rowan and no Harry. Just the freshly cut grass and the sky screaming out at him to drink deeply of the night. The myriad of blues and purples and blacks screams so loudly at him that he forgets that there such a thing as stars.
Harry’s not sure how long they lie there for, but they talk and they laugh and they dance at some point until suddenly what appears to be sunlight seem to begin dotting the horizon. He’s almost afraid to move. Afraid that Rowan hadn’t been feeling the same as him.
His heart feels so swollen he’s sure he can feel it pounding against his throat.
He just wants their talks to be endless. Hours and hours of talking. The kind of talking where your words eventually trail off and the empty spaces grow longer because you’re falling asleep but then you get to wake up and smile and keep the conversation going. Like the gaps don’t matter.
It’s strange but he realises that he hasn’t felt like a whole person until she came along.
…
Harry thinks of the stillness of their life in the crevices. That’s where he exists with her; the crevices. They’ve graduated and moved in together. Their life normal and routine, like he could hold her hands forever and never get bored of how they entwine together.
There are things he dislikes of course; like the way that Rowan trains and works in the day and he works the night shift at the newspaper where he hopes to eventually get something printed. The only time they have together is in the cracks in their schedule; early morning coffees before the cafes are open or late late fitful nights in his tiny apartment with the moonlight spilling in, the sounds of the city too loud below them.
“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” Harry muses out loud, watching the people pass by.
It’s half past four in the morning and the Sainsbury’s that they’re in is the only thing open within the five block radius, so there isn’t anyone on the street to watch really, but he doesn’t dare look at her.
Because sometimes, when he looks at her, he thinks he’ll lose his mind. Because it all doesn’t feel real.
His fingers are wrapped around a cheap styro-cup of piping hot coffee, and she’s looking at him.
“What doesn’t?”
“This,” he shrugs, turning to meet her gaze with his.
She smiles a knowing smile. Her stupid, messy, cocky grin, “What, you expect real Arabica beans in cheap three-in-one packets?”
He chortles. He should have seen that coming really.
“This,” he explains more assertively, “This life we’re living.”
She doesn’t answer. But she tilts her head into the crook of his shoulder, fitting together perfectly like two puzzle pieces.
He knows he can’t keep her for long. He just keeps hoping that he can by wanting it badly enough. Because he’s pretty sure that if Rowan ever leaves, she’s going to rip out pieces of him with her. She’s rooted to his every organ and bone, blooming over arteries and covering every inch of his flesh.
He thinks maybe he’s holding her back. But she keeps her head nestled in the crook of him, ignoring his question with silence, and he can’t find himself to care what her answer would’ve been.
…
He closes his eyes and pretends that she’s still living there.
He pretends that he’s waking up with her tracing imaginary veins on his skin with her fingers, tickling him awake. He pretends that it’s an idle Sunday morning and the hazy golden light dances in her hair, making her look almost possibly blonde. He pretends that the soft cotton of his shirt, her designated pyjamas, is pressed against his skin and he can feel her chest rise and fall in time with his own breathing.
His apartment is small. Far too small. And there’s not nearly enough places to hide in. Not enough places to go when you wake up and decide that you just hate that window that opens barely out to the streets of below. Not enough corners that you can dress up or dress down, redecorate in accordance to your mood.
Not enough rooms to contain the lies you’ve unsuccessfully told.
In the beginning it’s all so normal, it’s deceiving. Like the world was trying to trick him into thinking he’s safe before ripping out from under him. But then, the inevitable happens; she gets busier and he stays the same.
She becomes The First Sportswoman To Truly Understand Internet Culture and he’s still Harry the struggling photographer working the night shift.
She becomes one of the Top 20 Newcomers in Sports To Watch and he’s the guy who’s sent to photograph number 19 on that list.
There just isn’t enough time and eventually his worst fear comes true.
He opens his eyes and the world is blurry and smudged, like he’s trapped in the world’s worst snow globe.
He remembers too much and not enough. They come to him like pinpricks of light spilling through the blindfold, especially in the mornings. A carousel swarms past his eyes. He’s unconsciously memorised it all, like when you fall asleep on a textbook and you wake with the words stamped across your face.
Harry rolls over to his side, and sees an actual carousel of pictures he has up on his wall. Page after page of printed glossy shots of her. Of him. Of them.
He decides that he hates his bedroom. Crawling out of the warmth and security of the blankets, he marches up to the photo wall and them down. Each picture. Each memory. Each little puzzle piece that is life as he knows it.
…
It comes out like a trail of thought that he can't stop, just sitting on the tip of his tongue for days and days before finally making the great escape.
He's making breakfast, pancakes with drowned in maple syrup and whipped cream. Just the way she used to like them. Caroline saunters out of the bedroom dressed in a light blue shirt that she used to favour so much and the image of the brunette in that very same shirt flashed through his head.
Maybe it’s the vision of the brunette drowned in morning light that haunts him. Or the fact that he’s seen her not five days ago. Or maybe it’s the fact that the news on the telly is reporting on sports and he briefly catches an actual glimpse of the brunette. Whichever it is, the words come tumbling out before he can stop them.
It takes him a full second to understand what he'd just said.
Caroline looks at him, hazel eyes questioning, "Roe? You've never called me Roe before."
He fumbles for an excuse and ends up shaking his head to clear the fog of a memory embedded so deeply in his mind.
"Who is she then? An ex-girlfriend that I need to worry about?" Caroline perches herself onto the bar stool, her voice light and playful as she reaches for the television remote to mute the screen behind her.
He grins, warmth spreading through his extremities as the fight or flight instinct subsides.
"No one," he chuckles easily, naturally.
He throws a glance at the television with its pictures still moving. The photo he took of her once a lifetime ago in that university changing room flashes across the screen.
He throws on a genuine grin and lands his gaze back on Caroline, shrugging, "No one at all."
“I fell asleep on your couch after a party but you didn’t complain and made breakfast for the both of us”
Vanessa woke up with a hazy memory and a terrible headache. In fact, her headache was so bad she could barely keep her eyes open for too long before she felt like she was being blinded, or keep them closed for too long before she felt like the room was spinning. She closed her eyes once more and counted to ten before she decided she was ready to grab the day by its balls or whatever a day could be grabbed by and face it. But first she had to make co-
Wait.
Where did that glass table come from? Why was it filled with red plastic cups? And why was the TV still on? Is that what had woken her up?
Vanessa shook her head. She must have still been dreaming. She closed her eyes, counted to ten again and opened them. Nope. She was not dreaming. She really was in a stranger’s house. She shrieked and covered her mouth immediately. What had she done? She looked around for clues as to where she was. She had never been inside this house for sure. She must have come back with some stranger, but what was even stranger: her clothes were all on. They didn’t look or feel like someone had tried to rip them off. The only weird thing was her bra, but it was only misplaced because she had slept on it.
She turned around, careful not to do it quickly to avoid nausea or vertigo. She watched out for any indicators of whose house this was. And then she knew. When her eyes landed on the set of guitars in the far, unlocked room beyond the living room, she realized she had slept at Niall Horan’s house.
But how had she gotten here? And more importantly, why did she wake up here?
First things first though: her phone. Texts, Snapchats, Instagram pictures, anything, once again, looking for indicators as to why she was in Niall’s, of all people’s, place and why she had woken up there.
The first notification she had was from Sam, her sister, and it was a text.
02:05 am: Got home safe.
02:06 am: Will pay for the cab once I get paid.
02:07 am: Make sure to drink lots of water, young lady. That was quite the booze you got in your blood.
Vanessa tried calling Sam but she wasn’t answering. She tried three more times before deciding that she was most likely still asleep.
So she went on Snapchat, and sure enough her sister’s and Niall’s story was full of clips from last night. One where Sam and Vanessa did shots with their arms linked, like mates, as they chugged them in one go. There was another one of Vanessa and Sam singing at the top of their lungs. Another one where Vanessa received a shot of tequila right in her mouth from Niall, no less. And finally, the last clip of her featured her and Niall dancing so close together and mouthing the song that was playing word for word. Their mouths were so close together and Vanessa felt like barfing upon seeing it. She looked back and saw no one. Maybe Niall was sleeping up in his room and maybe it was fair for her to make both of them breakfast. After all, she woke up fully clothed and warm, wrapped in a blanket.
She decided to text Sam before doing anything else.
11:45 am: Why’d you leave me here?
She shook her head, locked her phone and went through Niall’s fridge like nobody’s business. She looked for something, anything that didn’t require animal produce to make a healthy breakfast for the both of them. She couldn’t find anything, so she went through his cabinets. All she could find was cereal, whole wheat bread (what?) and some hummus. Huh, she thought, I never took Niall for the hummus type. Whaddya know?
She toasted six sliced of bread and spread hummus on all of them. Then she found coconut milk way deep in the cabinets, and much to her surprise it had not yet expired. So with that and some bananas, she made a smoothie. Apparently, the noise the mixer made was loud enough to reach Niall’s room. That, or it might have been the fact that it was now 11:55 am in the morning.
“Good morning,” Vanessa said through a grumble. It wasn’t always a pleasure seeing Niall Horan, not in the wee hours of the morning (okay, she had just woken up with a splitting headache), and hungover. “Breakfast?”
Niall kinked a brow. He looked like he was either genuinely confused by Vanessa’s offer or by Vanessa’s presence in his home. “What are you still doing here?”
“Uh, making breakfast for the both of us?” Vanessa turned around to pour the banana smoothies on glasses and slid the hummus toast across the counter.
“I can see that,” Niall said through a chortle. “What I don’t understand is why.”
“Well,” she said as she licked her top lip to remove the banana smoothie, “it’s not every day one gets a sleepover invitation to a pop star’s house. Besides, I woke up fully clothed, I always look forward to that.”
Niall chortled again. “It wasn’t a sleepover, though, your sister was gone and I didn’t feel like sending you away in a cab.”
“Touching,” she said mockingly.
He rolled his eyes. “It was only a matter of time before you said something sassy.”
“Oh, shut up. It’s too early to start bantering.” She shook her head and sipped on more of her banana smoothie, after which she munched on the hummus toast. So did Niall. “So why am I in your house, again?”
Niall spat out a bit of his toast and choked on the other bits. “Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Vanessa stared at him, if looks could kill.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and drank some of his smoothie. “Where should I start?”
“I don’t know, but I would like details. Besides, it doesn’t look like we could do much of anything,” she said, lifting her phone for Niall to see the weather notification. “Looks like we’re snowed in.”
“Yay,” he said sarcasm dripping of that simple word. “Well, remember that a while ago your sister directed a music video of mine and it went well and we haven’t stopped working together ever since?”
“Much to my displeasure, yes. Go on.”
Niall shook his head. He didn’t think Vanessa was actually a dick or anything. He just thought she could be a bit nicer. After all, she had just slept over at his house. “Anyway, one of those days she said she wanted to have a more British experience, and me, being Irish but having lived in London for quite some time now, I decided to throw a Boxing Day party. Secret Santa and whatnot, also quite American.” He chuckled. “But anyway, she thought it was a great idea and we started putting it together. I remember inviting you, actually.”
“I remember that, too. I just don’t remember why I agreed to come. I don’t even remember arriving at your party in the first place. Plus, why would you invite me? We hate each other!”
“I don’t hate you,” he said, shaking his head profusely. “And you don’t hate me either. You just enjoy pissing on my cheerios and I enjoy pissing on yours as well.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes and gagged at the expression. She had always hated that expression. Why would people ruin a perfectly good breakfast by peeing on it? Whether it was metaphorical, used as an expression, or an actual thing that British people did, she wished she could just wipe it off everyone’s vocabulary. It was disgusting.
“As I was saying,” Niall continued after swallowing his smoothie, “your sister was incredible. She helped me plan this entire thing without missing a bit. She tried so hard to get all my closest friends and family members to come. And then she had to convince you.”
“Wait. Why did I need any convincing at all? If there’s a party, I’m there,” Vanessa said, confused as hell.
“Yeah, well, apparently not if it’s my party,” he said, shaking his head. It was like all of a sudden he was remembering how much they actually hated each other. “As it turns out, usually with people like you-“
“People like me?”
“- you either completely forgot about it or you chose to ruin it for yourself.” Here, Niall took a deep breath as if preparing for the worst possible news. “Your sister asked me to go pick you up because she was busy setting up the decorations, and she knew I wouldn’t be super happy about it but she also knew I’m a good person.”
“Debatable.” Vanessa huffed.
“And sure enough, there you were, sobbing like a baby.” Niall started to chortle but it came out choked. It was the kind of chuckle you had to work to keep it a chuckle so as not to burst out laughing. “Poor Vanessa, drunk- crying over some lad who stood you up yet again, and you were stupid enough to agree to see again.”
“Excuse me, leprechaun boy, only my friends, my mom and my sister get to call me stupid,” Vanessa shot at him.
“No, no, these were your words, not mine, sweet tamal.”
And they were back to calling each other their nicknames. They could have come up with better, more original nicknames than stereotypical or traditional food names for their countries but let’s just say neither of them was great at bickering.
“Anyway, little Mexican, I was trying really hard to get you out of the house, and then Sam called and you were sold. I don’t know what she told you, though, so you’re gonna have to check on her for that. So, basically, in summary, you ended up at my house because some arsehole dumped you the day after Christmas and you got drunk to... for get him?” Niall noticed Vanessa’s creased forehead and quivering lip, her nose was flaring, too; and he wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or if she was going to punch him but he thought it would be a good idea to rub circles around her back. “Aw, don’t be sad, Vanessa… or whatever you’re feeling that isn’t happy. If it makes you feel any better you were the life of the party.” She looked up at him, brows lifted as if to ask ‘really?’ Niall grinned in spite of himself. “You suggested a whole bunch of drinking games, you swore to give me my present the next day, and you tore up your gift’s wrapping paper like an angry little toddler… let’s just say it all went down smoothly.”
“Wait. Who gave me the present? And what was it? Where is it?”
“It was an eye-shadow thing and Liam got it for you. I don’t know where you left it; I was only in control of putting you safely to sleep. By the way, you still haven’t given me my present.”
“Hey, I made you a perfectly vegan breakfast, I even included a smoothie. Your present’s been taken care of.”
Niall puffed and shook his head. This girl was impossible.
“Now what?” Vanessa asked. “I don’t have any clothes here, none of your clothes fit me, and we can’t get out of here, we’re snowed in.”
“Just our luck, right?” Niall said but she didn’t look too please, there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on her face. “Well, if you’re gonna act like that I think it’s best for us not to even be in the same room.”
“No, no, sorry,” Vanessa quickly added. “I just… I was really looking forward to get all my creative juices going for my plus size clothing line, but I’m stuck here with you and you don’t even like me and I’m wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday and it’s all a pain in the ass, really.”
“You need to work on finding solutions, wow.” Niall crossed his arms. “I think I have some things here that might fit you. If not, you can get them in the wash and wear a bathrobe or just not get out of the wash room before they’re done?”
“Huh, who would’ve thought. Niall Horan, hospitable and charitable. Never expected that from a super star.”
Niall rolled his eyes. He was tired of Vanessa giving him a hard time for that one moment when he was mean to her. But, in her defense, it was his first impression and he kind of blew it up. He could still remember getting angry and lashing out on her because she was grabbing all the chips, his favorite ones no less, from the bowl. She was supposed to be Sam’s invite, Sam’s guest, not the stealer of all good chips. Plus his girlfriend of two weeks had told him that she couldn’t do the whole date a super star gig. But Vanessa also had to admit she wasn’t that nice to him, either.
He gave her an Irish national soccer team jersey that she squeezed in, as well as some pants that were sure to leave marks for how tight they were. But she had no choice, she needed to get those clothes washed, she could worry about new underwear later.
Niall set up the Apple TV and tried to figure out what type of movies Vanessa was into, but after clicking on different titles, he decided to let her speak of herself. When she came back from the wash room looking like a one of the black men dressed as a girl in White Chicks, she looked positively furious.
“You don’t sleep with enough fat girls,” she said as she walked up to the sofa.
“Says who?”
“Please, you don’t think the girls you’ve slept with leave some of their things here so they can either come back later or just as a reminder of the wonderful fuck they were?”
Niall shook his head as he chortled. “Well, you don’t sleep with enough celebrities. I track their houses or leave them with a security guard in the corner. I can’t see them again.”
“What?! That’s crazy. I thought celebrities were okay with a promiscuous reputation.”
“Not this Irish lad.” At Vanessa’s eye roll, he patted the spot on the couch next to him. “Come on, let’s watch something. Any show you’re behind on or a film you’d like to watch right now?”
She grabbed the remote and surfed the Netflix feed. She decided to go to her favorite one, the one she always watched when she was in a bad mood and she needed a pick me up:
“How To Ruin A Wedding?” Niall asked, incredulous. “No offense but you look like the sort of girl who’s into action films.”
“Uh, the only action film I like is Die Hard and Fast and Furious, but just the first one. But if you don’t wanna watch this one, we can-“
“Eh, leave it. Kristen Dunst’s in it.”
Vanessa could not, for the life of her, believe that watching a movie would be a good idea. All Niall did was ask questions and laugh out loud and insert comments here and there. It was a total fail.
“It was so good,” he said, still cackling. Literally the only thing Vanessa liked about him was his laugh, so despite herself, she chortled.
“I can’t believe you talk throughout movies. You know how annoying that is?”
“I know how annoying it is to you.” At her eye roll, Niall angled his body to look at her more properly.
And then at the same time they both said, “Why do you hate me so much?” Without missing a beat, they both frowned. “I don’t hate you,” they said simultaneously. “Okay, you first.”
Niall chuckled once more and gestured with his hand. “Lady’s first.”
Vanessa took a deep breath and straightened up a bit. “I don’t hate, hate you, you know? It’s like kinda when people say they’re in like with someone else instead of love? I’m not in hate with you… it’s more like… dislike, I guess?”
“Oh, well, I’m flattered,” Niall said, touching his chest.
“I just think you’re a tad entitled and sometimes don’t use that privilege for good. Like the time I told you, when I first met you, I was working with homeless women to give them more hygiene products than food and you made a very stupid, very sexist joke about girls’ periods. Plus you don’t take anything seriously.”
“I was just having a laugh.” He shrugged.
“I know. But period jokes suck, especially when all you mean is that girls are gross. That thing could have been a baby, you dumbass.” She tossed him the pillow that lay next to her and he tried to stop her but all he did was guffaw. “What about you?”
“What about me, indeed?” He looked at her the way he did James Corden when he hit that high note in Best Song Ever.
“Why do you hate me?”
Niall rolled his eyes so hard he even turned his head around. “I don’t hate you. You just gave me the wrong first impression.” He shrugged.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, you were noisy and annoying and I was trying to get in the mood of the video.”
She stared. “You were singing a song about getting drunk because a girl dumped you.”
“Fine but it was still something I wanted to be proud of. And I was but it wasn’t because of you. Your sister is just great at what she does.”
Like clockwork, Vanessa’s phone buzzed in the counter. While she answered Niall heard the bell from the laundry and tossed Vanessa’s clothes in the dryer without thinking about it. When she came back from talking to Sam about how she hadn’t called her, how there were videos all over Snapchat, and how she just hoped her Twitter wasn’t blowing up with people talking about her and Niall as the new power couple.
“What? Where?” Niall asked as soon as Vanessa told him. She shook her head but decided to grab Niall’s laptop and typed Niall and mystery girl on Google.
Suddenly three articles popped up all of which included the same videos and the same adjectives to describe Vanessa: latina, curvy and spicy. She most certainly didn’t love the adjectives but she was way past giving them the attention and time and energy they didn’t deserve. Niall looked at her, his brows furrowed and his mouth open. He looked like he was going to say something but thought better of it. He scrolled through the videos, a sequence of clips from Snapchat of Vanessa and he dancing to Despacito, of them singing at the top of their lungs every single song the DJ played, of them almost kissing after taking a shot.
“What the hell, Niall?” Vanessa dropped the laptop next to her and stood up, fuming. “God, this is so like you, first you pretend to be all nice and warm and then you show your true colors. Just when I was beginning to think you were one of the good guys.”
“I am one of the good guys!” Niall bellowed. He was sick and tired of her judging him and accusing him of things he wasn’t. “You just won’t give me a chance. Why are you so angry, anyway?”
Vanessa looked at him like he was crazy. “You cannot possibly be serious. I was pissed drunk and you were grinding on me and getting me even more drunk and then tried to kiss me?”
“Okay,” Niall said before she could go on, but started laughing nervously. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I was pissed drunk too, all I remember from that night is picking you up and you telling me we needed more Latino flavor on the dance floor.”
This startled Vanessa; she took a step back like she couldn’t believe she was wrong. Niall Horan, famous, annoying, entitled, white Irish boy, had proven her wrong. And worst of all, she was wrong about him.
“I know right?” Niall said, lifting his brows with a hint of a smirk threatening to curve his lips. “Hurts to be wrong, doesn’t it?”
“I… I’m sorry?”
“That’s not actually an apology.”
“Ugh. I think I like you better when we’re wasted.”
“Me too. But I was thinking we could at least try getting along sober?”
Both of their lips began to curve, and it was nothing like any of them had ever experienced before. They used to only see those smiles when the other one got hurt, or when the other one made a really good joke about the other. They used to hide their smiles from each other when the other one said something funny or sassy. Without thinking too much about it, Vanessa nodded, reaching her hand for Niall to shake.
Harry always thought that nothing good came from drinking too much gin. Part of him still believes this to be true, but another part of him wonders if he had it all wrong.
We haven’t spoke since you went away
Comfortable silence is so overrated
Why won’t you ever say what you want to say?
Even my phone misses your call, by the way.
It never rained in Los Angeles. California was the sunshine state and LA was supposed to be perpetually sunny. What would be spring weather anywhere else in the world that had all four seasons felt like winter compared to the blistering hot summer days. They stretched themselves out like everyone’s legs, tanned and toned on their beach towels or lounging chairs.
The first time Harry saw rain in Los Angeles, he was caught in the middle of it. He had just gotten back to his house after a long bout of touring and a quick trip back home in England. After he was sufficiently stuffed by his mum’s home-cooking and nights out with old friends, he felt like he was in dire need of a detox. Sometimes it felt like he escaped to LA for a break from reality. Everything was different in Southern California, most notably the weather.
The skies were blue when Harry left his house in his vintage Mercedes convertible. The sun was warm on his face, the breeze in his face waking him up after fighting jet lag the entire night. He made a mental note to shop for groceries at some point. Every inch of the cupboards and refrigerator were empty, sans a few water bottles and a half-empty bottle of champagne from the last time he stayed in the house.
He needed coffee and exercise, in that order. He couldn’t force himself out of bed early enough to meet with a trainer (tomorrow, he said), but he thought he could sneak himself into a cycling class and hope for the best. He wished he had coffee grounds somewhere at the house, but there was barely anything in the bottom of the old bag to scrape together enough for a single cup. It would have given him an excuse to stay inside longer, anyways.
Harry Styles wasn’t comfortable being stagnant. The press liked to play a game, Where In The World Is Harry Styles? Is he in LA? England? Vacationing in the tropics with his new mystery girl (they were always mysterious and they were always his)? The truth was, Harry liked routine and doing absolutely nothing was never part of it. He couldn’t just sit at home alone and stare the wall. It sounded ideal after the manic nine months he spent on the road, playing shows, doing press, recording an album, trying to enjoy time with his mates. He could feel his fingers twitch at his sides if he sat by idly, watching his free time tick by.
So, he didn’t fight his alarm when it went off at six in the morning. He considered throwing his mobile off of his bedside table at the wall once or twice before silencing it, crawling out of bed to get on with his day. It was supposed to be beautiful out. How could it not? It was Los Angeles. Perpetually sunny and hot.
Coffee, cycling, shower, lunch. Harry didn’t feel any more or less energized after the caffeine and forty-five minutes of riding on a stationary bike. The skies were still blue as he drove back to his house, praying traffic wouldn’t keep him from his lunch plans with friends. He hadn’t seen them since the last time he was in Los Angeles, somewhere around the time that champagne bottle was left unfinished in his fridge.
Harry spent longer than necessary in the shower, letting the hot water run until it went cold. He wished he had asked a friend or two to stay at his house with him while he was in town. He wasn’t lonely, not really. He just wasn’t used to the quiet. He spent nearly a year surrounded by screaming fans, loud speakers, and his rowdy mates who were always up to having a great time. The silence of his empty house seemed almost eerie. He tried to fill it with music, movies, anything to cut through the quiet. Nothing seemed to work
Jeff had mentioned that he was bringing along a few new friends from the firm. Harry was a “the more, the merrier” type of person and if Jeff trusted them, he would too. He always had Harry’s best interests at heart. Harry’s mum always referred to the Azoffs as his American family. He always tried to find the hint of sadness written into her tone or features, but he could never see anything but pride from his mum.
Scouting out parking near the restaurant wasn’t an easy task. Harry was on track to being early until he went head to head with the severe lack of street parking. He circled the block and a few surrounding in desperate attempt to find a free meter.
One could say luck had always been on Harry’s side, one way or another. He was lucky that he auditioned for the X-Factor, lucky that he was kept on as part of One Direction, lucky they gained an international following, lucky that they got to tour the world and release five studio albums. Luck struck again when a car abandoned its spot just down the street from the restaurant, a space just big enough for Harry’s car.
Jeff and his friends (co-workers?) were already seated when Harry walked up to the table. He had an apology ready, his brows wriggled to truly express it. Before Harry could even open his mouth, Jeff was already waving him over to his side of the table, pointing towards the empty chair.
“Trouble parking?” Jeff asked.
“I always forget,” Harry replied. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Jeff was also late,” the guy sitting diagonal from Harry at the table commented.
“I had to finish a phone call,” Jeff explained. “I’m sure Harry just had to brush his hair.”
“I think it’s very clear based on the state of my hair that it hasn’t been brushed since the nineties,” Harry said.
The girl sitting across from Harry laughed. When he looked up, her eyes didn’t avert from his stare. Instead, she grinned and stretched out her hand towards him. “Hi, I’m Clare,” she said.
“Harry,” he said. He was sure that he had been holding onto her hand for two seconds too long. Embarrassed, he pulled away gently, offering a handshake to the guy sitting next to her. “Nice to meet you as well…” his voice trailed off, realizing that he didn’t know his name yet.
“Stephen,” he said. “Jeff’s said great things.”
“Has he?” Clare asked, raising her brows. “Jeff, why does Stephen get to talk to talk boyband members with you when all we talk about is numbers and how the coffee isn’t strong enough?”
Jeff rolled his eyes, turning towards Harry. “Clare and Glenne have teamed up to make my life miserable, both at home and the workplace,” he explained. When Harry looked across the table, Clare was beaming, bearing her teeth. “Shouldn’t have let them meet or go out for drinks.”
“That was a life choice you made,” Clare replied, shrugging. “If I do recall, you’re the one who insisted that Glenne make me feel more at home after moving to LA knowing absolutely nobody.”
“I didn’t realize it was going to backfire so terribly,” Jeff said. “Stephen, I swear, if you team up with Harry like Glenne and Clare…”
“Or even worse, what if all four of us turned against you?” Clare asked, cocking a brow. “We already know Glenne adores Harry, so as long as Stephen works seamlessly into the equation, you’ve got yourself a four against one matchup.”
“I should’ve thought twice before invited you to join Full Stop,” Jeff said.
“Now, now, now, Jeffrey,” Clare said, shaking her head. “Who else is going to be the best Music Touring Assistant in the entire world? And admit it, nobody makes a coffee as good as I do. Eat your heart out, Alfred!”
Both Stephen and Jeff shook their heads at Clare, as if this was a common occurrence. He laughed along with them, partially because he didn’t want to sit stoically and miss out on part of the joke. Another part of him was truly amused by her antics. Jeff hadn’t mentioned Clare before, nor Stephen. Then again, he didn’t mention many of his employees or co-workers by name often.
“What are you doing at Full Stop?” Harry asked Stephen.
“General Counsel,” Stephen replied. “Thought I was going to law school to represent athletes, but I suppose this works too.”
“I used to play volleyball,” Clare blurted out. “Does that count?”
“I’m not representing you, so not really,” Stephen replied.
“What if I get into some kind of legal trouble? Then you can be the lawyer of an ex-high school athlete!”
“Please do not do anything illegal, Clare,” Jeff said. “I’d highly advise against it.”
“What if I just giggled and said, ‘Oops, too late!’?” she asked.
“It’s a miracle the managers, promoters and artists love you so much,” Stephen commented. “Off the record, please don’t get into legal trouble, but you know I always have your back.”
Clare held out her first towards Stephen, waiting for him to do the same. The proceeded to do some sort of handshake, one that had Jeff shaking his head again. Harry could see him smiling though. He hadn’t even realized that he was too.
Lunch was cut short by a last minute meeting scheduled at the office that Jeff and Stephen needed to attend. Clare was headed off into a different direction to meet with one of the venue promoters downtown, as directed by Jeff. Harry passed her waiting outside of the restaurant, typing something on her phone. He waited for her to look up before saying anything, afraid of startling her.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asked. “Sorry I didn’t shut up at lunch. I talk to people all day and haven’t quite learned how to take a break from that.”
“S’alright. I’m used to being surrounded by a lot of noise and my house is really empty and quiet so…it was nice,” he said, reaching behind his neck to scratch the back of his head. Had he said too much? An article once said his rambling was endearing, so he took it and ran with it.
“Glad my inability to shut up gave you a sense of normalcy then,” he commented.
“Um, do you need a ride?” Harry asked.
“I can just call an Uber, it’s fine,” Clare replied, waving her phone at him. “Jeff reimburses me for it, anyways. I once tried to edit the e-mailed receipt to make it say six million dollars instead of just six, but Jeff didn’t buy it. Totally accused me of editing it on Microsoft Paint. Ugh, as if! I only use Mac, so I used Paintbrush.”
Harry snorted, covering his mouth with the back of his hand to muffle the sound of his laughter. “Can’t believe he caught you with that one,” Harry said.
“Eh, it’s okay. I don’t know what I’d do with six million dollars anyways,” she replied. “But really, I can just call an Uber. I’m on a mission to figure out what my Uber rating is. I badger every single one of my drivers but none of them will tell me. Really frustrating stuff.”
“My guess, based on the badgering, would be low,” Harry joked. “I don’t have a lot going on today, I don’t mind,” he offered.
“Alright, I suppose I’ll badger whatever Uber driver takes me back from the venue,” she said. “Where’d you park?”
“Down the street,” Harry said, pointing past a small gathering of trees on the pavement. “Not too far.”
“Great,” she replied. “Lead the way. I just need to finish this e-mail really quick, so if I bump into anything, please refrain from laughing.”
“Can’t make any promises,” Harry replied. “I won’t post it on social media.”
“I know, Jeff complains about that all the time,” she replied, not even glancing up from her screen. “Says you’re missing out on a really easy mode of communication between you and your fanbase, which means you’re cutting out really inexpensive marketing for yourself. But then he also says he doesn’t blame you because you’re the most heavily scrutinized in the group and anything you say can and will be used against you.”
“Pros and cons to my hatred of it,” Harry said. “Saves me a lot of time.”
“Mhm,” she hummed. “God, I’m sorry, I’m being one of those people. Can’t lose this job though. Not moving back to Michigan. Too cold. Too snowy. Noooo way.”
“Michigan, huh?” he asked.
“Ann Arbor,” she replied. “Grew up in Michigan, went to college outside of New York City, moved to Los Angeles three years ago and haven’t looked back.”
“So you’re…” Harry paused, trying to do the mental math.
“Twenty-four and a half,” she replied. “Ancient, according to everyone under the age of ten.”
“Ah, to be ten again,” Harry commented. “This is me here,” he said, stopping next to his car.
“Cool car,” she said, tapping the top right hand corner of her screen before slipping her mobile back into her handbag. “Are you familiar with downtown LA or should I dictate directions?”
“If you want to get to your meeting sooner than two hours from now, yeah, I might need some assistance,” he admitted.
“Cool, well you’re already headed in the right direction, so just head down this street and I’ll tell you where to go next,” she said.
They spent the first few minutes of the drive in silence, aside from Clare pointing left and right to try to direct Harry to the venue. Eventually, they hit the inevitable point of traffic, sitting idly behind a line of cars while they watched the light turn green, then red, then green again.
“So, how did you end up at Full Stop?” Harry asked. Clare had been staring out her side of the car at a line of questionable billboards, making comments about them underneath her breath.
“Long story short, one of my old bosses at an internship in New York e-mailed me a link to a job posting at CAA to be an assistant and offered to put in a good word with me because she knew somebody over there,” Clare explained. “So I was–excuse me, still technically am–just a regular assistant there. I thought I’d be fetching coffees and rubbing feet or something, but it turns out I made myself pretty useful helping out different departments. Jeff took me and Stephen out to dinner with a few other people and told us about Full Stop and asked if we’d like to join, I mean, it was a no-brainer, really.”
“Wow,” Harry said. “That’s great though. I mean, I know Jeff’s a friend and all, but he’s a great guy.”
“Oh, he is for sure,” Clare agreed. “He saved me from being fired after my first three months. I made a mistake. Like, not a small mistake either. It was a complete accident and I owned up to it immediately but…ugh, I can’t even talk about it. Anyways, there were meetings and I genuinely thought I was sacked. Instead, Jeff came to my desk when I was in the middle of cleaning out a drawer and told me everything was fine, just never to do it again.”
“That sounds like Jeff,” Harry said. “So Stephen has been there as long as you?”
“Oh, longer,” Clare said. “He’s thirty, so he’s been there about six years. CAA was his first job after law school. He was General Counsel there too like he will be at Full Stop.”
“Cool, cool,” Harry hummed.
“It works nicely too because Stephen can help me with all of the legal bits when it comes to producing contracts and what not. Wouldn’t want anybody to sign away a kidney or something,” Clare said. “Some of the other lawyers there are dicks. Stephen’s one of the few who tolerates me.”
“He seemed like a really nice guy,” Harry said.
“He is,” Clare confirmed. “Probably one of my best work friends. Everyone other assistant who’s around my age is just so competitive. I mean, I get it. We’re all competing to be promoted and move up in the company, but to me that shouldn’t mean that we all have to be horrible to each other and not talk or be friendly. It’s fine though. Stephen’s a great friend and drinks the same wine as me. It’s a win-win.”
Harry laughed, checking left and right before he finally passed through the traffic light that never seemed to turn green. They were only about ten minutes away from the venue before the blue skies turned a tinge of grey. Harry hadn’t even noticed, either. He was hyper focused on driving safely and following Clare’s, at times, last minute directions that it passed right over his head.
“Um, Harry, I hate to ruin your Beyoncé moment of the wind blowing in your hair, but you might want to consider putting the top up,” Clare said, pointing up towards the sky.
“Oh fuck,” he swore. “Shit, there’s nowhere to pull over.”
“I mean, it might be okay? We’re not too far anyways!” Clare said.
They were most definitely not okay. There were still no places for Harry to pull over and traffic was still too slow for expedite the drive. He was convinced they were going to make it. It didn’t rain in Southern California. The sun was just behind clouds, right? Harry was naïve enough to believe this despite growing up where the rain never seemed to stop.
It started with a drop. Then another. In the distance, Harry saw a spot he could pull in to safely put the hood up. By the time he got there, the damage had been done. The rain turned from a light sprinkle to a full on downpour, soaking both he and Clare. He apologized (and swore) profusely, trying to hold his hand above her head as if it would stop any of the water from hitting her.
They both sat quietly when the hood was finally up, the rain pounding against it. Harry felt his gut twisting with guilt as he looked towards Clare, soaking wet for her meeting. He was expecting her to swear or yell at him. Instead, she pulled down the mirror and laughed at her reflection.
“Wow, I picked the wrong day not to wear waterproof makeup,” Clare commented, wiping the smeared black makeup from underneath her eyes. “This will certainly be a conversation starter.”
“I’m so sorry,” Harry replied. “I-I didn’t think it was going to rain today! It was so sunny earlier. Shit, if I had known I would’ve taken a different car or had the hood up or–“
Harry’s apology was cut short when Clare covered his mouth with her palm, silencing him with ease. “Shush,” she said. “It’s fine, Harry. Really, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just wanted to see through my clothes.”
“Wha–OH!” Harry yelped, realizing that her white t-shirt and palazzo pants were now, indeed, transparent.
“It wouldn’t be the first time somebody saw my nipple at a meeting, sadly,” Clare said. “Oh well. I know these people and they’re all women, so I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe your Uber driver later will give you a good rating,” Harry said. When Clare laughed loud enough that he could practically feel it, Harry made a mental note to ask Jeff a few questions about her after he dropped her off at the venue.
Harry was going to kill Jeff. He wasn’t an impatient person. If anything, Harry liked to pride himself on being level-headed, patient, all those great things that a mother would love (and that he learned from his own mum). But Jeff was meant to meet him outside of the office after his last meeting of the day, which was at approximately seven in the evening. They were supposed to go to a dinner meeting with Jeff’s father and a few other people whose names Harry didn’t recognize.
It was nearly eight o’clock and Jeff hadn’t made an appearance. Harry was seconds away from tracking Jeff down inside before he got a brief text from Jeff with a short apology that he wasn’t going to make it. Harry stood near the glass doors leading into the building, sighing heavily. He didn’t have any other plans for the night, his evening revolving around hanging around Jeff and whoever else he invited along. The idea of spending the night alone at his house wasn’t enticing in the slightest. Neither was his contact list of LA friends, if he was being quite honest.
Harry tapped on the sides of his mobile before he finally swiped his thumb across the bottom of the screen. He let Jeff know that it was fine, staring at the idle message screen until his phone locked. He pursed his lips, unsure of what came next. He was used to the next step being predetermined. As far as he knew, the next few weeks in LA consisted of massive question marks. The boys were on their hiatus, their freedom finally granted. For the first time in years, Harry had time. It just came down to figuring out how to spend it.
“Hey, are you here to throw water on my white t-shirt?”
Harry glanced up, catching a glance of Clare standing next to him. She was, indeed, wearing a white shirt tucked into her black high waisted trousers. He snorted, shaking his head immediately. “Because I’ve already been a part of a few wet t-shirt contests in my day and I’ve been declared the winner more than once,” Clare said, leaning back against the door.
Harry knew that he blushed. He could feel the heat rush to his cheeks. Plus, Clare seemed far too amused to just be smirking at her own comment. “I’m going to keep that in mind,” Harry said, tapping on his temple. “No, I was here to pick up Jeff because Glenne drove him to the office today, but we were supposed to be getting dinner. Apparently he’s not able to go now though, so it appears that I’ve been stood up.”
“Chin up, buttercup,” Clare said. “You’re just in luck because my date canceled on me and I did not curl my hair today for nothing.”
“We both didn’t curl our hair today to have our plans canceled,” Harry said, twirling his car keys around his fingers. “What are you thinking?”
“Well, if I’m being completely honest with you, you couldn’t pay me any amount of money to be seen in public with just you,” she said. “Not because you’re…like a heinous human or anything. But I’m not really into the whole ‘Harry’s Mystery Girl’ thing. Not really in the mood for my entire life to be thrust out into the world because of one paparazzi picture.”
Harry laughed, nodding. “Well then I guess we’re in luck that I just finally bought food for my house and that there’s a great pizza place that delivers nearby.”
“Well damn Harry, look at you being an adult and stuff,” Claire said. “I’ve been eating bags of popcorn for the past three days because I can’t be bothered to go shopping. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said, taking two long, dramatic bows. “So, would you like to follow me there or would you like a ride?”
“I’m not sure I can trust you in a car again, at least not for a while,” she said, cracking a smile. “I’ll follow you, if that’s cool.”
“Of course. Not sure where you’re parked, but I’ll meet you by the exit?”
“Sure, sounds great,” she said.
The entire drive to his house, Harry panicked. Did he even have enough food for more than one person? Did he remember to put away his pants? Was there anything incriminating or embarrassing lying around? And what in the hell was he thinking inviting Clare over? He could have tried to get them a spot at a restaurant with a no photo policy with separate cars and trips inside to avoid being seen together to cause a stir. He’d done it before, plenty of times. It was the only way he felt like he could function sometimes.
Maybe that’s why he’d done it. For the first time, he would be able to breathe and be himself without the fear of all eyes on him. Harry had been under a microscope since the moment his X-Factor audition aired. For once, maybe he’d be able to enjoy an evening without worrying.
Harry was glad that he hadn’t lost Clare in the midst of the traffic. It didn’t occur to him that they didn’t have each other’s numbers to communicate if she did get lost along the way somehow. She pulled up behind his car in the driveway, sitting in the driver’s seat until she saw Harry exit his car. She ditched her leather tote that she carried on her shoulder, grabbing only her mobile and keys as she used her hip to shut the door.
“Wow, what a dump,” Clare said, nudging her elbow into Harry’s side.
“That’s what I was going for, thank you,” he replied. “Kind of my aesthetic.”
“And to think I assumed your aesthetic was black, white and just plain old vague,” she commented. “The dedication to the boring on your Instagram feed is admirable.”
“Hey, it’s not boring!” he whined.
“It’s so boring, I can’t even follow you,” Clare said. “Would it kill you to post a selfie every once in awhile?”
“Did you want to hang out tonight just to hate on my Instagram feed? Did Jeffrey send you to try to convert me into a social media addict? Because I won’t do it!”
Clare laughed, following Harry as he led them towards the front door. “I can assure you that I am not here on Jeffrey’s orders,” Clare said. “If anything, Jeffrey probably shouldn’t know I’m here.”
“Why’s that?” Harry asked, looking over his shoulder as he unlocked the front door.
“Future client, duh,” she said. “I might be arranging your future tour someday. Conflict of interest, or whatever. I’m sure he’d dig something up to make this feel scandalous.”
“I’ll have Glenne have a stern talk with him if he gives you grief,” Harry joked. “What’s the worst that could happen? One of us eats too much pizza and gets sick?”
Too much pizza ended up being too much gin. Way, way too much gin. Harry restricted his consumption of alcohol on the road, choosing to stay sober to keep his health in good shape. He hadn’t realized that it would severely lower his tolerance, creating a steady buzz after only a few gin and tonics. Either Clare was the same way or she had double the amount Harry did.
They were laying down on the sofa in his lounge. Clare was straddling Harry’s waist, her soft golden waves tickling the sides of his face. Any silence in the room was replaced by their soft giggles when one of them would bump or nudge the other by accident. Harry had kissed plenty of girls, both sober and drunk, but kissing Clare felt like every cliché he watched played out on the silver screen. It was a giddy feeling almost, though that could have been the alcohol as well.
No, no, it was Clare and her fingers tugging at the overgrown curls in desperate need of a cut. Her fingers twisted through the loose ringlets, tangling themselves up as Harry’s tongue slipped effortlessly between her lips. It was her hips dropping down only to brush ever so slightly enough against his, causing a bit of friction that made him hiss.
The night was meant to be a friendly get together, strung together last minute to rectify canceled plans on both of their behalves. Instead, it went from a casual chat about Clare’s first year in LA (which she claimed to have blacked out completely due to it being so embarrassing and awful) and Harry’s time in the band (which he tried to downplay so he didn’t end up complaining about their packed schedule and come off like a prick) to a heated make out in less than two hours’ time.
Clare broke away from the kiss, sucking in a deep breath. She brushed a hand through her hair, untangling a matted piece while they caught their breath. “I didn’t suggest hanging out because I thought this would happen, just so you know,” Clare said, dipping her chest down again, pressing against Harry.
“I know,” Harry murmured, his eyes traveling down from her eyes to her glossy pink lips. “I didn’t think it would either. And yet…” his voice trailed off, his hands gliding down the curves of her body. They settled momentarily on her hips before sneaking under the hem of her shirt.
“Tease,” she murmured while Harry’s fingers traced up her spine. “I think your room might be a bit more appropriate, don’t you think?”
Clare said that they weren’t allowed to talk about it. She called it their version of Fight Club and Harry went along with it. Harry and Clare could live their lives during the day, Clare at the office wrapping things up at CAA before the transition into Full Stop, Harry at meetings and lunches to keep him plenty occupied during the afternoons while he was still in LA.
“Who was it going to hurt? The more private, the better right?” she said, the first time they tried to talk about it. Or rather, the second time. The first time Harry brought it up, Clare kissed him hard and eased him back onto his bed until she was fully straddling him, her shirt already tossed to the side. He asked her again later that evening, his sheets draped across her bare chest as they started to drift to sleep.
It was strange, really, how Harry transitioned from having no one “special” (as his mates always put it, earning a cringe from Harry every time) in his life to having Clare. They weren’t anything, and yet they were something. Neither of them would put a label on it, no singular word able to sum up what they were. If anybody asked (they didn’t), they were friends (which they were, to an extent).
If Harry’s public dating record was anything, it was just a string of “friends,” anyways. He himself couldn’t even remember the last time he was properly dating someone, if really ever. There were the early girlfriends, some of which he tried to block of his memory entirely. Everyone had their romantic momentary lapses in judgements, right? Even if they lasted longer than any normal lapse?
Some of the girls weren’t lapses. It seemed rude to call them anything but friends. The term ‘girlfriend’ has been thrown around in the press far too many times regarding his choice of female friends, but there wasn’t much he could say or that he even wanted say. What was his business was his and nobody else’s.
The more he thought of this, the more he thought that he was just making excuses to complicate things. Or was that just his life that complicated everything, turning even the simplest of things into horrendously complex situations?
Clare told him not to look too deep into anything. He knew he shouldn’t have drunkenly confessed any of this to her, but he could trust Clare. He had a feeling from the first day they met that she was someone who could have his full confidence. It went beyond Jeff’s trust in her. She spoke in a way that was unafraid, of mistakes, of slip-ups, of saying something embarrassing. She was fearless in the way that she spoke about herself, but in the midst of everything she said, no off-hand comments slipped out.
It wasn’t about sharing classified information about upcoming projects or throwing around ideas of what the hiatus had in store for everyone in the group. It was about what he was feeling in those moments. Clare wanted to know if he was having a good week, a bad week, a stressful week, a relaxing week. Harry tried to surround himself with people who asked these types of questions, which led to an unsurprisingly small group of friends. He was happy to add Clare to that group. Amazed, really, that only after a couple of months he found himself in this place.
“Why is the world obsessed with who I date?” Harry asked. They were laying in his bed, sheets strewn about their naked bodies. Empty glasses sat on both of his nightstands, leaving rings on the wooden table top. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“Sure, when you think about it it’s weird,” she replied. “But then I think about how obsessed I was, well, am with celebrity dating culture. It’s addicting. We feel like we’re entitled into these people’s lives just because of their fame status, y’know? I’m not saying it’s fair or right. Like, if we don’t know every detail of Mary Sue from around the corner’s love life, why should we know yours?”
“I hope Mary Sue is getting some,” Harry said, immediately bursting into laughter. Clare giggled, rolling over onto her stomach so she was closer to Harry.
“Me too,” she said. “I would say I hope you’re getting some too, but, you know…”
“That I am,” he hummed. “We’re keeping it a secret though. So maybe we’re just two Mary Sue’s, yeah?”
“This is much easier to keep a secret,” Clare pointed out. “Staying in at your house or my apartment. Me being a nobody. It’s a nice combo for this arrangement.”
Arrangement. Harry didn’t say anything then. He was too drunk to even try to tackle that conversation. If he brought it up in that state, he would’ve driven Clare far, far away from him. He didn’t want risk that. Because maybe what was an arrangement then could have had potential to be something more. He had hopes, ones that he would keep to himself. He kept this from Jeff, his mates, everyone but his mum and sister (they liked to pry).
Harry rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back against the cushions on his bed. Clare flipped him off, her ring clad finger blurry on his mobile’s screen. “It’s around ten at night,” he told her, again. He left LA on Tuesday, much to Clare’s disappointment. She tried to lure him back to bed before he left for the airport, but he had a flight to catch and meetings to attend in London. He’d been there since, staying at a friend’s place. He’d do anything to avoid staying in hotels. He preferred to feel like he was in a home rather than just a room that could be cleaned up and ready for somebody new in just a few hours.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, prick,” Clare hissed, snarling her lips at Harry. She was wearing a dark red, the same color that she wore the day she accidentally stained one of Harry’s shirts. It took three dry cleans to get rid of it, but neither of them cared in the moment. She only apologized once or twice before she continued to leave red stains across his neck, chest, the color fading when she reached his hips. “You missed an amazing lunch yesterday, y’know.”
“I had lunch with my mum yesterday though,” Harry said. “Nothing could top a lunch with Anne.”
“Shush, you wouldn’t have liked it anyways. Jeff bought us all these massive sundaes and I know you don’t eat anything that isn’t a leafy green,” Clare joked.
“I eat ice cream!” Harry said, disregarding the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even had a bite of ice cream, let alone a full sundae. What Clare didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “Don’t be a bully.”
“Mine had hot fudge and whipped cream on it, which reminded me…”
“That we should use those at some point?” Harry asked, wriggling his brows suggestively. “Messy, but delicious.”
“Seems like you only have one thing on the mind, Styles,” Clare said, raising her brows. “Can’t last a few days?”
“Oh, I can,” he replied. “But a break is no fun once…you know…”
“I’m glad we can both provide each other with our sex fixes then,” Clare said, snorting. “You’re so cute.”
“Cute?” he asked, scrunching his nose.
“Don’t be one of those guys that gets offended by the word cute,” Clare complained. “It’s not an insult. You are very cute!”
“Aw, thanks love,” he hummed, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smile. “I think I’m going to stay in England for a bit longer,” he told her. He wondered if it was just the bad camera quality or if her features softened. Was she frowning or was that just the way her face naturally fell? Harry could drive himself mental with all of the questions he asked himself about Clare, all of the second guessing that he could do.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“A week or two. Not sure,” he replied. “I’d like to stay with my mum for a bit, catch up with some family. Enjoy the peace and quiet in my hometown.”
“Ah yes, peace and quiet,” Clare sighed. “I’m sure that’s a rarity that you wish you had more of.”
“Right,” he said. “I do miss the LA weather a lot. And my pool.”
“You never even swim in it!”
“But I like to know that I have the option to swim if I so desired,” he replied. “We can go swimming when I get back.”
“Yeah, in six million years,” she mumbled.
“What’s what? Did you just say, I miss you Harry?” he asked, snickering as she flipped him off for a second time.
“Shut up,” she muttered. “You’re a jerk. If I swim with you, I’m holding your head under water.”
“That’s not very nice,” he said, pushing out his bottom lip into a pout. “Maybe I’ll just move back to England forever and disappear into the countryside and just adopt a bunch of farm animals. Go off the radar. Escape from your threats.”
In the midst of Harry’s slow, drawn out rambling, Clare shook her head slightly at nearly everything he said. As he got his last word out, there was a flash of white across Clare’s screen before her camera panned down to show off her chest, completely sans a bra, before her t-shirt fell back down to cover herself again. Clare didn’t say anything, merely cocking a brow while she waited for Harry to form a stable sentence.
“I’ll see you next week then,” he coughed out.
“Sounds lovely,” she replied, her grin leaning more towards a smirk instead.
A little warning would be nice
I haven’t cleaned…in like a week
Throw it all in your wardrobe while I pretend to be reading e-mails in the lounge.
You’re a bad influence!
Coming down now.
I think we can agree to disagree on the bad influence thing.
Oh I see you.
You look nice.
Thanks.
Stop smiling at me like that, freak.
Show me your tits.
Bye, get out.
Go jack off in your shower at home.
Please let me in. I have candy from home!
Talk dirty to me, Harry.
He didn’t bother responding to her last message. There was only a door separating them throughout the end of their text conversation. Clare pushed against the glass, cracking the door enough for Harry to slip through past her. They kept space between them as they walked through Clare’s building, keeping their conversation as vague as possible in case anyone was listening or watching.
Once they were behind closed doors in Clare’s flat, Harry’s arms immediately enveloped around her, pulling their bodies close together. Clare nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck, her fingers gathering up sections of his jumper between his shoulder blades.
Her flat smelled like fresh cookies. Harry knew that when she was stressed, she would bake. And bake. And bake. She mentioned that’s how she got through midterms her third year of college, her first year at work, especially right after the mistake that almost got her fired. He didn’t dare ask about what was bothering her only minutes into the night, especially the first night they’d seen each other since he left.
“Hi,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “This was a much nicer welcome than your texts.”
“I didn’t know you had candy,” she replied, slowly slipping out his embrace. “I made cookies. They’re gluten-free and low sugar. They’re lemon, so I hope you like citrus.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know I was coming over?” Harry asked.
“I was going to surprise you later,” she admitted, lowering her voice. “Don’t give me any cute looks, okay? I wanted to try out a new recipe and you’re the only person I know who would eat these abominations.”
“You live in Los Angeles. Even dogs are gluten-free here,” Harry pointed.
“Good point, I’ll go find a Chihuahua to give these cookies to them,” she said.
“Nooooo, I want them,” Harry whined, snaking his arms around her waist. “Thank you,” he said, leaning forward with his lips parted. Harry missed kissing Clare. It was dumb to say, he knew that, but he did. He felt a magnetic pull to her, his body anchored to hers as their lips moved together, each swipe of the tongue more synchronized than the last.
Clare was the first to pull away, resting her forehead against Harry’s. “I’m torn between wanting to catch up and wanting to take you back to my room now,” she admitted, biting down on her bottom lip.
Harry chuckled, amused. “We Facetimed when I was gone,” he pointed out.
“I sound like a sex crazed maniac,” she said.
“I have that effect on woman,” he said, met immediately by the palm of Clare’s hand on his arm. “Ouch!”
“Don’t be an ass,” she grumbled.
“I love our pillowtalk,” he murmured.
“Do you now?” she hummed, tilting her head back so there was no space between them. “Well then, Harry, I don’t think that I need to show you the way.”
Clare squealed when Harry’s hands cupped her ass, hoisting her up so her legs could wrap around his waist. He walked them to her room, trying hard not to break their kiss as he stumbled towards the back of her flat. Harry swept a pile of clothes off of the edge of Clare’s bed before laying her down on back.
“Told you I needed to clean,” she said. Her eyes followed Harry’s movements as he pulled his jumper off over his head, shaking out his curls.
“Your room is the least of my concerns right now,” he murmured, pressing his palms into the mattress on either sides of her shoulders. “I missed you, Clare,” he said softly, leaning forward to press a kiss against her lips.
“Show me,” she challenged, smirking against his lips.
There was a sense of urgency that hadn’t been there any time before. Clare seemed to hold onto Harry tighter, her nails digging deeper into his back. Halfway through, she had her hands pressed against Harry’s chest, urging him off of her. He was stunned for a moment, until she had him pinned beneath her. Her smirk was almost sinister before she took over, her moans filling the room’s silence.
Clare leaned forward, her chest inches from brushing against Harry’s. Her eyes were closed, lashes fanning out above her cheeks. Harry’s movements met Clare’s, easing her along while she murmured nonsense into his skin, slick with sweat as her bedroom began to feel like a sauna. When she came, her chest collapsed down onto Harry’s, their bodies melding together as they tried to catch their breaths.
Later, they ate Clare’s cookies in bed and drank tea courtesy of Harry. He wanted to bring up the stress baking, but Clare was curled up next to him, laughing every time he told her about a story from his visit to England. Tomorrow, he told himself, diving into another story just so he could hear her laugh.
But tomorrow turned into two days from now and two days from now turned into a week later. Every time he went to bring it up, he’d stop himself, too afraid to ruin a moment. The one time, they were marathon watching Reese Witherspoon movies, another they were tackling the project of organizing her flat (which she insisted Harry didn’t have to help with).
After a week had passed, Harry was supposed to have Clare over for dinner. He was going to have a driver pick up food from one of his favorite restaurants in LA, double checking with Clare that she liked it too. Clare was allowed to go into the office late the next morning because she had to stay longer than usual to tie up some loose ends before the official transfer to Full Stop.
Everything seemed fine with Clare when she got to Harry’s house. There was bad traffic (worse than usual) on her way out to the house, but that meant the food was delayed too. He had a bottle of wine chilling while he waited in his lounge for Clare. He read through e-mails, starring the ones that were important and needed to be answered the next morning. There were a lot from Jeff, all scattered thoughts about Harry’s solo album, the one he hadn’t even started writing yet. He had old songs, sure, and he wrote every so often with friends and other writers, but none of them were songs for the album. He wasn’t there yet, in the album creating mindset.
When Clare showed up, she was more quiet than usual, but particularly horrible LA traffic had that effect on people. Harry brought their wine into the lounge, letting Clare stretch her legs out so her calves rested on his thighs. They both stared into their glasses, their eyes watching the red wine swish back and forth before they took simultaneous sips (gulps, really). Something needed to be said, but Harry wasn’t sure what.
“Jeff knows,” Clare announced, downing the rest of her glass in a single sip.
“What?” Harry asked. “I…he hasn’t said anything to me about it yet?”
“I told him not to,” she admitted. “I don’t know how he found out, but he asked me flat out today and I found no point in lying if he already knew.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing really,” she said. “He just sort of reiterated how soon the Full Stop launch was and how important it was as if I haven’t been fucking working my ass off trying to finish up everything for CAA while trying to prep for Full Stop,” she grumbled.
“I didn’t know you were doing two workloads,” Harry said. Was that the stressor? “I’m sure you could talk to–”
“I’m not complaining about the work,” Clare said, holding out her hand to interrupt his suggestion. “I love the work. It’s just a lot right now and I’m not sure when the work is going to end.”
“Right,” Harry said, nodding. Maybe the less he said, the better.
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” Clare said. “I’m just under a lot of stress at work and trying to prove to everyone and myself that I’m still the right choice. And having Jeff pissed off about us doing…this…isn’t helping.”
“I thought you said he didn’t say anything?”
“It was nothing,” she said, waving it off. “Just said it wouldn’t be good for company. Wasn’t sure how to appropriately say we’re just friends and it’s just sex. They don’t really talk about that in all of those career advice columns I read when I can’t sleep.”
Harry just murmured an apology, too deep into his own thoughts to properly respond. We’re just friends. It’s just sex. He wasn’t sure that he and Clare were on the same page anymore and he had no idea how to rectify that.
The second time Harry got caught in the rain was the beginning of the end. There wasn’t even anything that needed an end, but to Harry it felt like there was.
It was only a few weeks before the official switch to Full Stop and everything was hectic. Glenne complained to Harry about how irritable Jeff was being. Clare went radio silent, responding to Harry’s texts several hours later with only one or two words. It was a stressful time, he understood. Or he tried to.
It was hard not to overanalyze everything she had said. He felt ridiculous looking too deeply into the words “we’re just friends,” but they drove him mental. He felt like he was too old to be mad, though. They were both adults. They weren’t sixteen and thriving off of drama. They were just two twenty-somethings who had too much gin and got themselves into a complicated mess.
Was it complicated for Clare? Was she constantly suppressing her feelings to try to keep up a friendly front? Did she itch to write new music, stopping herself because she knew that meant she was in too deep? Did she deliberately keep Harry from her mates because she was too terrified to discuss him, worried that they’d tell her to go for it when she knew damn well that she couldn’t?
It was a rhetorical question, but Harry knew the answer was no. Deep down, at least. Admitting it to himself felt like accepting defeat, like he was going down without even so much as a fight. It was impossible to try to get inside Clare’s head. He wondered if they had made the right choice at the beginning, continuing to be friends who had a casual, non-exclusive relationship (was it even a relationship?). No labels typically made it easier, but Harry hadn’t felt this way about anyone. There was something different about Clare.
She was normal, yet still in the industry. Harry found it hard to date, even casually, someone who didn’t understand. It wasn’t about being used to the cameras or attention. It was the schedule, the weeks upon months of being gone for tour, recording, promo, whatever it took to put out an album. His life wasn’t calm or full of free time. It was structured with back to back events, obligations, things that he needed to go to or work at to sustain the career he had built.
This wasn’t something he could call Jeff about. He knew that Niall, Liam or even Louis would pick up if he called out of the blue, but this didn’t feel like the conversation he should have over the phone when they didn’t know anything about it. Jeff now knew too much, things that Harry had kept from him because he thought it would be easier. Sure, he was Harry’s friend and closest thing to family in the United States, but he was also part of Harry’s management, which Clare was also part of. The more he thought about it, the more of a convoluted mess it became.
Harry had finally gotten ahold of Clare for longer than two short texts, making plans with her to grab a bite to eat. He arranged for a car to pick her up so she could meet him at a restaurant with a zero photo policy under a fake name to avoid anybody spilling to the press that he would be there. He was sure the only reason she agreed was because he assured her it was also a private dining area. Or maybe it was just to get him to shut up. He was starting to believe that it was more the latter.
Clare was escorted into the back seating area by the waiter, running twenty minutes late. She seemed disheveled, only kissing Harry on the cheek before she plopped down into her seat across from him.
“Hi, I’m sorry. Work,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“It’s alright, I had e-mails to catch up on,” he replied, picking up his phone and waving it back and forth. It was a lie, but it seemed to resonate with Clare. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to drink, so I didn’t order anything.”
“Thanks Harry,” she said, picking up the menu. She had her eyes trained on the menu until the waiter came to take their orders. He wondered if she was just pretending to read to avoid talking. Even after the waiter left, there was an uncomfortable silence that settled between them. Sometimes when they were lying in bed before they fell asleep, they wouldn’t say anything at all, each doing something absentmindedly. Harry would play with the ends of her hair while she would trace shapes gently on the top of his hand.
This silence was different. The air was stiff, their bodies rigid against the backs of their seats. It was as if they had nothing to say to each other, two strangers sitting across from each other.
“Have you moved into your new office yet?” Harry asked. Clare looked up from the napkin folded on the table in front of her, brows furrowed as if it was a ridiculous question.
“Next week,” she said. “More things to stress about.”
“I could help you if you wa–”
“It’s fine, Stephen and I have it covered,” she said, interrupting his offer. “Sorry, today was just…awful.”
“What happened?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s boring, you don’t want to hear about it,” Clare said.
“But I do,” Harry said. Clare stared at him blankly, her lips pressed together in a flat line. “I want to hear, Clare. You can talk about work. You can talk about whatever you want to talk about. I…I’m sick of not talking about shit.”
Clare blinked. The room was at a standstill. Harry had his hands clenched into fists under the table, slowly releasing them as he felt his moment of frustration subside. “What do you wish we were talking about, Harry?” she asked.
“I don’t care,” he said. “I just want to talk. I don’t want to sit in silence or talk about the bloody weather or something you’d talk to a stranger about.”
“Clearly you do care,” she muttered. “So why don’t you tell me what you want to talk about and then we can talk. You don’t have to use your media-trained bullshit on me Harry. Go on, tell me.”
He was beginning to fume again. There had to be a red tinge in his cheeks. His face felt like it was on fire, the anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “Us, I want to talk about us,” he finally said.
“Us?” Clare asked, as if it was an absurd question.
“Yes, us,” Harry reiterated. “What is this? We’re friends who fuck? Are we even friends? Are we just a consistent hook up?”
“Oh come on Harry,” Clare said, rolling her eyes. “You don’t actually want to have this conversation. We’re adults.”
“I do want to have this conversation,” he said. “I think we just decided that it was easier to not talk about it. But I feel like that’s all I do. I conceal and tuck away everything and then what? I have a series of strategically planned things that I allow myself to talk about? Fuck that.”
Clare raised her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair. “Harry, we’re friends,” Clare said. “That’s easier than being anything else.”
“Well then fuck being easy!”
“Harry,” Clare hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. “This is not the time or place.”
“You’ve been avoiding me, so when would be the time or place? Next month so we can just forget this ever happened and go back to normal?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Harry,” she said. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you that will make you happy.”
“Don’t tell me something that will make me happy then,” he replied. “Just tell me something instead of avoiding the subject to take the easy route.”
“I thought I was pretty honest and up front when I told you that I wanted us to be friends when we started this,” Clare said. “And I’m sorry if things have changed on your end, but I still feel the same. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I don’t care. I just can’t be something else to you Harry, I can’t.”
He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, averting his eyes from hers. They didn’t speak again until the waiter brought in their meals, each quietly thanking him before he excused himself from the room. Neither of them touched their plates, their hands poised on the silverware as they stared absently across the room.
Harry couldn’t eat. He cut his food up into pieces, occasionally working up the appetite to eat a few bites. Clare seemed to do the same, pushing around her food and reaching for her wine instead of enjoying dinner. This was a mistake. Dinner, pushing their conversation, losing his sense of calm. There was a reason Harry remained level-headed when he was around other people. It was why he had calculated responses and tailored behavior. When he cared, he lost it. And this time, he was quite certain that he had lost more than his cool.
Clare excused herself to the restroom while Harry paid. They were supposed to leave separately anyways, Clare before Harry. He’d have security walk her back to her car, just in case something happened. But since none of the night went according to plan, neither did their exit. Harry was sure that Clare had left by the time he exited the back room, assuming she was in her car back to her flat so they could have time apart. That’s all they needed, right? A short break to regroup.
If she hadn’t called his name, Harry would have almost walked right past Clare in the vestibule of the restaurant. He was halfway out the door when he turned around to see her, eyes narrowed at him.
“Clare?” he asked. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“So what? We leave here and then?” she asked.
“Can we not talk about this here,” he said, looking at the people standing on the opposite side of the glass door. There was a rumble outside, but Harry assumed it was just construction around the block. He ushered them out onto the street. It wasn’t any more private than inside, but it was at least dark out.
“Your idea of talking sucks,” she said.
“Well, I suddenly don’t know what I’m even supposed to say to you anymore,” he said. “I get it, we’re friends and just friends. So what does it matter what else I have to say?”
“Harry…” Clare said, her voice trailing off.
“If I tell you how I feel, it’s not going to change anything anyways. Right?” he asked.
“I’m so–”
“I know,” he sighed.
“I like being your friend,” Clare said. “Isn’t that enough?”
“I need time,” he said. “I…maybe Jeff was right. This isn’t good for working purposes, y’know? So maybe…” his voice trailed off as the same loud rumble echoed through the air. Perplexed, Harry looked around to try to find the source of the noise. The cooler the air became, the more increasingly clear it became that this was not construction, but rather an evening storm.
They didn’t escape the rain before it started to thrash down, pelting against their skin until their clothes were soaked through. Neither of them did anything, either, standing motionless as they let themselves get drenched.
"What the fuck is it with us and rain,” Clare muttered. Her makeup started to smear down her face, leaving brown and black trails in its track.
Harry wasn’t sure where he had woken up. The sound of rain thrashing against the window of his hotel room kept him from drifting back into a sound slumber. It was his day off, that he knew. Surely he would spend it stuck inside. There was no chance of escaping to explore the city. The second he stepped outside it would be madness. He was sure that somebody already tipped off fans and paparazzi as to where he was staying.
Even if he could have left, he had no idea where we would go. He had spent too many days in a row stuck in the studio, his hands stained with ink from writing and rewriting songs. He wanted to be in the studio. The day off wasn’t his choice, but his teams. They might as well have dragged him out by his ankles to keep him from being there.
Jeff told him on the phone that he needed to take a break, even if it was just a day (though he’d prefer longer). But the songs wouldn’t stop. Even in his hotel room, Harry had his journal next to him at all times, just in case he had a wave of inspiration. Instead of addressing Jeff’s suggestion, Harry asked the question that Jeff hated to answer.
“How is she?”
“Harry, stop asking about her,” Jeff asked. “Clare is fine.”
“Cool,” Harry murmured. Jeff ended the phone call before Harry could delve further down the black hole of asking about Clare. It was made worse by social media. Her account wasn’t made private, allowing him to scroll through her Instagram pictures after a night of one too many drinks. It was pathetic, he knew it, but it didn’t keep him away.
She had photos of her desk spread, pictures of concerts she attended. Harry tried to ignore the shot of her kissing Stephen’s cheek, posted only a week earlier. The shirt he was wearing in the photo was Harry’s, one that he let Clare steal when she’d accidentally spilled on her jumper. It was useless being jealous or dwelling, so he tried to do what he did best and bury the feelings.
He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t miss her. It had been a few months, but it still felt fresh. It was the uncertainty of their relationship that kept him up at night. They weren’t anything but friends on the surface, but it was underneath where the feelings lingered. He couldn’t pretend that they didn’t exist, even if that would have kept Clare in his life.
It didn’t help that everything he’d written somehow became about her. Even digging up old feelings to try to escape his plaguing thoughts would somehow revolve around her. He wasn’t sure how in just a short few months, Clare became so much more to him that he could have ever imagined. He wished he would have been more guarded with her, just like he was with everyone else.
But he couldn’t be guarded around her. That was part of Clare’s charm. She made you want to tell her all of your secrets, everything you felt that you couldn’t admit to anyone. She lured out honesty and your inner most thoughts, keeping them safe and making you feel validated. It turns out she didn’t want to hear about some of Harry’s thoughts, especially when they came to her. That’s when it all collided, exploding in one brief moment that somehow ruined everything they had managed to build up.
Maybe that was how it was supposed to happen. Even if it wasn’t, that’s what Harry had to accept. There was nothing he could do to change the outcome. Because Clare was in LA with Stephen and Harry was alone in his hotel room emptying the mini bar as part of his breakfast.
No light filtered into the room, only grey visible through the slits of the blinds. Harry turned down the air conditioning in the room, listening intently as the raindrops splattered against the window. He was lying on his back with the covers pulled up only to his waist. His phone sat face up on his chest, tempting him as the alcohol began to set in.
Harry wasn’t thinking clearly when he pressed his thumb against the sensor, unlocking his mobile with ease. He found her name in his phone with ease, tapping multiple times until he was finally able to pull up her contact page. He put the phone on speaker phone as he dialed her number, closing his eyes while he world spun.
“Hi Clare. It’s Harry. I’m in New York and it’s pouring rain and it made me think of you because even if it never fucking rains in Los Angeles, we both somehow got stuck in the rain together two times. What the hell, right? Um, so anyways, I just wanted to call you because we haven’t talked in so long and I miss talking to you. But I understand, I guess. It just wasn’t going to work out. I’m sorry for everything, Clare. I hope you can forgive m–“
The messaging machine cut him off before he could finish. He pressed whatever button confirmed the message and hung up the call, tossing his phone across the mattress. He pulled the comforter up to his neck, drifting back to sleep.
Minna moves to LA to remake her name, the way she wants it. But writing an album isn’t as easy as it sounds. When she finds Niall Horan’s songwriting journal in a recording studio, she thinks her luck might finally be turning around.
Track #1: Your Eyes
The first time I had my heart broken, it was a lie.
It aired in high-definition, and everyone was watching. I was wearing red fishnets under denim cutoff shorts and black Converse, and after he dumped me, I dumped a pitcher of lemonade over his head. The episode was called “Minna and the End of the Boy Next Door.” Not a month later, Target reproduced my entire outfit in their kids’ line.
The second time I had my heart broken, nobody was meant to see it, but it was on the cover of US Weekly anyway.
I was 17 years old and went to prom at the high school that I would’ve attended had I not been starring in my own television show for most of my adolescence. I wore a navy blue dress, strapless but still modest, and my corsage was a pale blue that matched my date’s boutonniere. He was my mom’s best friend’s son, and I’d had a crush on him since I was 10. I’d met dozens of celebrities, even shared my first kiss with one on camera, but I knew Jake was the one for me.
Like any other teenage girl, I imagined that prom would be perfect. I would dance with the boy of my dreams, he’d kiss me on the dance floor underneath a spinning disco ball, and I’d lose my virginity to him in a hotel room that night. That last bit was a fantasy I knew wouldn’t come true, of course, since I had a reputation to uphold. I was expecting a PG night—but a lovely night, nonetheless.
What I wasn’t expecting was for Jake to ditch me as soon as we arrived at prom so that he could spend the evening with the girl he was actually interested in. I wasn’t expecting a group of girls I once thought were my friends to gather around me and tease me to the point of tears. I wasn’t expect to flee the venue with mascara streaking down my cheeks, and I certainly wasn’t expecting paparazzi to catch the moment on camera.
Now, the power’s in my hand. I’m the one calling the shots, deciding what the public gets to see and what gets to remain mine.
And it’s much harder than I thought.
“Let’s take it from the top,” Candice says for what has to be the fourth time in the past half an hour. She taps her pencil against her notepad and smiles at me kindly. It doesn’t help quell the anxiety bubbling up in my stomach.
I set my guitar down on the floor and shake my head. “Let’s just call it a day. Start fresh with something else tomorrow.”
She raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. I know what she’s thinking: do you have something else? Anything else? Something that isn’t an absolute piece of shit?
I’ve been at this for three weeks now, paying for a studio that I can’t afford and playing the same notes over and over again in the hopes that they’ll suddenly start sounding like something that labels will want to distribute and radio stations will want to play. It isn’t getting any easier.
Who knew songwriting would be so difficult? Who knew that it would be this hard to find some bit of myself that’s interesting enough, relatable enough, to set to music and share with the world? Who knew I’d be so terrible at this that not even award-winning songwriter and my best friend, Candice Willard, would be able to help me?
Candice glances at her watch. “Let’s take a break, half an hour? Get some food, some air, Min. That’ll help. Get out of your head for a minute. Get out of this room.”
“Sure,” I say, forcing a smile for her benefit. I keep it on my face until she leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Alone in the room, I sink down into my chair and put my head in my hands. This is everything my mother was afraid of: that I would fail. That my history with Wombat, my reputation as a teeny bopper child star, would make people wary to work with me. That I wouldn’t be able to get where I wanted to be quickly, that I’d become dejected and give up. I can already imagine what my mom will say when I tell her what’s happened: You gave it your best shot, honey, but maybe it’s time to pursue other avenues.
Just when I’m about to text Candice and tell her that we’ve got to pack up and head back to LA, something jabs me in the back. Grateful for the momentary distraction, I reach behind the couch cushion and pull it out.
It’s a leather-bound book, worn but not old. I flip through it briefly, and when I don’t recognize the scrawl inside as Candice’s, I turn to the inside cover.
Property of Niall Horan
Don’t steal, ya wanker.
Shit. My first instinct is to stuff the journal back in the couch and pretend I never saw it. There’s something about the worn edges that tells me that this book means something. Whatever’s inside it is important. I don’t deserve to be holding it in my hands.
It’s not that Niall Horan is a genius or anything—his music is good, sells well, but isn’t anything particularly original. But Niall has what I don’t: he has the secret something that’s gotten him success in this industry. He sells records and plays nighttime talk shows and doesn’t seem miserable as he does it.
When I first told my mom I was coming to LA after graduation to make a record, she told me I was crazy. She told me she didn’t send me to college so that I could end up right where I was headed if I never left Wombat. If she had things her way, I would still be living in Los Angeles, playing a version of myself on tv and dodging paparazzi on street corners in my free time. Back then, when “Minna and the…” was the highest-rated show on the Wombat Channel and I had extensions in my hair, the tabloids printed a story every other week about my mother and me:
Minna Locke’s mother is the puppetmaster!
Minna and the… stage mom from hell!!!
From West Virginia to West LA: Minna and Marla Locke, the Biggest Divas in town!
And so on and so forth. The tabloids weren’t completely incorrect: it was my mother’s pushing and shoving that got me an audition at Wombat in the first place, and it was pressure from her that kept me doing the show every time I wanted to quit.
Those times were plentiful. Having your adolescence broadcast in high-definition for all cable subscribers to see is no walk in the park. By age 16, I was tired of playing a fictionalized version of myself in a world where the worst thing that ever happened was when I didn’t make the cheerleading team and had to be the school mascot instead. I was tired of singing trite, contrived, meaningless songs that played on endless loop on Wombat Radio but never gleaned me any actual notoriety as a singer. I was ready to be done with “Minna and the…” and never look back.
Which is why, as soon as I got my GED, I told the producers we were on our last season, I applied for college, and I got the hell out of dodge.
Here’s what my mother doesn’t understand: this time, I’m doing things on my own terms. I’m making the record I want to make, the way I want to make it…
…which would be easier if I knew what kind of record I wanted to make. If I knew what I wanted to say. If I knew, after all these years playing television Minna and running away from her when I wasn’t playing her, who Minna Locke actually was.
But Niall Horan—he knows who he is. He’s a golf-loving, folk-singing ex-boybander who doesn’t know how to use punctuation, and he’s all of those things unabashedly. So maybe, I think, looking at Niall’s journal, maybe this is an opportunity.
But that thought doesn’t stop me from stuffing it back in the couch cushion when Candice comes back in the room.
Track #2: Evidence of Me
That night, I sit in my rented studio apartment in Studio City, the one that I can’t afford, and stare at the cover of Niall’s journal.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that Niall is recording at the same studio as me. I use the studio in the mornings, so he must use it in the late afternoons and into the evening. I didn’t check with reception to confirm because I didn’t want to seem creepy, but that has to be how his journal ended up in the couch. He must’ve left it behind last night. And now it’s in my hands.
When I first found the thing, I thought I’d leave it right where I found it. Niall would come back, find it in the couch cushion, and never think that anyone else had touched it. But then, just before leaving the studio, in a moment of impulse, a moment I’ll never be able to take back, I snuck it into my bag.
Now I don’t know what to do with it. I trace my finger over the cracked leather and consider my options: I could take it back to the studio tomorrow and pretend I never had it. I could drop it at the reception desk and tell them I found it in an elevator. I could mail it back anonymously.
Or I could open it.
That’s what Candice thinks I should do. She voices her thoughts to me in no uncertain terms when I finally break down and call to catch her up.
“You need to open it,” she says for the twelfth time since our conversation began.
By now I’m sitting on my bed, as far away from the journal as I can get. It sits on the small kitchen table across the room, taunting me. Candice went through a full spectrum of emotions as I told her about finding Niall’s journal in the couch but now she’s stuck on one line, like a scratched record: I have to open the journal.
“You could blackmail him with this,” she continues. When I met Candice, we were both 15. She was a burgeoning popstar, and I was starring on a television show playing a character named after myself. Back then, we loved to imagine all the scheming we could do if we weren’t so closely watched. “Maybe there’s something embarrassing inside it. Or you could be like, I’m not giving your book back unless you agree to co-write with me on my album.”
“I can’t do that.” I lean back on the bed and close my eyes. Like everything else in this flat, the bed smells like cats, but I can’t be bothered to care about that right now. “I shouldn’t have even taken it. I should take it back to the studio and drop it through the mail slot or something. I should throw it away and pretend I never had it.”
“Yeah, shred the evidence,” Candice says. Even over the phone, I can tell she’s rolling her eyes. “That’s really the best choice here. He’ll never be able to trace it back to you. When he goes public with the story, the publicity will be great. I can see it now: Minna Locke steals Niall Horan’s songwriting notebook and destroys the evidence. Minna Locke, thief. You’ll be the next Winona Ryder. Child star gone wild.”
I groan. “I get it, thanks.” I open my eyes and stare at the notebook. It’s so small and unassuming, so unaware of the trouble it’s caused.
“On second thought,” Candice says, “you should definitely not read it. You might get sued, and if you get sued, we’ll never finish this record.”
“At the rate I’m going, we’re never going to finish the record anyway.” I roll over, burying my head in my pillow. When I emerge, Candice is giving me a pep talk, which I cut off. “I’ll figure it out. See you tomorrow.”
“Sure,” she says with a skepticism that I choose to ignore. “See you tomorrow.”
I toss my phone aside and get to my feet. Outside, a horn honks, brakes squeal. Los Angeles is so much louder now than I ever remember it being. When I was a kid, LA never felt unsafe, never felt anything but homely, but now I see darkness lurking around every corner. Is that because I’m now an outsider here?
Maybe it’s that fear, that desperate sense of hopelessness, that has me reaching for Niall’s journal and turning back the cover, flipping back the page that says, Don’t steal, ya wanker, and beginning to read the scrawled handwriting inside. It’s that part of me that wants so badly to make it here, to prove my mother wrong, to prove to the world that I’m just as talented that I once was.
But it’s something in my heart that keeps me turning the pages.
Some of the things Niall has written are diary entries: Today I recorded the first song. I worked with Jamie on it and he says it’s going to be big. That’s what I want, right?
Other pages have lists, names of books and songs by other musicians, observations: Sitting in a restaurant in NYC. The place is lit with candles and my date’s gone to the toilet. Julian set us up. Not sure I ought to see her again if she can’t make it through dinner with me without constantly looking at her mobile and dashing off to the loo twice before dessert.
That makes me smile, but it’s the bits of poetry, unfinished songs, that stand out to me. The words in the journal are nothing like the songs Niall has released. They’re just as smart, with phrases I can already imagine as earworms, but they’re so much more.
They’re honest. Organic. Real.
They’re a side of Niall that I’ve never seen on stage or in interviews. They’re so raw that I wonder if he’s holding them back for that reason: because they don’t fit with how everyone sees him. I can relate to that, to that fear that people won’t accept who you really are because they’ve always understood you to be someone else.
Reading his words, I almost feel as if I know him. As if I could go to a bookstore and select something for him to read and not be wrong about it. I feel like I could choose a meaningful birthday present for him. I feel like I could look at him and sense what he’s feeling.
That’s why I shouldn’t be reading it. But I can’t put it down.
On one page, Niall describes a coffee mug shattering in the sink, spilling its contents across the basin—easily cleaned up, unlike a breakup, when you have to disentangle your life from someone else’s without leaving—or taking—too many scars. The metaphor is so vivid, the imagery so tangible, that I can picture it all in my mind like a memory. Like I’m the one who dropped the mug in the sink and bloodied my fingers on its shards during the cleaning process.
It seems only natural, then, that when I find a stanza unfinished, I pick up my own journal and complete it. My brain finishes Niall’s lines as easily as if it had begun them.
Objectively, I know that it’s wrong. It’s a complete invasion of privacy to read someone’s work without their permission, much less add onto it, and I’d never want someone to do it to me. But I can’t stop. It feels like a missing piece of something—maybe even a missing piece of me—has fallen into place.
And once I’ve started, I can’t stop. I keep at it until my words fit seamlessly with the ones that Niall’s written, almost like we composed them together.
Track #3: Too Many Times
After finally crawling into bed around two in the morning, I lie awake, tossing and turning. There’s no way around it: I have to return the journal immediately, and I can’t use any of the bits that I wrote. I could face all manner of lawsuits: copyright infringement, plagiarism, intellectual property theft. Not to mention a feeling of guilt so strong it might eventually kill me.
So my only choice is to return the journal and pretend I never read it.
Unless I can convince Niall to co-write with me. Then these songs won’t be for nothing. Then I won’t have poured myself onto paper only to throw the words away.
By the time I leave for the studio, I’ve decided: this afternoon, I’m going to return the journal. It’s tucked away in my bag, next to my own writing journal, which is now several pages fuller than it was yesterday. And maybe when I hand the journal back to Niall, I’ll be able to work up the courage to tell him that I read one of his songs, finished it, and think we should record it together.
I meet Candice in the lobby and immediately spot the question on her lips. She wants to know what’s inside the journal. But I shake my head at her; we can’t talk about it here, not where someone might overhear us.
“So,” Candice says as soon as the studio door shuts behind us. “What happened to you last night? You look hungover. Are you hungover?”
I shake my head and reach into my bag. Instead of pulling out Niall’s journal, I pull out my own. Wordlessly, I open it to what I wrote last night and hand it to Candice.
She sits down on the couch and begins to read. I hover by the door and watch. I wonder if, in the silent room, Candice can hear how fast my heart is beating. Even though these words aren’t all my own, even though they go with something that someone else—a stranger, nonetheless—wrote, I’ve never been this afraid to share my work before. I’m afraid of how I’ll feel if Candice doesn’t like it. It’ll be like she doesn’t like a part of me.
Finally, after what feels like hours, she lowers the book to her lap and looks at me. Just looks at me for a minute, looks at me like she never has before, not in all our years our friendship.
“Damn, Minna,” she says when she breaks the silence. I let out a deep breath. “This is great,” she continues. “Seriously, Minna. This is great. Really fucking great.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say drily.
“Sorry, it’s just…” She shakes her head and glances down at my journal again, like she’s searching for the words. “This stuff is so romantic. It’s so different for you. I never would’ve expected it. Do you have melodies?”
Because it’s not mine, I want to say. Except, that’s not entirely true, is it? They weren’t mine at first, these lines, these songs. But I put so much of myself into them—they contain only shadows now of what they were when I first found them.
“In my head, but it doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s trash, all of it.” My voice cracks. I swallow, forcing myself to keep it together. “It’s not mine.”
Candice frowns. “What do you mean, it’s not yours? This is your handwriting, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…” I shake my head. “It’s Niall’s. His journal. I finished some of his songs, and I just got into it and—”
Candice cuts me off with a shake of her head. “That doesn’t make it not yours. People write stuff based on other things all the time, don’t they? It’s derivative.”
I let myself fall onto the couch next to her. “I don’t think it works like that if the person’s alive and hasn’t used the material.”
The room falls silent as Candice thinks. This is a role reversal in our friendship. Usually she’s the one pulling crazy schemes, making unexpected decisions, and I’m the quiet one, the one observing, the one figuring out where to go from here. But now that job has fallen on Candice.
“Okay,” she says eventually. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”
I hug my knees to my chest and listen to her plan.
Track #4: Tripping
I should’ve worn something else.
Throughout my entire life, I’ve been looked at. As a child, my mom auditioned me for commercials, dressed me up in frills and lace and paraded me in front of agents and casting directors in order to supplement her cigarettes-and-shoes habit. When I got older, I played kidnapped daughters on “Criminal Minds” and daughters of senators on “The West Wing.” Then Wombat found me.
The day we signed the contracts for “Minna and the…” my mother bought herself a pair of Louboutins at the Bloomingdale’s in Hollywood and then took me out to dinner, where she didn’t object when I ordered an ice cream sundae instead of an entree.
“You’ve earned it,” she told me, smiling at me like she was proud of me.
I knew the truth, though. My mom wasn’t proud of anyone besides herself. She took credit for my success, and continued to do so long after it was over. When I decided to quit acting to go to college, she told everyone I was “just taking a break.”
“You know Minna,” she’d tell people—her friends, her friends’ friends, people in the checkout line at the supermarket—“she always wants to set a good example for her fans.”
That wasn’t untrue—I understood from a young age what it meant to always have eyes on you. I’ve always understood what it means to be watched. When I was 17, though, all I wanted was for that to stop. I didn’t want to set a good example for my fans. I didn’t want to have fans. I just wanted to be normal.
I wanted to wear sweatpants to class and not worry about being thought a slob. I wanted to stay out late drinking without the risk of someone trying to profit off of a compromising picture of me. I wanted to kiss a boy and not fear that he only wanted some version of me that he’d seen on tv.
I wanted to turn back time.
But I couldn’t. I had to adjust. I had to accept that I’d never be just Minna Locke. There would always be something in the way.
I’ve never been more worried about how someone is going to see me than I am now. When Niall looks at me, will he see Minna Locke, teen queen? Will he remember my tragic prom night splashed across the cover of US Weekly? Will he recall paparazzi photos of me rushing to class with my shirt on backwards?
Will he know that when I look at him, all I see is his heart?
I’ll see so much more than the boyband underdog. More than the sweet one or the goofy one. More than the cute blonde with the nice smile. I’ll see his mum, the most important person in his life, and his nephew, and all the dreams he has for his future: a Grammy and a family and a house back home in Ireland. I’ll see it all because I read it in his journal, on the pages where he poured out his heart.
I’ll see all of that, and I’ll have to pretend that I don’t, because when he looks at me, all he’ll see is Minna Locke—or some version of me based on what he’s seen on gossip rags or on the Wombat channel. He won’t see who I really am.
I twist my fingers through the lanyard that hangs from my neck and turn the final corner towards the studio where I know Niall’s working today. It’s bad form to interrupt an artist when they’re working, but this can’t wait any longer.
Maybe just another minute, though. I come to a stop outside the door and shift back and forth on my feet. I should’ve worn something else. These jeans may be my lucky pair, but they make me look kind of schlubby, and this t-shirt, a free one I got at college orientation, does not speak volumes of my songwriting abilities. I thought it silly to change my clothes just to come here this afternoon, but now I’m regretting that. I know about ethos, how somebody commands the space around them in a way that makes you want to trust them, befriend them, follow them. I’ve got no ethos in this outfit.
But it’s too late now to fix it. Which means how this conversation is going to go depends completely on what I say, and how well Niall hears me.
And, dear God, I need him to hear me.
I take a deep breath and knock on the door. Just when I’m considering knocking again—was I too quiet the first time?—the door opens. Immediately, I take a step backward into the hallway, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
A guy with dark hair and a tattoo of a swan on his neck stands in the doorway. There are headphones over his ears, and he pulls them down and raises his eyebrow at me. “You need something?”
“I—” Unable to say anything, I reach into my bag and hold Niall’s journal under my arm, tucked against my chest.
The guy opens the door wider, allowing me to see inside the room. While Candice and I haven’t ventured into the recording booth yet, instead keeping to the table and couch outside of it, I can see Niall through the glass, headphones on as he leans toward the microphone.
There’s another guy manning the controls at the recording booth. Distracted by the open door, he swivels on his stool and looks at me. I feel it, the way he looks at me, his eyes traveling down my torso and legs and then back up, barely focusing on my face before his eyes catch on what I’m holding.
“Oh my God, is that—” He turns to the dash and hits a couple of buttons. “Niall, this girl’s found your book.”
I watch through the glass as Niall turns to face us. His eyes meet mine, a glimpse of recognition passing over them, and then he slips his headphones off his ears and crosses the few feet to the door. He steps out of the recording booth and then continues toward me.
“Hey,” he says, smiling at me. “Minna, right? I heard you were recording here.”
I nod dumbly as he holds out his hand. I’m not sure if he wants a handshake or if he’s expecting me to hand over his journal, but since the book is in my right hand, I hold it out.
“Thank God you found it,” he says, ruffling the pages and then sticking the whole thing in his back pocket. “Who knows what could’ve happened if it’d fallen into the wrong hands, ya know?” He laughs, looking not at all bothered by the possibilities.
Meanwhile, I haven’t said a word. The guy with the neck tattoo is still staring at me, either because he thinks I’m crazy or because he can’t figure out where he recognizes me from. That happens a lot these days; it’s all part of life as a has-been television star. And acting crazy: that’s something I’ve mastered all on my own.
“You didn’t read it, did ya?” Niall jokes, running a hand through his hair. I know he’s kidding, but my blood freezes in my veins anyway. I must look like I’m about to pass out, because suddenly Niall has his hand on my shoulder. “You alright? Come on, sit down.”
He ushers me through the doorway and pushes me into a seat at the table. “Let’s take a break, guys,” he says, gesturing to the other guys until they file out of the room. Suddenly, we’re alone, me and Niall Horan, and I’m trying not to hyperventilate.
“Lemme get you some water,” Niall says, and before I can move, there’s a bottle of Arrowhead in front of me. I twist off the cap and take a sip.
The cold water has me straightening in my chair. I need to shape up and remember why I came here. I was never this nervous as a kid, not at my first audition or my first live taping or my first red carpet. Maybe it’s because I knew that all of those times, it was never really me they were looking at. It was Minna Locke, Wombat star. Now I’m just Minna.
“I did read it,” I say, reaching into my bag for the second journal so that I don’t have to see Niall’s reaction. “I had to bring it back in person so I could tell you—”
“You read it?” Niall repeats. I raise my eyes to meet his and see—is that amusement? I expected horror, fear, anger, but not this. Not humor. “Find anything good in there? I’m not very scandalous, as I’m sure you noticed. Nothing tabloid-worthy.”
I shake my head. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to apologize because I finished some of your lyrics for you.” I put my journal, a purple Moleskine, not as worn or well-traveled as Niall’s, onto the table. I bought it when I first got to Los Angeles, thinking that a new journal would help me get a fresh start in the industry. All it did was remind me how uninspiring a blank page is.
Niall looks down at my journal, confused. “I don’t understand,” he says.
My next words come out rushed, jumbled together. “I know I shouldn’t have even looked inside, so sorry for that, but they’re amazing. You’re amazing.”
He looks at my journal and then at me, then at my journal again. “You did what?”
“I found it in the couch here yesterday.” I know I’m not doing a very good job at explaining, but I have to get the words out. “I use the studio in the mornings. I know I just should’ve sent it back without looking in it, but I couldn’t help myself.”
Niall continues to stare at me, his head cocked like I’m a math problem he’s working through, so I continue to speak. “I know it was wrong. But I really think that we’d work well together, if you’d give us a chance. I really feel connected to your songs, the ones in your journal, and I think that—”
“Show me.”
I blink. “What?”
“You said you finished some of my songs. Show me.”
He has to be kidding. “Are you serious?”
He nods, then gestures into the recording booth, where his guitar sits on a stand next to a wooden stool. “After you. You play guitar, right?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Then go ahead.” He stands up and flips a switch, illuminating the recording booth. “I want to hear what you did.”
My gut reaction is to say no and get out of here as fast as I can, run from the studio and never look back. Screw my album, my future as a recording artist. None of that will be worth how afraid I am right now.
But then I remind myself that that’s just the fear talking. If I can’t do this, I can’t do anything. I might as well pack it up and find a job that doesn’t require me to reveal myself.
I take another swig of water and stand from the chair. “Okay,” I say, picking up my journal. “Let’s go.”
In the recording booth, I put my journal on the stool and pick up Niall’s guitar. It’s slightly bigger than mine, definitely more expensive and better made. It’s the kind of guitar I might like to buy with my first check.
“Who taught you to play guitar?” Niall asks me, staring at my hands. “You hold it weird.”
He’s not the first one to tell me that. The producers at Wombat thought it was endearing; it was one of the things that won me the part. Niall’s clearly not familiar with that, though. “I taught myself.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I read judgment in the slant of his mouth. In his eyes, nothing about me is good enough: not the way I hold my guitar or the notebook I write my lyrics in or the boulders I had to scale just to be here today.
I force my face to mirror his, and I look at him exactly the same way he’s looking at me. I dare him to challenge me. To question my lyrics or my voice or the way I wear my hair—it wouldn’t be the first time a stranger has criticized me. But instead he just stares.
I break first: his eyes are too intense, too blue to be real. I cover up my weakness by strumming a few chords on the guitar. I open to the page in my journal where I played off of Niall’s broken coffee mug metaphor. I can hear the melody in my head, but I haven’t played it aloud before. I don’t know if it will transfer. Plus, I can feel Niall’s eyes on me, sizing me up, waiting.
Just before the silence gets awkward, I begin to play. It’s strange at first, listening to my fingers stumble over the strings and my voice trip over the words in an otherwise silent room. After the first verse, though, it begins to feel natural, the way that playing always does. It begins to feel less like I’m performing and more like I’m just being.
When Niall joins in, reading the words over my shoulder and harmonizing with me, I feel the earth shift under my feet. Playing music has never felt like this before. Like I’m exposing a part of myself, and somebody else is giving a part of themselves back to me.
This is what it’s supposed to feel like.
Track #5: Hard Shake
After I play Niall what I’ve got, he pulls his producers back into the room and introduces us.
Todd is the one with the neck tattoo, and he’s been producing a track that Niall’s been working on. And, he tells me, he has fond memories of watching “Minna and the…” when he was in high school.
“I had a huge crush on you,” he says, making me want to melt into the floor as Niall laughs. “Which was awful, because I was 17 and you were, like, 12.”
“I used to wear blue eyeshadow.” I recall an episode called “Minna and the Goldfish,” where Minna forgot to feed the goldfish that her brother won at the school carnival and then had to enlist her crush to help her find a replacement. The costume designer decided that everything I wore for the episode would be ocean-themed. “I hope you have better taste in women now.”
That makes Niall laugh even harder. Todd pulls out his phone and shows me a photo of his (blue eyeshadow-free) wife.
The other guy’s name is Jorge. He has a baseball cap pulled low on his head and might have a Spanish accent—he only says a few words to me, so it’s hard to tell.
“Jorge doesn’t talk a lot, but he’s a fucking genius,” Niall tells me as we walk out of the building together a few minutes later. “They’re both great guys. It’s hard and a relief to have so much creative control over my music now, ya know? But they’re both really great to work with.”
I nod. “Candice, my producer, she’s also my best friend. I’m really lucky to be working with her.”
Niall grins. “And now you’re really lucky to be working with me too!”
Niall laughs at his joke, which makes me laugh. He laughs carelessly, like he doesn’t care who hears him. I admire that in him, his ability to ignore eyes on him.
“No promises,” Niall says just before we part ways at the corner outside the studio. We’ve decided that we’ll write together in the afternoons for the next few days and see how it goes. “We might actually be terrible together. You never know.”
I have a feeling, though, that we won’t. I could feel it when he sang with me, and afterward, when he took his guitar from me and shook my hand and said, “It’d be a pleasure to work with you, Minna Locke.”
Track #6: The Shock of Me and You
I’ve never written with anyone besides Candice, so working with Niall is, at first, like acclimating to life in a different country. He writes bits and pieces, small phrases here and there, and tries to fit them together until they make something. Until the story emerges.
Me, I start with the story, or with a feeling. With the broken coffee mug, he’s working off the description and I’m working off the image, the taste of blood in my mouth when I’m sucking a cut to stop the bleeding.
Our first day, we’re too much strangers to argue. We tiptoe around each other, afraid to object, afraid to suggest a change. We get nothing done. I go home that night afraid that I’m once again wasting my time, going nowhere, destined to fail in this industry.
The next day is different. When I step into the studio, I hand Niall my journals.
“Here,” I say to his raised eyebrow. “I read yours, so it’s only fair that you get to read mine.”
In my hands are my two journals, not only my purple journal, the one I bought in Los Angeles, but my last one too, the one from my senior year of college. Mixed in with recipes and lecture notes, there are pages about my friends and my fears and why I want to be here, doing this, making music. Exposing the private bits of myself.
In these journals are the bits of me that make me distinct from television Minna. So far, Niall’s only seen her: the way she holds her guitar and the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous. But now he’ll see that the only thing television Minna and I share are those two things. While she was performing in school talent shows and stunning her friends (and enemies) with her nasally bubblegum pop songs about being late for homeroom and crushing on the boy next door, I was awkward. I was awkward around Jeff Kirsch, my costar and fictional Minna’s love interest, whenever the camera wasn’t rolling. I was awkward around Candice, who I met at the Kids’ Choice Awards, until she told me to knock it off because, she promised, she was just as uncomfortable in the spotlight as I was.
I’m no stranger to being misperceived. My first week in college, I (awkwardly) followed my roommate to a frat party, where a group of boys pushed a ukulele into my hands and insisted I play them “Lost Lipstick,” which I sung on “Minna and the…” when I was 13 years old. I’d already downed two shots of clear liquid that didn’t not taste like nail polish remover, and they’d barely finished making the request before I threw up on the floor—and the uke.
And then there was Jake, who ditched me at prom. A few months ago my mom threw me a graduation party, where he showed up, stared at my tits, expressed surprise that I’d “managed” to go to college, and then tried to flirt with Candice.
“He’s cute,” my mom had said in my ear when she spotted me watching his attempt at flirtation. “Don’t let her take him away from you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did you forget what he did to me at prom, Mom?”
She shrugged. “People grow up, Minna.”
All I could think then was that I did, but Jake Brooks certainly didn’t.
Now, I’m not so sure. I try not to quake with fear as I hand Niall my journals. I’m not sure what’s driving me to do this, to expose myself in this way. I have no reason to trust Niall—I don’t really know him. I spent hours last night reminding myself of this in some attempt to keep away the emotional connection that I felt to him after reading my diary. Now, I tell myself, I just want to put us on even ground.
Or maybe I want him to feel as connected to me as I do to him. I know that’s selfish, so I try not to think about it. This is a huge risk, but it’s one that I need to take.
Niall takes the journals without saying a word and settles himself on the couch. Unsure what to do with myself, I sit down at the other end of the couch and close my eyes.
Before I know it, Niall wakes me up with a gentle hand on my shoulder. The journals, all three of them, are closed on the table in front of us and Niall’s guitar leans against the couch.
“Late night?” he asks me, smiling. Even though I’ve only known Niall, really known him, for a few days, I’ve begun to suspect that he always manages to smile.
“You could say that,” I say. “Do you think I stole your intellectual property?”
He smiles again. “Not at all. You don’t need to steal it, anyway. You’ve got plenty of good intellectual property of your own.”
I rub the sleep out of my eyes. “What?”
Niall gestures to my journals. “Those funny stories from uni. I never had anything like that. Reading about it was like stepping into another world.” He shakes his head and lets out a long breath. “And your mum, shit, Minna. You didn’t have to share that stuff with me.”
I pull my legs up onto the couch and hug my knees to my chest. There’s certainly nothing good about my mother in the journals. She only visited me once my first year of college, didn’t even come with me when I moved in. When she got there, all she did was complain about how unfortunate it was that I had to share my space with a roommate. “I forgot I wrote about her. I didn’t meant to dump my baggage on you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Niall shake his head again. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you shared it with me. Now I feel like I know you better than you know me.”
Despite my embarrassment, I find myself grinning. “Oh yeah? When’s my birthday?”
Niall taps my college journal. “March. When you turned 21 you waited to celebrate until St. Patrick’s Day and then you got raging drunk before 9 PM and had to be escorted home by campus police.”
Now I’m definitely embarrassed. “I can’t believe I documented that.”
Niall laughs, but I can tell from the way he’s grinning that he’s not laughing at my expense. “You drew pictures, too.” He picks the journal up and flips through it until he finds the page. “Here, look.”
I take it in my hand, and there, indeed, is a cartoon-esque drawing of Finally 21 Minna, head hung over the toilet bowl. “Gross,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“I dunno,” Niall says, leaning over to study the picture. “I think you’re pretty talented. Might consider a career in comic books if I were you.”
I imagine it, a whole series of cartoons about my boring life. In the first one, Minna smiles at the bag boy at the grocery store, thinking his stare means he’s flirting. In response to her hello, he says, “Hey, you know Candice Mellon, right? Can you give me her number?
“That’d be atrocious,” I say.
“Atrocious,” Niall repeats, turning the word over on his tongue. “Uhh-troe-shissss. You have a funny accent, Minna Locke.”
I laugh at the way he crosses his eyes as he speaks. “You have a funny accent, Niall Horan.”
He grins widely. “Wouldn’t be me without it.” Then he reaches for his pencil. “I like that word. You think we can use it in the song?”
His easy transition makes me less uncomfortable, too. We spend the next few minutes determine that no, the word “atrocious” doesn’t fit in the song, and things progress naturally from there. As I watch Niall poke his tongue out of his mouth when he plays, I wonder if he’s acting extra friendly to make me more comfortable, or this is just the way he is. Something tells me it’s the latter. Even though he has baggage like everybody else, he doesn’t let his affect the way he smiles. I admire that.
I take my journals with me when I leave. The purple one has lots of blank pages left, and I have a feeling I might want to fill them tonight.
Track #7: Here and There
Niall Horan doesn’t drink coffee, and I drink far too much.
I learn this a day into our second week in the studio, when I ask him to join me for coffee and he tells me he doesn’t drink it.
“I’ll join you for tea, though,” he says, smiling.
I drink too much coffee, and he smiles too much—but never so much that I wish he’d stop. He sits across from me in the cafe around the corner and bounces his leg, jostling the table.
“Sorry,” he says for the third time, steadying his cup. “My brother used to watch your show.”
Niall is good at non-sequiturs, and I don’t mind because it helps me understand how his mind works. The picture of him I began when I read his journal becomes more complete—and more confusing—with every moment that I spend with him. We’re more comfortable with each other now, acting like we’re old friends sometimes and finishing each other’s sentences when we’re writing, but there are still so many things I still have to learn about him.
“Oh yeah?” I say, steadying my own cup. Despite the cardboard sleeve, it’s hot to the touch. “But you didn’t?”
He grins, shrugs. “I’ve seen an episode or two. Here and there.”
“Right.” I raise an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve never heard of that band you used to be in. What were they called again?”
His grin turns into a laugh at that, and my stomach flutters. Making someone laugh, the joy that comes from it—that’s a feeling I could easily become addicted to. Especially when Niall’s the one laughing.
“You’re funny, Minna,” he says when he catches his breath. “It’s surprising.”
That surprises me. “Why’s that?”
He shrugs. “Because Minna on telly is so uptight, had that best mate who was always tricking her into doing fun things, right? And something tells me that you don’t need to be tricked into doing fun things.”
I swear his eyes sparkle as he looks at me. His eyes always sparkle when he looks at me—earlier today when he told me I have a beautiful voice, last week when he offered a gentle smile in response to my frustration over a broken string on my guitar, the other night when we got takeout and he told me about how all of his travels have made him appreciate being home so much more.
Niall is so much more than the person I thought he was from his journal. He’s kind and funny and smart and compassionate and creative and clever, and he fascinates me. I can’t help but what to know everything about him, and I can’t help how fast I’m falling.
I’m falling too fast, much faster than I ever would’ve dared fall in the past. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in writing together or the heat of summer or the uniqueness of the boy sitting across from me—I don’t know. All I know is that this moment, this moment in the cafe over tea and coffee, is the moment that changes everything.
“I could say the same thing about you, Niall Horan.”
That night, just before I left the studio, Niall kissed me before I had the chance to kiss him. That has me stomping my foot and demanding a do-over, which makes him laugh.
“This is strange,” he says when we break apart. His hand rests on my cheek, mine on his chest. “And it’s gonna sound stupid, but I feel like I’ve known you for so much longer than a few weeks.”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “You did watch me on tv when you were a kid.”
He rolls his eyes, still smiling. “You know what I mean.”
And I do. It seems that I only have to look at Niall to know what he’s thinking. I begin to think it’s all in my head, but then Niall voices what I’m thinking. We haven’t known each other long, but we’re weaving our souls together through our songwriting. We’re connecting in a way that I’ve never connected with another person before, and it’s addicting.
It’s addicting and maddening and wonderful, and I never want it to end.
Track #8: Striking Gold
“It’s gonna be a hit,” Todd proclaims, smiling widely. I hear him through my headphones, but even without them, I can tell from his expression that he likes the song. Beside him, Jorge gives us two thumbs up.
It’s Tuesday night, the sun is setting on the horizon, and we’ve just finished the song. It’s called “Your Broken Mug,” and in all my 22 years, I’ve never done anything better. It’s beautiful and melodic and resonant and heavy and light all at the same time. It makes me want to dance and scream and cry and run through a field of wheat, and I want to do it all with Niall beside me, holding my hand.
I can’t wait to play it for Candice. I can’t wait to send it to my mom and show her what I’ve done—what I’ve been able to do. I can’t wait to share it, and that’s how I know it’s good.
“It’s gonna be a hit!” Niall repeats, sliding his headphones off and hanging them up before pulling the strap of his guitar over his head. “It’s gonna be a hit, Min.”
“It’s gonna be a hit!” I echo, taking off my headphones too.
Guitar safely on the floor, Niall grabs my hand, pulling me up and sweeping me into his arms. He spins me out and pulls me back in. My arms wrap around his neck as he pulls me tight against him. Here, in the recording booth, it’s just the two of us, set afire by this moment, by this feeling. It’s just the two of us and our song, this thing we created together.
“You’re magic, Minna Locke,” he says right before he kisses me. “Bloody magic.”
He smiles as his lips meet mine, and I’m smiling right back. We don’t break apart until Jorge whistles at us through the window, and even then, Niall keeps his arms around me. He leans forward, brushing his forehead against mine, and winks.
“Pure magic,” he whispers.
No, I think as we walk from the studio hand in hand in search of dinner, it’s not me that’s magic. And it’s not him either, like I once thought. It’s both of us together, risking vulnerability so that we can make something so special. That’s the magic.
And when Niall touches me, I can feel it. That magic’s still there between us, and it’s not going away anytime soon. We’ll write another song, and another after that, and we’ll keep going until we’re exhausted. And then we’ll find some other magic in life.
That night, I can feel it. I didn’t come to Los Angeles expecting this, expecting this boy or this collaboration or these feelings, but now that I have it, I don’t know how to live without it.
Track #9: Undoing
On Thursday, everything falls apart. Niall texts me mid-morning and asks to meet me at the studio. He has news, he says.
I practically float to the studio, my worries from a few weeks ago long behind me. I can’t wait to see the shock on my mom’s face when I tell her that my first single is going to be a duet with Niall Horan. Yes, Mom, that Niall Horan.
But as soon as I see Niall’s face, all of those worries, those fears of failure, come rushing back. Niall’s perched on one of the chairs in what I’ve come to think of as our studio, looking far from relaxed. When I come in, he stands up and shuts the door behind me.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, sitting down. I set my bag on the table. Inside are my journals, which I’ve been carrying around since the day I let him read them. They’ve become such a part of me that it feels wrong to leave home without them.
“I sent the song to my guys. And I wanted to tell you myself,” he says, fidgeting in his chair. His left knee bounces, bounces, bounces, so repetitively that I have to look away. His anxiety is making me anxious. “My label wants to find somebody else to sing the song.”
“The song,” I repeat. “Our song?”
Niall nods. “They think another voice would be better—”
“They’re not going to let you sing your own song?”
Now he shakes his head. “Not me, you. They want a more, um, established, I think that’s the word he used, singer to do the duet with me.”
I want to speak, but I don’t know what to say. Half a dozen emotions are battling it out inside my head. Anger, annoyance, frustration, betrayal… Which one will be the first to show itself?
Niall leans toward me, his arm outstretched like he wants to touch me, but then he pulls back. “Listen, I know this sucks. It’s just, this is gonna be my first collaboration and it’s gonna be a big deal, you know, from a marketing perspective. Jorge really thinks this is the right way to go. And you’ll still get a songwriting credit, so when it blows up, you’ll make a lot too.”
I stare. This is not a “Minna and the…” moment. This is pure, unadulterated Minna Locke. Minna Locke, who felt too much and made assumptions and put all of her eggs in one fucking basket. All I can think as Niall parrots someone else’s words at me is that I have to get out of this room before all of my emotions burst out of me simultaneously. But Niall’s still talking, apologizing again.
“I’m so sorry, Min. I tried to fight for you, because I know how much the song means to you, but—”
“But it obviously doesn’t mean that much to you, or you wouldn’t let this happen.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. Looks like betrayal disguised as anger is the winner. I’m not being fair, and I know it. But this hurts. I thought the connection that Niall and I made through the process of writing this song was special. I thought he’d fight for that, especially knowing that tiny, nobody me won’t be able to.
But I was wrong.
“It does, Min,” he says. Now he does reach for my hand, but I pull my arm away. I stand up, crossing my arms over my chest. “There’s nothing I want more than to sing the song with you, but—”
“Stop,” I say. I don’t want to hear any more of his excuses. I grab my journal off of the table and shove it in my bag before reaching for my guitar. “I get it. Thanks for telling me. You can have the contract sent to my agent.”
I hate the way that sounds. Just hours ago Niall kissed me, and now I’m cutting off direct communication. This isn’t what I want.
“Minna, please,” Niall says, reaching for my arm again.
“Niall, let me go. Please.” Swinging my guitar over my shoulder, I push past Niall to get out of the room. My eyes water, but I don’t want to cry in front of him. When I let Niall read my journals, I gave him the tools he needed to hurt me—I just didn’t know it at the time. Or maybe I did, and I just didn’t know that he’d try.
Niall follows me out into the hallway, keeping just a few steps behind me all the way to the elevator. The doors open immediately, an act of God or karma. I step inside and jab at the “close doors” button repeatedly.
“Minna—” Niall says one more time, but the doors slide shut before he can finish his sentence.
I came to Los Angeles to make the album I wanted, not the one my mom wanted or the one Wombat wanted. I came here to tell my story the way I wanted it told. Maybe that’s where I fucked up. All along I was afraid that I wouldn’t be good enough, that I couldn’t write songs that would sell or that my voice wasn’t fit for the radio.
I never thought that what I’d actually fail at would be keeping my name on the music that I make.
I never thought I’d fail at keeping control over my own life.
Track #10: Echoes
The first time I had my heart broken, it was a lie.
The second time I had my heart broken, it was photographed in high definition.
And the third time, there is nobody around to see me cry.
Over facetime, my mom tells me that this is all my fault, that the song wasn’t good enough. I sit on Candice’s couch, my cheeks streaked with the echoes of tears, and listen to her tell me that I expect too much, I trust too easily, I feel too strongly. I don’t even tell her that I’ve developed feelings for Niall—I already know it wouldn’t do anything to make her sympathize with me.
“You know what this industry is like,” my mom says. I imagine her at home in Virginia, in the 5,000 square foot suburban house she bought when I was 14 even though we only spent a few months a year in it. Now, it’s just her there, her and all of her expensive things. “You know how cutthroat it is. Maybe your voice just isn’t top 40 material. You knew that was a possibility going in. You knew you could fail.”
Did I, though? Of course I knew that it would be tough making a record, even tougher getting it out there and making it successful. What I didn’t know was that I would meet Niall, write maybe the best song I’ll ever write with him, and then be passed over for recording it because I’m not established enough.
Then my mind starts going over all the things I could’ve done differently. Maybe if I’d returned Niall’s notebook, or if I’d never looked inside, then I wouldn’t be nursing my crushed dreams with a tub of cookie dough ice cream. Maybe if I’d brought the song to Candice before Niall brought it to his producer, then I’d be the one kicking him out of the recording booth in favor of someone with a larger audience or more cred on the indie scene or less fear about his marketability.
But if I’d made any of those choices, I never would’ve connected with Niall the way I did. Even if it was all one-sided, even if I was the only one feeling something between us, it still meant something.
He saw me. And I can’t regret that.
I don’t tell my mom that. Instead I say, “I know” and “I’ll come home soon” even though it’s maybe a lie and “please don’t worry about me” even though I know she doesn’t bother.
I’m close to tears again by the time I tell her I have to go and manage to hang up. How can she treat me like this so easily? How can I let her?
“Your mom is a raging bitch,” Candice says, coming into the room just as I drop my phone facedown on the table in front of me. “I don’t know why you even bother taking her calls.”
“She’s not a bitch,” I say, but I have to admit that my voice lacks conviction. “She’s lonely.”
“Then she should get a cat.” To punctuate her statement, Candice slams a bottle of beer on the table in front of me. “Drink this. You need it.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re not fine, Minna. You’re staining my couch with your tears on a Thursday afternoon. Have you even eaten today?”
I shrug. “I can’t remember.”
“See! You’re not fine.” Instead of sitting down, Candice begins to pace the room, not even looking at me. “Let’s backtrack. So you move to LA to be near your amazing best friend and to make the record you’ve been dreaming of since your little brain could dream. Correct?”
Not exactly—there were definitely some years while I was working on “Minna” that I wanted to get as far away from LA as I could and never come back—but it’s not worth correcting. Silently, I nod.
“Right, so you’re in LA, and you’re having this creative block. Every song you’re writing sounds like the theme song to a different tv show.” Candice pauses, expecting me to challenge her. I’m so exhausted I don’t bother to object to her insult. “But then fate blesses you. You find Niall Horan’s songwriting notebook in a couch cushion. You follow your beautiful best friend’s advice and read it.”
“Worst advice ever,” I say.
She ignores me. “And then you go to Niall Horan and you’re like, I wrote these great songs and since I was inspired by you we should probably share them. And he’s like, okay, hot tv star from Virginia, let’s do it.”
“That’s not what happened.”
Candice rolls her eyes at me. “Yes, it is. So then you start writing with Niall Horan, making beautiful music together"—she gives me a pointed look—"and completely forgetting about your fabulous best friend, who is totally willing to produce an album full of tv theme songs if it’s the way you want to go. But then something wonderful happens.” She stops and stares at me, as if waiting for me to tell her what the something wonderful is.
“Beats me,” I tell her. “What happened next?”
“Well, a bunch of things. The first one being that, in addition to writing a kick ass duet with Niall, you also wrote your entire solo album.”
I start to shake my head. “I didn't—”
“You bet your skinny ass you did.” From behind her back she pulls my purple journal, the one I bought when I first moved to LA. “It’s all in here, Minna. If you want real, if you want stuff that matters, this is it. This is your first record.”
“What?” I jump off the couch and reach for the journal, but she holds it up in the air, out of my reach. “That stuff isn’t songs. It’s just…” I search for the word for what I’ve been writing lately. Half-poems and lists of feelings and descriptions of floors in rooms at the Getty Villa and sketches of graffiti I spotted around the city. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Wrong.” Now Candice lets the journal fall into my outstretched hand. “This is not nothing, Minna. This is an emotional journey, from lost and writer’s-blocked to warm, soulful, creative, in love, real Minna. This is who you are. This is your album.”
I stare at her and then down at my notebook. There’s no way it contains all of that, I’m sure of it. Candice must’ve made all of that up for effect; she’s always loved a good dramatic scene.
“I’ll leave you alone to ponder this revelation,” Candice says before exiting the room. Down the hall I hear the bathroom door shut and the shower turn on before Candice begins singing something that sounds suspiciously like “Despacito.” Suspicious because Candice met Justin Bieber a few years ago and swears he’s a terrible singer with the personality of a “weak-ass cheesecake.” Her words, not mine.
My words are the contents of the journal in my hand. I sink into the couch and let the book fall open in my lap. My handwriting is messy and the lines overlap each other, a hint that I wrote it in darkness, probably just before falling asleep.
I stayed at the studio after Niall left tonight so I could work through the second chorus. It sounded strange to me in a way that Niall couldn’t hear, like the pieces fit together almost too perfectly. Something that I like about Niall is that even though he thinks the song is fine as it is, he doesn’t mind that I want to keep chipping at it. He hasn’t told me that I’m crazy or wasting my time or fixing something that isn’t broken. He just lets me be me.
I don’t remember writing any of it. Flipping to the beginning of the book, I find an entry where I describe a memory of my mother, opening the front door for me after my disastrous prom night with a look of disappointment on her face. “There’s no such thing as bad press,” she’d said to me, “but this is pretty shitty.”
In later mentions of my mother, there’s hurt, but there’s also resignation. There’s less anger:
Today Niall told me about his mom (he calls her “mum”) and how proud she is of him. How nothing in her life has changed since he got famous. The nicest thing she owns is a bag he bought her last Christmas; his mate Hailee told him what to get. His mum doesn’t use it because she doesn’t want to get it dirty. “It’s too expensive to carry things,” she says. When he told me this, I thought about my mom and her closet full of expensive bags, so many of them bought with money that I earned. Niall’s mum shows that she loves him by remaining indifferent to his success; my mom loves me because of my success. Why do I love her? Why do I keep loving somebody who can’t seem to see me?
As I flip through the pages of the journal, I see myself progressing from someone who fears her mother to someone who realizes she doesn’t need her mother. That’s like a shock of cold water to the face: the understanding that I’m here without my mom, without her criticizing me and making my decisions for me, and I’m doing okay on my own. I’m succeeding and failing and breaking down on Candice’s couch, and I’m doing it all on my own. My mom can’t claim ownership over any of this.
When Candice returns, a towel wrapped around her head, I’ve located ice cream in her freezer and am spoon-deep in the carton.
“You’re disgusting,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Do you see it? There’s an album in there, right?”
“Fine.” I gesture at the journal, which I’ve abandoned on the table so I can have my hands free to hold my ice cream spoon. “Maybe I have enough here for an album. But none of that changes what Niall did.”
“Good lord!” Candice stops scrunching her hair with the towel to plop down on the table in front of me and take the ice cream carton from my hands. “First of all, stop eating this. And second, this isn’t Niall’s fault.”
“Of course it’s Niall’s fault. He let the song go.”
Candice shakes her head. “No, Min. The song was taken from him. Just like it was taken from you. Just like a million decisions have been made for you, by other people, your entire life. That’s the way this industry is a lot of the time. It’s all about marketability and money and…”
Candice keeps talking, making a case for Niall as a passive innocent rather than a heart-crushing aggressor, but I stop listening. I’ve been famous longer than Niall has, but he’s been in the music industry longer. He made his name on a show where adults decided for him what songs he should sing and who he should sing them with. And now the same thing is happening to him again.
I thought I knew what it was like to have my life controlled by my image, by the judgements of other people. But clearly Niall knows about that more than I ever could.
Track #11: Limerance
I take a week off from the studio and from Candice’s pitying eyes. She texts me several times, begging me to come into the studio with her and work on my album, the one she’s so sure I’ve already written most of, but I ignore her messages. I camp out in my apartment for the first few days, cleaning everything from floor to ceiling. There isn’t much to clean, but I manage to occupy myself with the task anyway, scrubbing the grout in the shower with a toothbrush and shooing dust mites out of corners I never knew existed.
And then I walk. Los Angeles is not a very pedestrian-friendly place, with its fast drivers and vast swaths of concrete parking lot and freeways running like veins through the fabric of the city. But like with cleaning things that aren’t dirty, I manage it. I drive to parks I’ve never been to before and wander their pathways. I park my car in unfamiliar neighborhoods of the city and zig-zag through the streets. I leave my phone in my glovebox and ignore Niall’s texts and calls.
Every night I go home exhausted, thinking that tonight, finally, will be the night I don’t dream of Niall. And it never is.
Instead, I spend late nights writing, trying to make sense of why this hurts so much. Niall didn’t break up with me, didn’t tell me the things he felt for me were gone or were never really there. No, what he did is worse somehow. He didn’t fight for the song that we wrote together, that we both put pieces of ourselves into. And in choosing not to fight for the song, he failed to fight for me, too.
I pour all of that into my journal. Even though I shared this book with Niall before, I can’t imagine showing it to anyone else again. A part of me thinks that when I gave Niall access to what I’d written in it, I gave him permission—and power—to break me.
After a week has passed, I take to the studio. Candice makes sure to book a different room, not the one Niall’s using, and we spend ten-hour days writing and recording and re-recording and re-writing.
“Take that, Niall Horan,” Candice says to me one night after we play back the day’s work. “I think this is your first single.”
I can’t control the smile on my face. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. Everything I wanted to do is finally taking shape, coming together, and I did it on my own. “I think you may be right.”
I don’t pull away when Candice pulls me in for a hug.
I don’t stop writing, though. At night is when everything I’ve been ignoring all day bursts to the surface. I don’t need Niall to write music; I’ve proved that to myself. But maybe my heart needs him. Maybe it needs to be taken care of, and maybe Niall’s the one to do it.
That’s why, before I can talk myself out of it, I open up my laptop and send Niall the song. “Limerance,” it’s called, a word that refers to what it feels like to be infatuated with another person. It’s about him, but it’s also about me and the realization that I can do this on my own.
My pen’s just run out of ink when someone knocks at the door. I glance out the window, surprised to find that the sun is rising. My eyelids feel heavy, like maybe I’m finally exhausted enough to sleep.
But then the knocking sounds again.
I cross the short distance to the door and pull it open.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Niall. My surprise at his presence wears off immediately, maybe because I’d just been thinking about him, writing about him. I read once that when you dream about somebody, it’s because they’re thinking about you. Maybe Niall woke up this morning dreaming about me.
“Can I come in?” Niall asks. He holds two paper cups in his hand. He passes me one and keeps the other, no doubt tea, in his hand.
I don’t say anything as I step back to let him inside. My apartment is small and poorly decorated, no doubt a shambles compared to where he lives, but I refuse to be ashamed of it. The vulnerability I showed Niall is something I can’t take back.
If Niall’s presence isn’t a surprise, what he says next practically floors me.
“I told them I’m not recording the song if I can’t record it with you.”
I gather my shock up off the linoleum to ask, “What? Why?”
“Because after you left, I realized that the song does mean a lot to me. More than I told you. It means a lot to us, so it won’t be the same unless we sing it together.”
“Us?”
“Yes, Minna, us.” Niall takes a step into my space, crowding me into the small kitchen. “But they said no. They said the song is gone, they already sold it to Shawn Mendes—”
Despite my anger, a giggle slips out. “You’re going to sing a duet with Shawn Mendes?”
Niall catches my laugh and smiles. “God, no.” He shakes his head. “He’s gonna sing it with some girl that he knows, I’m not sure. The point is, I’m not singing the song either.”
I bite my lip, unsure. Is this the better scenario? Now Niall’s not singing our song with someone else. Now he’s not singing it at all. Neither of us are. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.” Niall catches my hand and weaves our fingers together. He’s so close to me now that I can feel his body heat. A few more inches and he’d reach me. “But hear me out. I think we should write together again. You should keep writing your album, of course, because it’s bloody brilliant, but we should write together again.”
I don’t say anything. I just keep staring at him, tracing my eyes over the freckles on his nose and the wrinkle on his forehead and the curve of his lower lip. I see the scar on his left cheek that he got when he fell off his bike as a kid. I see the spot at the corner of his mouth that I kissed just a few weeks ago. And I feel my anger dissolving.
“Not just one song,” he continues. “All the songs. Every song. Until we run out of songs to write.”
“How long do you think that’ll take?”
Niall’s eyes wrinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Forever. I think we’ll never run out of songs to write.”
“You’re pretty confident about that,” I say. With my anger slipping, looking at him becomes too much, brings too many of my feelings to the surface. So I look away, letting my eyes drop to the floor.
“How could I not be?” he says. “This is rare, you know that? The way we work together, the way I feel about you, that doesn’t happen a lot. We need to hold onto it.”
I feel my eyes beginning to water, so I blink, trying to hold back the tears. I have a question to ask, but I still can’t bring myself to meet Niall’s eyes.
“How do you feel about me?” I barely get the words out before the tears begin to slide down my cheeks.
“Minna,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his palm brushing against my cheek. “Minna, look at me.”
Slowly, I raise my gaze from the floor. I feel Niall’s fingers swiping against my cheekbones, brushing away my tears, and I meet his eyes.
Niall’s eyes, so bright and clear and blue, say a thousand things that his mouth doesn’t. They say that we’re good together and he’s not going to let us go easily and he can already nearly hear the beautiful, magical songs we’re going to write together. I try not to look back and think about all the songs I’m going to write about him, about the way he makes me feel.
“I was so scared when you told me you read my journal,” he says, stepping impossibly closer to me. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to know, but I was so scared. You know why I never put any of what I wrote in there into my songs?”
I shake my head slightly, reluctant to move away from Niall’s touch.
“It’s because it was so personal,” he explains. “I was afraid of being judged, afraid of what people would think if I was somebody other than who they expected.”
My breath catches in my throat. “I never judged you.”
Niall’s thumb brushes against my mouth, shushing me. “I know that. As soon as you gave me your journals to read, all that fear disappeared. Because if you could see me and then be vulnerable with me in return—” Niall shakes his head, breaking eye contact with me.
Now I’m the one pulling him back to me. I slide my hand up his neck and run my fingers through the strands of hair at the nape. “Look at me, Niall.”
When he does, when I look in his eyes, I see what I’m feeling reflected back at me.
there will be no fic posted at 12pm today. I've had no time this week to queue a fic as I'm currently packing for university, etc. The fic meant to be posted today will be posted tomorrow, Sunday, at 12pm! Wednesday is still on schedule! Ash x
Ruby hates the idea of going to Harry’s wedding. She hates the idea of dressing up and seeing friends she hasn’t spoken to in years, acting like they still have things in common.
Niall is the “friend” on the top of Ruby’s hope I never see again list. Or, well, that is until she sees him for the first time in six years and his laugh is possibly less torturous than it was when they were cramped together in the lunch room of their high school.
A reunion fic including the perfect ex boyfriend, his annoying best friend, and a steady flow of alcohol.
Part i.
A knock on the door like that is loud enough to wake up anyone. And a knock like that can only be from one person - the dad of a peacefully sleeping daughter inside her bedroom.
The first thing that she sees when she opens her eyes is pink. That isn't due to the baby pink walls or the rose colored curtains that allow the morning glow of the sun to caste through the room. No, it is all due to the fact that the daughter sleeps face down atop her blush sheets, head covered by the same shade of pillowcase.
A knock sounds louder and sturdier, four more times.
Ruby, the daughter, exhales and rolls onto her back. “Yeah?” She tries to refrain from sounding annoyed but if happens, it happens.
Her dad opens the hardwood door just wide enough to stick his manly sized head in, smiling with the satisfaction of waking his daughter up and catching a glimpse of her wild hair before she's even thought of taming it for the day. “Morning, kiddo.”
“Morning.” Ruby rubs her eyes to get the sleep out, holding the cover to her body as she sits up.
“Something came in the mail for ya today. I think it's what you've been waiting for.” He winks.
Ruby immediately falls back to the pillows of her bed at her dad's obvious sarcasm, wishing she could be buried in them. The sound of her dad's laughter bounces off the walls of the small bedroom and right down her ear canal.
“Mom’s making breakfast, so get your lazy ass up.” He follows up playfully, leaving as quickly as he woke the girl - smartly because a minute more and he'd have a pillow thrown in his direction.
Stretching away the morning lethargy, Ruby grabs her phone from her nightstand and opens her favorite photo sharing social media app. Instantly, her first thought is to take a Boomerang so she throws her legs up in the air and kicks them a few time as her ceiling fan circles above them. It's cute and fun and perfectly depicts how she feels that morning. With the caption ‘early morning frustration release’ she posts it, and then swings those legs over the edge of her bed.
As she makes her way down the short hallway to her kitchen, she isn't positive on what her mother's cooking but it sure does smell good. Rounding the corner, Ruby finds her dad with a pile of waffles already drizzled in syrup, a coffee in front of him, and ESPN playing behind him from the living room TV. Her mom is at the waffle maker, dancing around to a song in her head as she maneuvers the appliance.
“Good morning, Mamma.” Ruby approaches her from behind and kisses her on the crown of the head - something comforting they do to one another whenever they can.
“Good morning, Baby.” The timer beeps indicating another waffle is done, so her mom opens up the scary looking contraption and adds another to the stack of three. “If you want more than two, you're gonna have to make them yourself.” She sings.
Ruby eyes the complicated looking waffle maker and shakes her head, not wanting to get burned but relieved knowing two is just enough for her. She follows behind her mom to the table and notices something at her designated seat that she didn't see before. The envelope is stark white and bigger than any normal envelope should be. It’s size and shine alone indicates that its special.
“Really, Dad?” Ruby frowns deeply as she slides into her seat. “You think this is funny?”
By the grin he lets fall, he thought it was hilarious before his daughter started puffing out her bottom lip. “Aww, now Ruby, you know I'm just playing with you. I thought we were over all this?”
We being Ruby and this being her ex boyfriend from six years ago.
Because Ruby, who lives in a pink room in her parents house, is old enough to have someone that she ended things with that long ago. She's also old enough to have gotten over him and put him in that little box in the back of her mind. The one labeled ‘high school sweetheart’. It's a box that is well kept but isn't ever looked inside of for envy of what once was.
“We are.” Ruby emphasizes. “But it's still weird and now I have to go.”
“You don't have to do anything you don't wanna, you know that as well as anybody.”
Ruby sighs and nods, because her dad is right. If the day comes and she doesn't feel up to it at all, she won't go. Just like how, halfway through her first year of college, she decided it wasn't right for her and she dropped out to move back home.
With one finger, she finds a crack in the seal of the envelope and rips it open, taking no gentle measures in pulling out the perfectly square invitation. The sounds of forks and knives scratching against plastic plates stop as her parents watch Ruby reads the words:
Please share our joy as
Harry Styles
&
Emma Brew
Join in marriage
SATURDAY, THE TENTH OF JUNE
AT FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON
LOWELL FIELD
PRESCOTT, ARIZONA
“Ugh.” Ruby pushes the envelope to the side and picks up a fork. “That wedding is going to be perfect.”
Does she feel guilty that she’s mostly thinking of the many aesthetic pictures she could take for her Instagram? A little bit.
“You should go.” Her mom suggests. “I think you'll have fun. You and Harry are friends now.”
Ruby wouldn't say that exactly. Every time they've ran into each other in town, they've been friendly and lovely to one another. One time she bumped into both Harry and his fiancé at a bar. They sat for a good hour getting drunk and laughing about the unapologetically bad karaoke performers they were witnessing. But still, friends hang out more than when the universe just so happens to put them in the same spot at the same time.
“I don't know if that's true.”
“Then why'd you RSVP when they sent the save the date?” Her mom counters beautifully with grace and poise and that knowing smile that she just said something that proved her point - something Ruby’s father is all too familiar with.
Speaking of, Ruby looks to him for guidance, and an answer to why she did do that, perhaps. He's got a mouthful of syrupy goodness and an expression that is just as stumped as Ruby's.
“Well,” Ruby starts, deciding to ignore that unanswerable question and ends the conversation with, “we will just cross that bridge when we come to it.”
<>
That bridge came pretty quick, quicker than she expected. The invitation only arrived five weeks before June tenth so before Ruby knew it, she was buying a dress and staring at it the entire night before the wedding.
On one hand, Harry is one of her oldest “friends”. He was there for everything throughout her high school career. And even after she broke up with him, when she wanted to drop out of college but was too scared to bring it up to her parents, he talked it out with her.
On the other hand, she isn't a part of his life anymore. She doesn't know anyone who is going to be there and if she does, it's going to be some random people from high school that only talked to her because she was dating Harry Styles.
And let's not forget the part where she has to watch her first love betroth himself to another. She’s definitely over him, and them, but it was still a thing, a thing she had to do, that was out of her comfort zone.
She spends half the night completely stumped, staring at the dress, wondering if she'll actually use it for its intended purpose.
But then, Ruby remembers the last time she saw Harry in town - buying supplies for his art class and encouraging her choice to buy the Gain laundry detergent instead of the Tide brand. “Keeps me smelling like flowers for days. Doesn't even matter how many days I've put on the same pair of jeans.”
She eventually turns off her bedside table lamp and covers her body with the pink sheets, knowing she has to wake up early the next morning to get ready for a summer wedding.
<>
The dress is blue with yellow and white flowers. The colors are pale but still beautiful, making it the perfect outfit to wear to a special occasion. Even with a plunging neckline, Ruby easily keeps everything covered entirely due to the petite nature of all her features.
She keeps her hair simple, running product through it so her curls don't fall out of place and leaving it at that. When it comes to makeup, Ruby does her favorite, easy foundation, eyeliner, and eyebrow routine.
For finishing touches, she puts on a single pearl, silver chain necklace and moisturises her deep beige legs. This coloring she holds isn't a product of too much time in the Arizona sun - she can only attribute the freckles to that. It's because her father's ancestors were born in the center of Africa and immigrated to America just two generations ago. And because of her mother's grandma and grandpa who made the their journey from Italy nearly a century prior to Ruby’s birth.
Ruby often regards her skin tone as a history she can see. Though it comes with unimaginable pain for her father and her father's father and his father too, she wears it with pride and strength for all those that came before her, and those that will come after.
She looks in the mirror one last time before exiting her room, noting the way the blue makes her whole body glow, accentuating her complexion, and thanks the heavens for where she came from.
“Whoa, Phil!” Ruby's mom yells as soon as she sees her daughter make her way down the carpeted corridor, yellow flats creating the softest shuffling noise against the ground. “Come look at your daughter.”
Ruby's father, who was just outside on the back porch, immediately appears in the living room.
“Beautiful.” He beams and opens his arms for a hug. Ruby can never resist one of the bear like embraces. “Just beautiful.”
She pulls out of it slowly to kiss him on the cheek. Next, she does the same to her mom then makes her way to the door. Both parents are watching like she is about to head off to prom, not attend the wedding of the guy she went to both of her proms with.
“Okay.” She chuckles at the absurdity - her parents look like they're about to cry. “I'll see you guys later. Love you.”
“Love you!” They both respond in unison as she steps out of the house and shoots a wave through the window.
<>
Ruby pulls up to Lowell Field at 3:32pm. It wasn't her intention to get there this early, the traffic was just quicker than she assumed and she hasn't ever been to this field before so she wanted room for error (because their usually is error with her driving). The grass of the field has been cut in a large rectangle where the wedding will be held but everywhere around it, wildflowers and much longer grass blows softly in the wind.
After contemplating just staying in the car until five minutes before the ceremony, she sees a bridge off to the side. It's away from the tent, and the people crowding around the seats near the makeshift altar, chatting and laughing with champagne flutes already in their hands. From where she sits, she can't really see the setup but she can already tell it will be beautiful.
Still, instead of joining all the guests with the alcohol, she gets out of her car and makes her way to the bridge. She figures it'll be a great spot to take a few shots for Instagram. Though, once she gets there, it's wobbly enough to make her rethink.
Deciding to trust it anyway, Ruby opens the camera app and sets a five second self timer. She positions it just right against her handbag sitting on top of the wooden railing so that it'll get the white and yellow blossoms growing higher than she stands. Quickly, she taps the capture button then poses for the picture.
But of course, right as she does, the pressure of another human body is felt on the rickety bridge and Ruby knows she moved in the shot. Accompanying the frustration of a ruined moment comes the embarrassment she always feels when she's caught doing an impromptu photo shoot.
She rushes for her phone and purse, putting one inside the other when she hears it. At first, she can't think of where to place the voice but after closing her eyes and exhaling, the years of annoyance come running back to her.
“Rubs, what the hell are you doing?”
Ruby opens her eyes, biting her bottom lip and turning. Sure enough, it is exactly who she didn't want to see. Niall Horan - Harry's best friend, the guy she had to sit at lunch with everyday for over two years.
Though, this Niall isn't like the Niall she remembers. He's still slightly tinged pink with the laughter he's always belting out and his smile is as bright as ever, but he's most definitely grown up. No longer are the tips of his hair frosted yellow. It's now mostly brown with a small cluster of blonde highlights - he's finally letting the blonde thing go and growing out his natural hair color. And he isn't wearing braces, something she thought he'd always have.
In high school, she only ever saw him wearing skinny jeans and t shirts. Apparently, surprisingly, he has enough class to know that that isn't appropriate wedding attire and is wearing a dark grey plaid suit with a blue pocket square.
If the aggravating aspects of his personality weren't already showing through, Ruby would say he looks amazing.
“I can't believe you're here,” is how she responds to his question, crossing her arms and ignoring his smile.
“What?” Niall blows his eyes wide. “I'm only the best fucking man!”
“Of course you are.”
“I don't know why you act like you're not happy to see me. I know ya are, Ruby.”
Ruby side eyes his smiling ways. “In what world, Horan? What world?”
“Oh come on, now. We're not kids, you can get over it.” He throws his hands up and begins walking closer, stopping to lean against the railing opposite her.
“Never.” Wanting to pout, not over the reason she began hating him in the first place, she speaks under her breath so she doesn't seem like the most immature 24-year-old on the planet.
That gets a laugh out of him as he speaks incredulously, “Are you serious? How many times do I have to apologize?”
“Hmmm.” She thinks - about what he did to her in sixth grade, about the laughs he had at her expense, about the half assed apology he gave her three years later in 9th grade. “Maybe until you can turn back time and untrip me when I had a tray of food in my hands.”
“If I could, I would.”
Ruby isn't amused by his response, instead she tilts her head and waits, for what, she doesn't know.
Under the pressure of her gaze, his expression falters into a more serious one. “I'm sorry, Ruby, for tripping you in front of our whole class.”
“That's all?”
“And for making you spill all your food all over you and ruining your clothes.”
He says it sincerely enough that Ruby almost wants to believe him. Then she remembers what she was wearing that day. “That was my favorite dress, Niall, and chocolate milk stains.”
The ridiculousness of the sentence doesn't register to her until it's out of her mouth and Niall is trying his hardest not to burst with laughter. She can see it in the way he's biting his bottom lip and bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, some guffaws spilling through. She thinks over the drama in which she just executed the line and can't help the smile from sliding across her face too.
Once permission is granted, Niall lets loose, covering his heart and saying through a laugh, “I swear to god, you make a man never regret anything more.”
Ruby feels pride in that and thinks she'll have to tell her mom about the statement later. They'll have a cup of iced tea and share stories of the times they held grudges for years and years and years, she's sure of it.
“Give me your phone.” Niall, suddenly, demands out of nowhere, holding out a hand for it.
“What? Why?”
“I'll help you get that picture you were trying to take earlier.” He says like it's obvious, like it's normal for him to be helpful and not an absolute pest.
Ruby is hesitant at first, looking around to see that people are beginning to sit down. Then, she thinks of her followers and how much they would genuinely enjoy such a hipster wedding guest aesthetic.
“Fine.” She pulls out her phone once again, opening the camera app to turn off the timer because Niall definitely wouldn't think to do that right away and she wants to get this over with as soon as possible. She lets him have her phone and says, “It doesn't need to be some artsy angle, just make sure to get my face and the flowers.”
“Gotcha.” He holds up the camera and waits for her to stop moving. Once she does and silence passes by for a few moments, he hands it back. “Alright. I think I got something in there. Be sure to give me photo cred on Instagram. Tag me and everything.”
By the way he says it, she knows he's joking but she isn't sure how Niall knows that's where she'll post it.
“How do you know that's where it's going?”
“Aren't you like, an Instagram model these days?”
Ruby looks at her flats against the wooden planks and nods because maybe that's not the name she'd use for the job but that is the way she makes her money - posting picture that her followers like, doing sponsorships with products she actually loves, and making sure to always, always update. Out of the 1.3 million followers she does have, Niall very well could be one, though, she's not going to ask.
Checking his watch that he has hidden underneath his suit jacket, he starts walking away. “Well, nice seeing ya again, Rubs. Best man duty calls. Maybe we'll talk again at the reception?”
But before she has a chance to give a witty response, he's turned completely around and begins jogging up to the altar.
<>
The wedding was elegant and beautiful. Emma cried, Harry cried, Harry's mom cried. From the back row, Ruby could've sworn she saw Niall wipe away a tear or two. Not that she was looking of course, he was just very much on display with the rest of them.
The reception that follows is in a tent just off to the side of where the ceremony took place, and after watching all that, Ruby definitely needs a drink. The whole first love getting married part wasn't so bad, it was all the classical music that played and the long drawn out vows that made her crave a vodka soda. A part of her questioned if she should even stay for the party, but since she came all the way to the wedding she might as well stay to wish Harry and Emma the best.
Barely inside of the tent, she sees someone she recognizes. And since they're close to the bar, she isn't ashamed to approach that area first.
“Jasmine!” Ruby smiles as she slides up to the girl who used to ride home with her and Harry everyday - Harry's neighbor for his entire life.
“Oh my god, Ru!” Jasmine immediately initiates a hug. “Where have you been? It's been ages.”
In reality, it's been about two years since they last got together for something. Jasmine had just gotten back from college in Southern California and invited everyone over for a pool party. Ruby was glad to attend because then, she was still young and open to the idea of all her high school friends graduating college. By the time she left that night though, she realized her job at the grocery store didn’t stack up to all their degrees. Ruby would never admit that Jasmine, in a roundabout way, is what made her distant from all the friends she made because of Harry, but she'd be glad to tell her that her party was the reason she began taking amateur pictures of herself and posting them online.
“Way too long!” Ruby nods her head in agreement, lifting her hand to signal the bartender. “How have you been?”
“Great. I got a new apartment last month with my boyfriend and I swear if he plays his cards right, you'll be coming to one of these parties for me one day.”
“Oooh, can't wait!” Only slightly faking, Ruby grins and figures if she can come to Harry's wedding, she can show up to Jasmine’s.
The two carry on for a bit longer, not saying anything of much importance, until the bartender comes over and Ruby is walking away with a drink. Jasmine gets distracted by Annie Tally, an ex pep squad member, so she doesn't seem to notice when Ruby leaves her side.
Now with a drink, Ruby searches the board with the list of designated seats for where she'll sit, hoping to be at a table with people she kind of knew and liked in high school. Under the title of table 4 is where Ruby's name is displayed with a bunch of other people she doesn't know except one, Marcus Dole. Ruby isn't too upset about that - Marcus never left a person unless they were laughing at his jokes and never had a rude thing to say about them when he did.
So, of course, when Harry and Emma make their grand entrance, that's who Ruby is laughing with. Marcus is telling a long story about the night he got suspended from high school for pranking their math teacher. The other people don't seem quite as amused at Marcus’s story but also, they probably didn't know how much of a raging psycho Mrs. Velvy was.
Both Marcus and Ruby stop mid laugh to stand to their feet and applaud the couple with everyone else. Right away, Harry and Emma begin their first dance. It's to some sweet song - a voice paired with an acoustic guitar only. Ruby finds herself swaying, taking it all in, enjoying it for what it is and realizing that she was definitely worried about nothing. Now that she has seen she can actually tolerate everyone six years on, she's certain she'll get drunk enough to need an uber ride home and dance like a fool within the hour.
It isn't until the song is almost over that she realizes it's live and looks to see who's playing. And it isn't until she sees who's playing that it's obvious whose voice she had been loving just moments before.
Niall is standing on stage with nothing but a microphone on a stand and a guitar on his body. His fingers pluck the strings slowly as he croons out the lyrics to whatever the song is. As it comes to an end, the whole room cheers and most of it's directed at the couple, but Harry makes sure to turn towards Niall and give him a clap.
Ruby chuckles, thanking the gods that she's not the one who is going to have to fight for attention in the middle of the ongoing love affair of Niall and Harry.
Before they can sit down, Harry and Emma begin making their rounds. And since she has three tables ahead of hers, Ruby sneaks off to the bar to get a second drink, getting Marcus another rum and coke like requested. Because man, open bars are amazing.
Ruby makes a few stops to talk with other familiar faces, going along a very similar structure as her conversation with Jasmine - just a little less wedding talk. Finally making her way back to her table, she finds Harry and Emma already there.
“Sorry,” she approaches, slightly regretting the look of double fisting this early into the reception. “Lola Cook is still as chatty as ever.”
“Gotta love her, though.” Harry nods with a smile - the same one that got Ruby swooning in 10th grade. “Thanks for coming.”
He hugs her then, right in front of his new wife who is smiling larger than any human ever has in history. Emma knows all about Harry and Ruby's past, but she also knows just as well as everyone in the tent that their relationship had its time and place.
Still, Ruby will always have a special place in heart for this boy in her arms. She pulls back and ignores the tiny pang she gets by imagining for one second only what it would be like if it were her in Emma's dress. “I'm so happy for you guys.” She admits honestly, “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Thank you for coming.” Emma is now wrapping her arms around Ruby, though only for a brief second. “You looks so beautiful.”
“Oh my god, look at you! You're absolutely stunning!”
In a white skin tight dress with a lace overlay, Emma is gorgeous. Her blonde hair is bouncing in ringlets as her perfect skin shines in just the right light. Honestly, if Ruby's first love was going to marry anyone, she was going to have to be this pretty.
Since they don't have much time and a ton of guests, that is it for one on ones with Ruby. The newlyweds moving onto one of the randoms at their table and that's fine with her because now her and Marcus can drink more without shame.
Much of the next hour is spent like that - laughing and telling stories and one of the two getting another drink. Ruby slows down after her third because she doesn't want to be an absolute mess at the end of the night. That doesn't stop Marcus from making trips to the bar sporadically. And on one of those trips, he gains a lot more than a glass full of his favorite alcohol.
“Look who I found.” He approaches the table with a certain almost blonde following behind. Niall has a beer bottle in his hand and has loosened up considerably - his suit jacket is off, his white shirt is untucked with the sleeves rolled up, and his tie is slack around his neck. “You're favorite kid from high school!”
Marcus is letting his alcohol show, which gets a laugh out of both Niall and Ruby.
“I'll have you know that we put that behind us.” Ruby rises from the table after feeling weird with them standing above her and also, disliking how she has to strain to hear them over the dance music.
It must be too loud for Niall because he shakes his head and says, “Excuse me? What?”
“We put that behind us. I forgive you for the eternal embarrassment I felt over that moment in my life.” Ruby reassures him with a pat on the shoulder. It's probably the three vodka sodas that are making her so forgiving or the fact that the picture he took for her and that she posted just thirty minutes ago is getting hundreds of likes already. Either or, she's looking at this older Niall, with the same rosy cheeks and startling blue eyes and thinking what's done is done.
“I'm so glad I could bring you two together.” Marcus throws an arms round both of their shoulders, squeezing them and almost pushing them into a hug. “I gotta take a piss like you wouldn't believe though. Where's the bathroom, man?”
Niall cracks up laughing at the brilliant delivery and points to some place over Marcus's shoulder where a short line is forming. Quick as he can, Marcus disappears with a certain drunk wobble to his walk.
“It's crazy. He hasn't changed a bit.” Niall observes, smiling at Ruby.
“You're telling me. I've been sitting with him all night.”
“Lucky girl.” Niall brings his bottle into the air, offering a cheers. Ruby reaches for her nearly full drink sitting on the table and bumps the clear plastic against his glass. After a quick sip, he speculates, “So you mean it? We're all good? No more angry Ruby stares?”
“Nah.” She shakes her head, smirking as she traces the lip of her cup with her finger and, “I mean, who cares if I was called milky pants for three years? Whatever. It was cool at times.”
“I always got a kick outta calling you that myself.”
“I think you started it?”
Niall shrugs, noncommittally. “Maybe. Who keeps up with those kinds of things?”
Ruby can distinctly remember being called that moments after it happened by none other than the former blonde himself, but in the spirit of forgiveness, she keeps with the light hearted nature of their joking. “Young girls who want the opposite sex to one day find them somewhat attractive.”
“Trust me, they did.” Niall nods up and down, as one does when really trying to assure someone of something.
Ruby never saw herself as an ugly kid, maybe awkward looking at times, but when she was called milky pants, she swore she'd never get a date - “ever!”, she screamed one time at her parents in frustration. The next year, she had her first kiss and then her first boyfriend and so on and so on.
“You look great, by the way.” Niall continues with a step forward, closer as the dancing gets wilder on the floor. Now they're standing maybe a smidge too close and yet, somehow, Ruby doesn’t mind.
“Thanks.” She looks down her body to make sure everything is still intact - her dress is still covering everything that needs to be covered, her pearl is still hanging in the right spot. Then, she looks back at Niall and absolutely couldn't ignore how great he looks too. It could be the vodka or it could be just because she wants to but she finds herself returning the compliment, a little less certain than Niall. “Um, you don't look so bad yourself.”
At first he is grinning with it until, “So bad? Come on! I gloed up, as the kids say.”
“You're not an old man, Niall. You can say it too.”
“You're right! I gloed the fuck up.” Niall nods adamantly and fakes a yell over the music, unnoticeable over the popping bass.
It gets a giggle out of Ruby as she quips, “Still cocky, I see.”
“Huh? Can't hear you over the music.” He obviously can - they were talking at that level their entire conversation and it isn't like the music is getting louder - but Ruby bites anyway. Maybe she shouldn't, but she does.
She takes a step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder as she rises to her tippy toes and whispers in his ear, “I said, you're still cocky.”
It is a flirty move, she'll admit. She isn't sure why she feels like flirting with a guy she would've claimed hatred for no less than three hours ago. She is sure she likes how she can see his stubble from this close, can smell his cologne wafting from his neck.
Ruby drops back to her heels, gauging his reaction of a suppressed smile as a win, holding still as he leans over to her ear to whisper something of his own, “Yeah, and you're still -”
The music cuts off at the end of the song, cutting off whatever Niall was going to say too. The next thing heard is the clinking of glasses and Ruby is looking around to see the bride and groom kissing as the mother of the bride stands with a microphone in her hand.
“Dinner is served!” The mother cheers with a lift of her champagne flute as many waiters start carrying silver plates to each guest.
Niall is already walking to his best man seat by the time Ruby looks away from the front table.
“We will have speeches and then continue on with dancing, how does that sound?” The mother asks the entire room, getting a loud clap in response.
Dinner turns out to be chicken and veggies with mashed potatoes. Seconds are offered and desserts of chocolate mousse are placed before every guest. The large cake will be saved for later, towards the end of the night.
During dinner, Ruby pushes her vodka soda aside and switches to the flowing champagne - something she can sip on to maintain her buzz, adding to it in small amounts by the time she gets to the bottom of the glass flutes.
While everyone else gets to eat the light fluffy chocolate dessert, the wedding party gets to gives their speeches. The parents are first with heartwarming stories. Then the siblings - Gemma had a particularly embarrassing story, as anyone would have predicted. The maid of honor follows her and for some reason, the last speech of the night is given by Niall.
He grabs the microphone with a steady hand, a beer bottle in the other one. He's laughing before he even begins.
“Hello.” He starts, making some face at Harry before Anne shushes her son and nods to the best man to continue. “Alright. So I'm not always good at words that aren't lyrics but since I already sang, I guess I can't do that again.” Someone says something at the table that Ruby can't hear, and then Niall is shaking his head. “I just wanna say that there is no better guy in the world than Harry Styles - excluding me. I met him when I was new to Arizona. I was just an odd little 9 year old with no friends and no idea how to make any. Then Harry sat next to me in class and from that moment on, I had the best one I could ever ask for. Everyday Harry teaches me to be a kinder person. And everyday since I've known Emma, lovely Emma… well she's taught me to be a more loving person. Together, they bring to this world the kindness and love it should be filled with and I'm just lucky to be allowed to witness it… so cheers!”
Everyone raises their flutes in the air and repeats the word, smiling as Harry stands and hugs his best friend who lies and says he isn't good with words.
Part ii.
Ruby never intended to leave the reception with Niall. Not when she first saw him or when he first performed or when she whispered in his ear or even after his speech. Even after the second time he got on stage, after the cake cutting, the thought didn't cross her mind.
If she has to place it, she'll say the moment it became a seed of an idea in her head was when he found her on the dance floor. His dancing was just so dorky and awful but he somehow made it ridiculously attractive, or at least endearing. Then, he slid a hand around her waist to sway their bodies together and that seed fully planted itself.
It bloomed when she said she needed some air and he followed her out to her car.
She's leaning against the hood with no intentions to drive it but seeing how things go before she calls for an Uber. More drunk that she was earlier, Ruby has to ask, “What were you going to call me earlier?”
“What?” Niall, who is standing in front of her and swaying to the music that can be heard all the way outside, tilts his head.
“Before dinner. You said ‘you're still…’ and then got cut off.”
“Ah.” Niall nods, remembering. “I was just gonna say you're still as infuriating.”
“How's that?”
“Still picking on me.” He's kind of drunk too, and pouty. He slows his dancing when Ruby rolls her eyes and moves closer to her. “Still too good for me.”
“Whatever.” She pushes his shoulder away, laughing because she has no idea what he's saying. He laughs at her weak attempt and instead of doing anything else, she quickly pulls him down to her lips by the tie on his neck.
The kiss shocks him still for only a few seconds before he's reacting to it. His lips are parting with hers and his tongue is lapping at her in just the right way. Ruby is rushing into it just as much as him, her hands let go of his clothes and make their way up to his hair, running through the soft, short locks. Niall pushes her back so she's sitting on the hood of her car and closer to his height. She wraps her legs around his hips, keeping him steady and unmoving as his hand easily slips underneath her dress.
Before she can overthink it, because she definitely doesn't want to do that, she grabs for her purse beside her and unzips it, pulling out the keys.
“Backseat?” She suggests like a sixteen year old, breaking apart from him.
Niall is out of breath as his chest heaves and he looks around her to check the size of it. Ruby bites her bottom lip hopefully, never being so thankful to have an old station wagon in her life.
Without words, he's picking her up and carrying her around to the door, getting the keys from her. And next thing she knows, she's on her back on the leather seats.
“I have a hotel room like five minutes away if you prefer…” Niall only suggest once she's gotten truly comfortable and desperate to get some clothes off.
“No, this is fine with me. Is it fine with you?” She says in one breath, fingers finding the buttons to his shirt and opening them regardless of his answer.
“Hmm.” He's back to her neck, kissing bites into the skin and then soothing the sting away with soft licks. After one or two, and Ruby getting his shirt completely undone and tie off, he stops again. “What if someone walks by?”
Ruby pushes him up and looks out the window. “I didn't park by anyone, we're good.”
Niall takes a few seconds to think, to see that the nearest car is far off in the distance and nods, “Yeah…” he looks her up and down, heavy with lust as her body slinks back and her arms reach out. “Fuck it.”
His hands are going up her skirt, pulling down her underwear this time, sliding his fingers against her. Even though Ruby is almost losing it - definitely wanting to - she isn't lying there helplessly. She's got her lips on his shoulder, kissing sloppily. Her fingers are finding pleasure in the full, never more appealing, chest hair, grasping onto it.
When his fingers get a bit too much, she arches her back and moves her hands to his belt buckle.
Within seconds, he's following suit and letting himself free. He has to take a minute to get a condom out of his wallet but then he's right back on top, lining his body with hers and edging in.
Ruby never intended for this to happen, though, she is really glad it is. Her head’s resting back and her hips buck forward. And he's taking it, working her over thrust after thrust. Matching shortened breaths with her even though he's doing double what she is.
Some people find it shameful how loud someone can be in bed - or in this case, in car. Ruby can never find a way to tame how vocal she is. It isn't so much the volume but rather the nonstop need to moan with the pleasure. Sometimes, she is embarrassed by it, but right now, she's thinking Niall is only liking it more and more as his soft grunts increase in frequency, along with her moans.
Eventually, they're both holding on tighter and then stilling as they let themselves go in the backseat. And not even moments after it's over, Ruby is reminiscing on how much fun it was. Suddenly, as Niall settles on the side of her, just barely on the seat, she begins a laugh - loud and joyous and so true to how he's left her feeling. Maybe it is the remaining alcohol but she doesn't mind.
At first, Niall looks at her like she's crazy until he's chuckling too, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.
“That was…” He starts, probably not sure where to even go with it himself.
Ruby has tons of ideas. Crazy, fun, great... stupid.
She doesn't say any of those. Because once the idea of stupid pops into her head, it sticks. She realizes she just had sex with the best man of the wedding in the backseat of her car. Sure it was great, but that best man is her ex’s best friend. And more importantly, she is the ex of the best mans best friend.
“I have to go.” She drops her expression and moves to open the door.
“Wait… what?” Niall's face reads plain confusion with quirked eyebrows and a frown. “What just happened? I thought you wanted to.”
“I did. Trust me.” She's scrambling for her underwear, keys, and phone, but she doesn't want Niall to think in anyway that she didn't just do exactly what she wanted to. “I just have to get home before it's too late.”
Niall is buckling his belt as he scoots out of the car. As soon as his feet hit the dirt, she's locking the door and backing away.
“Sorry.” She yells out behind her when she turns and begins ordering an Uber, not taking a second look at his face.
She waits at the street for ten minutes, reevaluating how dumb it was of her to sleep with Niall Horan.
<>
The next morning, when she wakes up and shuffles to her dad, pleading that he take her to get her car, she's almost too groggy to even remember her behavior from the night before.
Ruby doesn't really have any girl friends close enough to talk about it with, and she's certainly not going to bring it up to her dad on the way to her station wagon, so she just distracts herself with Instagram. Normally by this time of day, she'd have posted one picture already, but her ratty sweats aren't designer (or anywhere close) and she has no desire to change into anything else that her audience would appreciate. She tries to find something to snag a shot of on the way but nothing strikes her as “gramable”.
By the time she gets to her car, her dad has sang every song on the radio at the top of his lungs. Ruby loves him, but she nearly jumps out of the car when they arrive, giving him a quick kiss to his check and a “thank you, dad. I love you. See ya when I get home.”
He returns the same words and drives away, waving.
Ruby approaches her wagon, clutching the keys in her hand, and for the first time, she begins to smile about what she did. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was irresponsible. But the feeling of the afternoon sun and the sight of a still standing tent reminds her that it was mostly fun. The tent in the daylight reminds her that Harry got married. And married to someone he is completely in love with no less. She isn't sure if that makes the fact that she slept with Niall okay. It does make her feel less like an interloper.
The tent sets things into perspective, she realizes.
The sheet of paper pinned against her windshield makes it all the more real. At first, she looks around to see if anyone's there, if maybe the person who put it there is still there. Of course, she is alone. The person who placed the note under her wiper is long gone.
Ruby removes it and waits until she is sitting in the driver seat before she flips it open.
Sorry for whatever happened after. I had a lot of fun with you. If you ever want to talk about why you freaked, call me. Please!
Underneath the note was a ten digit number with an Arizona area code. Ruby reads it over and over again until eventually, she has to start her car and go home, just so her dad doesn't start to worry if she takes way too long to return home. Placing the note in the passenger seat, she sticks her keys into the ignition and ignores the backseats existence for the rest of the drive home.
<>
Trying her hardest to absolutely forget something usually puts most of her thoughts right on it. That's why it only took six days for Ruby to break.
She left the note in her car for three days, brought it in and then left it in her desk drawer for two. For one day only, she had it lying on top of her MacBook, staring at her every time she walked past.
At seven thirty the next day, all of that not thinking of Niall’s weight against her gets too much and she punches the number into her phone.
“Hello,” he picks up on the second ring, sounding curious as to who it is calling him.
Ruby, out of nowhere, feels giddy at the sound of his voice. So biting down on a smile, she returns, “Hi, Niall.”
“Ruby?” He guesses, the smile sounding in his voice.
“Who else?”
He chuckles at that and over it, he throws out, “Took ya long enough.”
“Shut up.” Ruby insists more than demands. She's pacing around her room, making her way to the door from her desk and then back again. Ruby hasn't had many phone conversations like this - normally one night stands are just that and then dates are premeditated occurrences built up by weeks of texting. Unsure of what she's even doing with Niall, she asks just to ask, “What are you doing?”
“Waiting on pizza to get here.”
“Yum.”
“Watching America's Got Talent soon.”
“Wow, crazy night.” Ruby lifts her eyebrows with sarcasm, not that he can see. The idea of him being such a homebody kind of excites her though - his voice sounds cozy through the phone line, like he's lounging on the couch and perfectly content with that.
“Well, it is a Tuesday.” He counters, shifting - maybe the phone from one ear to another or his body from one position to the next. “What are you up to?”
Ruby thinks of giving him the real answer - pacing - but that seems a bit too weird. She thinks of the notes she still has in her grasp. She takes a deep breath, lifts the note to reread it, and goes with a slightly less weird answer. “I'm just staring at your note.”
“Oh, I see. Any thoughts?”
“Just,” She sighs out that deep breath and smiles, “I had a lot of fun too.”
“Yeah.” Now a grin of his own isn't just heard but it's felt. They both hold in the silence that follows his words for a little too long - probably trying to determine what it means. Niall must have come to a conclusion first because he timidly suggests, “Um, ya know, since you're just staring at a week old note, you could come over and watch these amazing performers with me instead?”
Ruby slows her pacing, getting what she probably honestly called for - an invite. If she is being true to herself, that is, without a doubt, why she picked up her phone. One part of her wants to deny Niall, say she is about to do something she has already agreed to, but that other part, the same part that called him, questions, “And steal some of your food?”
“Only if you get here before it does.” He responds right away, no thought to it. When Ruby giggles in response, he does too and says, “I'll text you my apartment address.”
<>
It isn't until they're back in their underwear, watching the ending of America's Got Talent that Ruby realizes how much she could possibly be screwing up. For a second time, she slept with the person she probably shouldn't have.
It's just… she got here and he was smiling at her like he does. Like he couldn't have been happier to see anyone else on the planet. And then, unlike how she remembers him from high school, he was kind but also sassy about the first three performances they watched in the talent show. He had her actually laughing as she tried to eat a slice of pizza. Not just a little snort or huff of a laugh, but full blown cackling. Even after he heard the horrible snort she makes when she hears something funny and can't control herself, he looked at her with fascination behind his impossibly blue eyes.
So, after being there for only twenty minutes, she was on his lap, coaxing his shirt off. And his hands were unbuttoning her jean shorts.
They were like teenagers, honestly. They were slow with the build up and then got it over with as quickly as they could once they got to feeling one another. It had Ruby breathless from the moment it started until the second it ended.
Now, after she's slid her panties back on, she sits on the couch they couldn't be bothered to leave and looks around the room. The flat screen is mounted to the wall, and on either side hang two guitars each - mostly acoustic but one electric. To one side of the room is the open floor concept with a kitchen and small dining area and on the opposite wall, is an assortment of picture frames. They're all filled with different people but two people in particular show up a lot - the blonde and a curly haired brunette.
Niall makes his way back from the bathroom in the shirt Ruby had thrown off and a pair of black briefs, looking perfectly messy from what they had just done. Ruby thinks he almost looks better now than he did when he first swung the door open - all dazed and rosy and giddy.
“So…” he says, sitting down next to her, leaving a lot of space between them considering what just happened.
Ruby nods, “Fun.”
Niall agrees wholeheartedly with a grin even if her words were sparse.
“I’m a little mad I missed the rest of that episode.” He jokes as he picks up his remote control. “Good thing I recorded it.”
“Is that so?”
He looks away from the tv to wink at her as he repeats, “Only a little mad.”
“Well, I'm sorry I distracted you.” Ruby lies, because she isn't sorry about the distraction at all really. Maybe she's sorry about other things but not about the fact he didn't get to watch America's Got Talent.
“Nah, that's really alright.”
The way he contorts his face - as if to express the exact words that are coming out of his lips - makes Ruby chuckle as she looks back at the wall of pictures. Her eyes happen to land on a picture that has to be years and years old - Harry and Niall outside of the bowling alley in town, standing side by side, expressionless.
“I like this apartment.” Ruby compliments, reaching for her shirt and pulling it over her head. “So many cool pictures,” she throws her thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the wall.
“Thanks. I've lived here for like, 4 years. The pictures accumulate over time.”
Ruby feels shock wash over her as she says, “Wow. That is commitment.”
She has never lived anywhere for longer than a year that wasn't her parents house. She has never agreed to anything that would keep her confined, if she could help it.
Niall smiles and sighs at the same time. “Yeah, I know. Harry always loved living here though. It's close to anything we'd need.”
“You used to live here with Harry?”
“Uh huh.” Niall watches Ruby pull her shorts out from underneath her on the couch. Jokingly, he clarifies, “Just until he got engaged last year and broke my heart.”
“Ah. Nice.” Nodding, Ruby puts on her final article of clothing. Her face has gone sour and she knows it, but she can't help it when she is surrounded by the same air her ex boyfriend used to live in. More and more, she's feeling wrong about this.
Niall notices and stands to his feet as well, placing a hand on her elbow to steady her rapid search for her other shoe. “Hey, what is it?”
Ruby looks at his face, his blue blue eyes, the scruff around his chin, and exasperates, “I just - I don't know. I feel like an interloper.”
“In what?”
“In you and Harry. I don't want to start a fight.”
“Ruby.” Niall snorts, in disbelief that she's actually serious. When she doesn't change from her stern expression, he declares, “He is married to Emma and head over heels in love.”
“Yeah, but I'm his first. And you're his best friend.” Ruby moves her elbow out of his grasp. “You honestly think this wouldn't hurt him at all?”
A long pause follows her question where Ruby finds and slips on her shoes and where Niall just examines her - her expression, her way of movement, the frantic nature of her panic.
With a standoffish tone, Niall crosses his arms. “I mean… do you want it to hurt Harry?”
“No. Not at all.” Her refusal is immediate and the whole truth. Harry was the perfect boyfriend and she has no ill will against him - that's exactly what leads her to her hesitation with Niall now. A once over of Niall is enough to tell Ruby that something she's said, or implied, is not sitting well with him, so it's easy to get out the words, “I should go.”
“Yeah. Probably.” He nods along as she backs away, and then doesn't say anything more as she opens and closes the door behind her.
<>
Ruby's town is small. Not insanely small that everyone knows everyone else's business or to the point where a town hall meeting could fit into one room. Small as in occasionally she sees people she knows when she's going somewhere for lunch. Occasionally.
Usually, she can avoid any contact with these people. She just pretends not to see them and they're normally okay with it. Ruby isn't some evil person who hates everyone, she just isn't good at small talk or stacking up achievements with people she knew years and years ago.
Usually, she'd bow her head to look at her phone and avoid all eye contact. Niall Horan isn't like that apparently. Before she can even think about sneaking away from him and finding some back isle, he is approaching her with a bag of purchased goods in hand.
“Hey.” He smiles at her as she keeps her eyes focused on the shelf of different teas. “You come here a lot?”
His tone is so different than the last time they spoke, so much easier, so much lighter.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she looks him over. “Not normally at this time.”
The only reason she's there at such an early hour is because for the last four days, she's been tossing and turning in bed over the not-so-blonde-anymore standing next to her. She hasn't been able to sleep in until noon one time since she said to him something that she shouldn't have.
“I was just about to leave when I saw ya over here and wanted to say hi.” Niall says when Ruby offers nothing else.
She can feel herself being cold - in her short answer, by her body language - but she just can’t calculate her next move here. Last time they talked, it ended so weirdly. Niall was almost aggravated with her and now she can feel his grin directed at her.
“Hello,” is what she decides is appropriate. Simple and friendly enough. Still, her eyes shift from earl grey to jasmine to green tea, not sparing a glance his way.
“So listen,” Niall places a careful hand on her shoulder, calling for her attention. “About the other night…”
“It's alright.” She finally musters up the courage to face him and pull a tight lipped smile, shaking her head.
“Yeah, but I just… well, I really have fun with you.”
“I have fun with you too.”
His hand, that hasn't left her, grows warmer. His fingers that were somehow stiff loosen up and curl more easily against her.
“So you're not mad at me?” Ruby asks, again remembering the way Niall looked at her after she brought up Harry in his apartment - almost offended.
He finally drops his hand but doesn't move away. They're standing in the isle alone, maybe a foot or two apart at most.
“You aren't actually sleeping with me to make Harry mad, right?” Something about the way Niall questions her seems playful and weary, disbelieving she would do such a thing but he deemed it necessary to confirm.
“No fucking way.” Ruby takes a step back out of their bubble, just so she has more room to gesture with her declaration. “Never would I do that to either of you… well, maybe I would've when I still hated you.”
“Hey. There is no need to keep bringing that up.”
Ruby is loosening up now that her teasing joke landed and Niall responded with a laugh, so she lets her shoulders relax and, “What? Me hating you?”
“It still stings a bit.” Niall covers his heart, playing wounded.
“Imagine being the actual victim in the incident.”
“Moving on.” He sighs as soon as the words leave her mouth. He clearly has no desire to get back into that discussion. Instead, he takes it upon himself to step closer to her. “What are you doing now?”
Her eyes focus on the blue speckled button down that covers Niall’s chest once it's right there. She feels the urge to trace the space between the little dots to create their own little constellations but thinks that maybe that would be a little strange at this time and place.
“Shopping for tea, obviously.” Suppressing a smirk, she moves her eyes to find his.
“And after that?” He asks in a leading tone, letting her know exactly why he's asking.
This time it's Ruby who steps closer, asking quietly, “Don't you have a job to get to or something?”
“I'm a musician. I record and I tour.”
Ruby remembers a blurry comment from the night of the wedding when they were discussing careers. She's pretty sure Niall has the summer off before he picks up a fall tour of the eastern states.
That doesn't stop her from tilting her head. “So when's your plane leave?”
“Shut up.” He chuckles and nudges her shoulder. “Don't you have a job or something?”
At that, Ruby bites her bottom lip and pulls out her phone from her back pocket. She whips it around and turns out of her close proximity to Niall, focusing her camera on the line of tea and then taking a picture. What was taken for a point turns out to actually look okay so before she turns back to him, she thinks she might actually post it.
“Well played.” He nods in defeat with a look in his eyes - kind of impressed with her response. “Do you wanna leave with me though?”
“To do what?”
With a shrug, he suggests, “Let's get lunch.”
“Where?”
“The cafe across the street?”
Ruby is tempted. She loves that little cafe. It is owned by an old, old woman who knows her by name and always slips Ruby a free latte. More than that though, sitting with Niall, talking with him without alcohol in her veins or half her clothes off, doesn't sound half bad.
She does her best not to give away her willingness so easily by looking over his shoulder to the cafe and smiling, “I do love their turkey clubs.”
Apparently that doesn't work well because he just steps back and holds out his hand for her to grab and for him to lead the way with, “Come on then.”
Just as she is about to slip her hand into his, just to say what the hell, one damn familiar voice calls for the him.
“Hey, Niall!”
Both Ruby and Niall turn their heads to find a smiling Harry. But that doesn't last long when he spots the person his best friend is with, questioning, “Ruby?”
Part iii.
Ruby drops the hand that was on its way to Niall's back to her side, feeling her heartbeat pick up, calmly asking Harry, “How's it going?”
To say that she is feeling a bit caught is a understatement but Niall, who must really not have any reservations about sleeping with his best friends ex, gives Ruby a weird stare before greeting his friend with a hug.
As Harry is locked in it, he responds, “Just got back from the honeymoon. Loving life.”
A smile from ear to ear is cast across his face - pure bliss just like what he wore at the reception.
“You look it, bro. Sick tan.” Niall lets Harry go and makes a point to poke his shoulder blades where his skin is darker than usual.
“Thanks, babe.” Harry pokes right back. “We sat out in the sun for like, eight hours a day.”
Sarcastically, Ruby huffs and shakes her head, “Rough.”
“Oh Ruby, it was indulgence at its finest.” Harry's voice almost quivers with delight, fondly reliving something he just got back from.
The way he is almost daydreaming about it in the middle of the isle makes Ruby giggle as she nods, “Sounds like it, Haz.”
Niall sends a smirk her way at the expense of their friend, laughing a little too. “Where is the missus?”
“She is at home resting. She sent me out to get the wine for tonight.” Harry lifts his basket that holds four bottles of wine, a box of popcorn, and a wine stopper.
Niall's jaw drops immediately. “How come I didn't get an invite?”
“Emma just has some work friends coming over with their husbands.”
“Oh, I see. It's a married couples party.”
“Exclusive.” Ruby chimes in to stay relevant, loving the little spat she's witnessing, not minding if it helps Niall's side as his arms cross and his head tilts.
Before this can get too out of hand, Harry cackles a laugh and starts backing away. “Alright, alright. I'm outta here. I don't need to get into this!”
Niall laughs too, clearly not as offended as he was pretending. After his friend, he throws, “Call ya later!”
“You better.” Harry says with a wink and then turns around, headed straight for the cash register.
Turning back to face Ruby head on, Niall takes no time in pushing, “So… lunch?”
It only takes one second for her to shrug, “Why the hell not?”
Though, this time, she just follows him out without either of them reaching to entwine their hands.
<>
As anyone could guess, lunch with Niall turns out to be great. Ruby soon finds out that so is breakfast and dinner and every snack in between. For an entire week, all they seem to do is eat with one another. And of course when they're eating, they're talking. Most of its throw away conversations about trivial things - favorite alcoholic beverage, funniest movie they've ever seen, what they did/planned on doing that day. But sometimes they dive deeper. They get into topics like why Ruby quit college or what lead Niall to the life of a touring musician.
On this particular Sunday morning, Ruby had finally stayed the night. Without any kind of acknowledgement, they were both taking things slower since the last time they had sex. Neither one of them tried anything during their week of meals except for a kiss here or there. Something about the way Niall was describing his favorite gig - a hometown one - as he was stirring the boiling pasta, became irresistible to Ruby.
Before either of them knew it, the pasta was being left and they finally found out what one another were like in an actual bed. Apparently it was good enough for them to completely forget about the dinner because as Ruby stirs awake she feels her stomach rumble.
She blinks her eyes open slowly, letting the light in, finding herself wrapped in a sheet and facing Niall. The sun is hitting her right in the face and normally she can't sleep with someone else looking right at her, but somehow she's feeling well rested. She stretches an arm up and arches her back to get some blood coursing through her.
Niall doesn't move an inch. He just lays there, mouth parted a little as light snores come from it. And even still, she can't find a problem with the picture of him. So much so that she has to touch him. She lets a hand slip up his neck and fingers curl into the short hair at his nape. Then, she figures he should just get up already and since there is no better way to wake someone up, she pushes forward to peck a few kisses on his lips, morning breath the last thing on her mind - they hadn’t eaten much last night anyway. At first, his lips remain unmoved but by the third one, they're not so dead and start reacting.
Her eyes are closed so she doesn't see if he reacts in any other way but he does start dragging the kisses out longer, slower. His arm wraps around her back and then he's pushing her on her back, hovering over her as he pulls away. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” She finally opens her eyes again to see nothing but his smile and tired eyes. “Thought it was time to wake you up.”
“Uh huh.” He leans back in, stealing more kisses from her before, “You're so fucking gorgeous.”
“Yeah?”
“It's a crime, I'm telling ya.” He shifts all his weight to one arm so he can take his other hand and graze a finger over her cheeks. “I mean, these freckles? The best thing I've ever seen.”
Giggling, Ruby turns her head away, facing the arm that's holding him up, “Stop it. They’re not.”
Personally, half of the time she finds her freckles a nuisance, keeping her from flawless makeup. The other half of the time, she thinks they're alright. But never does she think they're the best.
“Are you kidding me?” He nudges her face forward by the chin. Serious as he sleepily says, “I'm honestly thinking of calling up the freckle people to have them documented and put in some kind of history book.”
“You're ridiculous.” Ruby bites her bottom lip, feeling so fond of the hovering boy.
“Maybe so, but it's true. I fucking love them.” He begins a trail of small kisses, starting on one cheek, over her nose, and onto the the other. “Gorgeous.”
<>
“No!” Niall is stern as he points a finger up at Ruby who is straddling him in bed.
“What?” She stops her hands that were slowly making their way up his sides.
“I said no more of this tickling shit.” He grabs her hands and pulls her down so she's now flush against him. “It's not fun for me.”
“But it is for me.”
Over the weeks, she realized how much Niall hates being tickled but she also realized how cute it is when his brow furrows and cute little giggles spill out of his pouted lips. It's nearly impossible for her to not do it to him once a day - it's like their thing, she'd say anything just to convince him to let her do it.
Today, though, she can tell that won't work by his totally unamused expression.
“Fine.” She sighs, satisfied enough with the look she is already getting from him instead of the pout. For a second she lets her head nestle under his chin, right in that little space that fits her perfectly, until she wants to say something else.
When she does move, she regrets it, finding him with closed eyes but a smirk on his lips. “Ugh, I wish I could just throw that smug jaw away.”
“Excuse me?” He peers at her in confusion.
Taking both hands, pretending to pull at his jaw but really only running her fingertips over his stubble, she exclaims dramatically, “I wish I could just rip it off and toss it out the window.”
“That is violent.” He shakes his head at her, finding amusement in her insanity. “How would we do what we do here if I didn't have the bottom half of my mouth?”
“It's only good for kissing. I'd put a mask on ya and we could still make do.”
“Really?” He sits up in a rush, staring her down.
“It's better than looking at all this all the time.” She nods without dropping eye contact, outlining his jawline slowly.
“No way. You'd miss it.” He is cocky with his words, flipping her on her back so now they're laying on his bed the other way around. As she shakes her head from side to side, trying her hardest not to crack under the weight of the outright lie, he moves his lips to her neck. “Plus, it is good for more than just kissing.” He slowly and surely begins moving down her body with every press of his lips to her skin.
<>
A groan radiates off the tile of the shower walls as Ruby hears the sliding of the distorted plastic door. “Niall, this shower is not big enough for the two of us.”
Niall is fully naked and stepping foot in the area that definitely wasn’t made for more than one person at a time. “We can make it if we try.”
His hair is already getting darker with the moisture and he’s smiling at her so sweetly that it is impossible to kick him out. No matter how bad she wants to, it’s not even like it’s her shower.
“I swear to god...” Ruby moves back a few steps so he can get under the water too and gives him a look that finishes her sentence.
He must understand, drawing an x over his heart. “No funny business, I promise.”
The action seems so serious coming from him that it’s endearing and causes Ruby to exhale deeply, “I almost hate you, ya know.”
“Been there, done that.” Niall quips easily and goes about getting himself good and wet. Ruby is stuck, maybe, because she isn’t doing anything other than watching him and letting her lips upturn. Niall just stares at her back and says, “Now, hand me the shampoo please and I'll get my girl all clean.”
<>
Friday nights in Prescott usually resulted in bowling, drinking, or staying in by yourself or with the company of someone who enjoyed the same netflix shows as you. Ruby and Niall had gone bowling. They’ve covered the entire bar scene in their town in one weekend. And it turns out, Ruby falls asleep to all his drug crime blockbusters and Niall fidgets throughout all of her british period dramas.
That’s why on the their fifth friday of seeing each other, Ruby can’t believe how much fun she is having.
They are at the small music festival their town throws in the townsquare every summer, supplying indie folk music to all the people who manage to make it out. Mostly it’s just booths where the artists sell their merch, stands offering up beers from all over the world, and one stage with one band at a time.
Niall, who was the one that suggested coming, never strays too far from the beer stands, making sure Ruby doesn’t go without either.
As he approaches her from one of his beer runs, holding a dark and light drink for the two of them, Ruby grabs hers and comments over the music, “This was such a good idea.”
“I'm full of them, baby.” He grins and pulls her closer by the hips, kissing the side of her forehead after she giggles at his proud stance - both of them are clearly feeling the drinks.
“Come here.” She grabs his checkered button down and gets him close enough so she doesn’t even have to move to lock their lips together.
They don’t rush through anything, they just indulge.
Tingly and warm, Ruby lets him go and whips back around to continue dancing - something she has surely been making herself look like a fool with, not that she cares. Halfway through her dumbest idea for a dance move, she turns to gauge Niall’s reaction only to find him pointing a camera at her. But like the good Instagramer she is, she just lets it happen and hopes she comes off cool in at least one of the pictures.
A few people get her to stop dancing, though. They are fans of Niall’s, people who have even seen him in concert multiple times. Ruby has only just started listening to his first and only album but once she thinks about it, of course Niall has fans at a festival like this. It is totally his vibe. When the fans ask why he isn't performing, she wants to nudge him along as well.
“I’m off work until August. Taking a little rest before I tour the next album.” Niall explains away to the smiling fans who nod, totally understanding and then excited when the words next album leave his lips.
“Next album? What? When?” The only girl out of the group of four questions with wide eyes.
Ruby is just as curious. She knows he goes back to tour on August 19th, starting in Phoenix for the closest thing to a hometown show, but she hasn’t heard a thing about another album.
“August, you guys, august.” Niall smirks mysteriously, giving nothing away but also being very obvious. It truly is just like Niall to do that - he wants to surprise people but then can never manage to hold it in. It gets Ruby laughing again, or maybe that's the drink, and slinking into his side. Niall welcomes her with an arm over her shoulder and nods to the group, “Thanks for coming over though. See ya around?”
They say their yes’s, their definitely’s, their thank you’s and then Niall is leading the way closer to the stage.
By the time it gets truly dark, and the biggest bands are getting ready to come up, Ruby prefers the assistance of leaning on Niall for support - she is sure she can stand just fine on her own, but it isn’t as fun. He doesn’t seem to mind at all, leaning back the smallest amount.
The band that comes on stage is one of Niall’s favorites at the moment - the reason he said they had to go. So as he sings along to the songs Ruby has never heard of, she lets the music play through her and enjoys the night completely. Halfway through the set, she is having such a good time that her mind starts racing over thoughts she didn’t even knew she had.
Holding onto Niall with one arm strewn around his neck, swaying with the beat of the music, she leans close and urges, “Take me with you.”
“Of course.” He nods immediately, shifting his gaze from the stage to her eyes, then laughs, “Where?”
“Let me go with you on tour,” comes out of her mouth without any permission from her brain. She was just thinking about how he’ll be leaving soon, and how she doesn’t want him to. Next thing she knows, she is saying things, things that she totally desires in that moment.
The music must be getting to Niall’s ears because he tilts his head closer and yells, “What?”
“Tour. I wanna go with you.”
“What?” His brows furrow this time so it can’t be the music.
Disregarding any cautioning sober voice in the back of her head, Ruby holds him closer and says as clear as possible, “I want to see the world with you.”
“You mean the United States?” He laughs and shakes his head at her incredulously.
“That's more than I've seen stuck in Arizona.”
Niall pauses all movement to look at her, because she isn’t wavering or smiling like she’s kidding. It hits him right then that she is serious but he isn’t dumb enough to blame it on a clear thought process. Throwing his head back to laugh, probably at the absurdity, he stares at the sky and shouts, “You're so drunk, Rubs!”
Ruby gets a kick out of his response, finding it insanely ridiculous at this point. Still, she grasps for his attention with hands to each one of his cheeks and when he does stop laughing long enough for her to talk, she raises her eyebrows, “Think of my Instagram feed if I were with you in every city every night. The Empire State building one day and then the Sears Tower the next.”
Niall has to bite down to keep a mildly serious expression as he humors her with a, “That would be sick.”
“So you'll let me go with you?”
While she is being completely hopeful, peering up at him with her deep brown eyes, he has a hard time refusing her. His fits of laughter calm as he wraps his arms around her back to hug her close. “Let's see if you remember this tomorrow and then I'll give you an answer.”
“Okay,” she pushes his chest back so she is still entangled with him but far enough apart so her arms are free. She places two fingers to each one of her temples and scrunches her eyes tight together. “I'm putting all my brainpower into remembering this. It’s Unagi, Ross Geller taught it to me.”
“That's my girl.” He says over a chuckle and then grazes a few kisses on her forehead. Ruby is unmoved, still locking away their conversation when he is done. Those few kisses must not have been enough because he plants one more to her cheek as he exclaims, “Fuck, you're cute.”
Ruby peaks her eyes open at that and slowly moves her hands away. “You'll let me go then, won't ya? Cause I'm cute?”
“Maybe.” Niall shrugs, looking away when she puffs her bottom lip, pouting enough to break any man. This time, she is the one who kisses him on the cheek and won’t stop doing it until he stops her and grins, “Who am I trying to kid? I'd let you come with me anywhere.”
Ruby’s lips are on Niall’s instantly, soft and thankful that he bent to her pleading.
“I like you so much.” She creates space between them just to whisper that, just a little.
And as Niall rests his forehead on hers, he counters, “Right back at you.”
<>
So, Ruby has to call Harry. Because this thing with Niall, that started off as sex in the backseat of her station wagon at a wedding, has transformed into so much more. Somewhere along the way it has warped into the most beautiful, wholesome thing she has ever been a part of.
Niall takes her breath away these days. One look at him and she questions what she was doing with her time before being near him. Never in her life has she known someone who has connected so well with her. It’s not even that they’re in tune with each other all the time. It’s the fact that when they aren’t, they can be what the other needs. When Ruby is feeling pissy, Niall is sweet enough to pull her out of it. And when Niall is grouchy, Ruby knows just the kind of joke that will get him to laugh.
Six weeks of a half relationship is long enough for her. She’s done with being in the in between with him. She is done with the uncertainty of what they are, what they could be, and what they will be. As cheesy as it sounds, she wants official with Niall.
And the only way she can go into that conversation is if she musters up the courage and breaks the news to the one person that would maybe, probably wouldn't, stop it.
She sits alone at that same cafe she had lunch with Niall at for the first time, waiting for Harry to show up. It was only a month and a half ago but oddly, Niall has managed to make it seem gloriously longer.
Over time, he has not so subtly hinted at wanting to tell Harry about them but Ruby was never ready. That doesn’t stop her from feeling nervous at the thought of the repercussions if Harry doesn’t take the news well. She thought it would be romantic to get the blessing from Harry on her own and then come to Niall, all I want us to be together for real, but as soon as she sees the curly headed guy, she is wishing she wasn’t alone.
“Hey.” He greets, pulling out the seat across the table from Ruby, an easy kind of worry donning his features.
“Hi.” Ruby fidgets with the few things on the table to calm her as he gets comfortable and then blantaly asks,
“So like, what’s up? What did you want to talk about?”
It's a lot quicker than she assumed it would happen - she figured Harry would at least wait until they were in the middle of their meal before he brought up what she inevitably would've stalled on.
“Just something that you may or may not even care about.” She attempts to play it off with a flick of her hair over her shoulder even though on the inside, the nerves are rising from her stomach to her chest.
“What is it?”
“Okay, well, I should just rip the band aid off…” Ruby takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as she allows her mouth to produce these words in a rush, “Niall and I have been seeing each other.”
Once the words are out in the world, they don't seem nearly as scary. But the silence coming from Harry's side of the table picks up their slack.
Ruby opens her eyes to be surprised when Harry has an upturned tilt to his lips, “Like dating?”
The term she would categorize their current relationship status is a bit fuzzy but the alternative would be weird to divulge, and that is her end goal anyway so she shrugs, “I guess you could call it that.”
“Fair enough.” Harry snorts, nodding, thinking. “And?”
“And… I really like him… So, so much. He makes me really happy and I think I make him happy. At least, well, he always seems to be happy but you never know because when is he not smiling?” She pauses shortly to laugh fondly over the rosy guy and to breath again. “But if that's weird for you or if you feel betrayed or-”
“Ruby, chill.” He interrupts once her chest really begins to rise and fall with anxiety. “I'm married to a girl I am in complete and utter love with. She is my soulmate, I'm certain.”
His smile gets wider the more he talks about Emma, illustrating the truth he speaks. Still, Ruby wouldn't be Ruby unless she asked, “So you're not mad?”
“What we had in high school was so long ago. It was everything to me then but now it's like another person lived it.” Harry spoke calmly, saying the words Ruby has always felt about their relationship. As soon as it ended, it felt like that chapter was truly closed. Signifying the very final nail in their relationship coffin, he says, “So no, I'm not mad that you're dating someone new. I mean, if this was like five years ago I probably would have been hurt since Niall is my best friend. I see where you're coming from but relax.”
It's impossible for Ruby to do anything other than exhale a breath of relief right then. She visibly deflates. At only twenty four, she rarely has moments that show her how much of an adult she actually is but this one is doing a good job at showcasing the fact that she isn't a teenager anymore. “We've both grown up so much, ya know?”
“Look at you!” He raises a hand towards her, laughing, “You couldn't stand Niall, it was so fucking annoying. Now you like him. It's more shocking than anything.”
Ruby laughs too and then lets it die as she remarks with cowering eyes, “I probably more than like him…”
“My little Niall?” There's that shock in Harry's tone again, but laced with joy. There's no way she can get anymore difficult words out so she just gives him a look of confirmation, causing a smirk to appear. “Sixteen year old Ruby is so pissed at you.”
“Twenty four year old Ruby can take her.” Lifting up two fists, she pretends to throw one at Harry as he dodges.
“Wait, is this why Niall is alway so busy all the time?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Ruby raises the menu to cover half of her face, trying to use it as a shield in case things turn ugly.
Harry dramatically wipes away at his forehead. “Good. I thought it was because he was weirded out about my marriage. He like, never comes to my house anymore.”
“That's definitely my fault. He always says we should just go over and tell you what's been going on but I was scared of messing things up with your friendship.”
“Wow, way to live in the past, Rubs.” Harry grabs the menu from her hands. “If my best friend and first love have to date someone, I'm glad it's each other. Now that I think about it, you guys do kind of work, huh?”
“I think so.” She feels a bubbling excitement at the approval, watching Harry search over the menu. She probably looks like an insane woman - sitting, staring, smiling - but she can't help it due to how lucky she realizes she is. With that, she adds, “You know, you really were the perfect first boyfriend? I was spoiled.”
Harry’s pride in that shows as he gets a smug look and, “Yeah, you're lucky you had me.”
“Oh, whatever! See, this is why we would never have lasted. You're so arrogant.”
“Emma likes that most about me.”
Rolling her eye, Ruby snatches the menu right back out of his hands and snorts, “Keep telling yourself that, bud.”
<>
With this good news and relief, Ruby goes straight to Niall’s apartment. She doesn’t even remember that she drove her station wagon that day and left it sitting outside of the cafe. Her feet are moving too fast to the path that will get her to her almost-boyfriend to even think about it.
Knocking on his front door, she can hear that eagerness. If she were anyone else, she might’ve tried to tame it. And if Niall wasn’t so understanding, she definitely would’ve played it cool. He is understanding though, and even more so, he lives life giddily. Ruby can’t even imagine how bright his smile will be when she tells him the good news.
Though, that image gets put away when Niall doesn’t answer the door. Ruby waits nearly five minutes before she calls him. He doesn’t answer that either so she figures he’s busy doing something. Probably something that has to do with this new album of his.
She sends him a text.
Came by. You weren’t home. Text me when you are and I’ll be over xxx
It isn’t until midnight that night that it occurs to her that something could be wrong. And it takes until 6:30 the next evening before she decides that that is the only possible reason she hasn’t heard from him in over 24 hours.
What’s up? She sends and then five hours later, Are you mad at me?
After the most restless night of her life and still no text back, she can’t resist, You’re okay, right?
Ruby strolls around his block twice before she gets the courage to climb the three flights of stairs to his place. And then when she does dare to knock, she isn’t shocked when he doesn’t answer. But she is worried.
So she sits at his door and waits. From an outsider’s perspective, it has to be a creepy site - a sad girl with her head hanging between her knees for hours, waiting outside an apartment that isn’t hers.
Her phone dies at one point so she isn’t sure how many hours pass before Niall finally returns home but her best guess is 4.
“Niall.” She exclaims with a relief more satisfying than the one she felt after gaining Harry’s approval. Bouncing to her feet, she rushes to him. “Where have you been?”
He dodges away from her arms that are trying to wrap around his neck in a hug and walks to his door, keys in hand.
“Been busy.” He mumbles.
The smile only stays on Ruby’s face until she realizes that now she knows he’s okay, there has to be another reason he’s been ignoring her. She grabs his arm and pulls. “Hey, what’s really going on here? Why have you been ignoring me for so long if you’re not in the hospital or something?”
He doesn’t turn as he responds bluntly, “I just totally lost interest in falling for a girl who is still in love with my best friend.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Again, she pulls him by the crook of his elbow, this time getting him to look at her. The only emotion she can kind of recognize on him is indifference. “I am not in love with Harry.”
“I saw you guys having lunch together. You looked pretty damn smitten.” He comments sharply, unlocking his door and sliding inside, leaving it half open, clearly not done with the conversation even though he looks it.
“That definitely wasn’t what that looked like,” is the only cliche line that comes out, his stern brow rendering her incapable of saying the whole truth in that moment.
“It was just like high school all over again.” Niall’s tone took a turn, becoming one of laughing disbelief. His eyes are still cold and unfamiliar though, and he begins to frown again as he admits, “You know I tripped you when we were kids because I liked you, right? Young boys sometimes actually believe that bullshit about picking on a girl to get her attention. So it took a lot out of me to accept Harry was dating you when we were older. During the first five months of that relationship me and Harry almost stopped being friends. This all just feels too similar to that feeling to me, and I don’t wanna go through that again. Especially if you’re just going to be longing over a married guy.”
Niall breathes in deeply with the kind of exasperation after a confession like that. It caused Ruby’s head to go blurry, trying to recall any signs during high school that would’ve told her Niall was into her. All she comes up with, is him, fuzzy in the background. Except now she can’t even see Harry in the memories, just the warm figure that was Niall.
She isn’t paying attention to her surroundings when Niall slams his door, startling her back to the present.
Of course she knocks and knocks and knocks, with no clue how to handle what he’s just said in the correct way but every intention on trying her best.
Eventually, after he turns on music to drown out her persistence, she has to stop.
<>
Pink is all Ruby sees when she wakes up. Pink walls and curtains and pillowcases and bedspread. It’s all the same shade, reminding her of the time she picked it out when she was young, dumb, and seventeen years old.
Her dad is really a one trick pony, if she’s honest. So he only knows how to wake her up in the annoying way - loud knocking and playful jokes.
“Hey, Ruby.” His head is peeking through the door, possibly protecting his body from any of the pillow throwing she is prone to. “Something has arrived for you.”
“Ugh. Okay. I’ll be out in a second.” She pulls the blankets over her head and waits for her dad to leave. The door latches closed and she groans into her pillow. It is nearly impossible for her to be in a good mood without eight hours of sleep. And after what happened with Niall the night before, she assumes saying she got one solid hour would be shooting too high.
Nevertheless, she rolls out of her bed and uses the hair tie from around her wrist to pull half of her bed head into a somewhat acceptable bun.
She is still stumbling down the hallway, emitting a groggy yawn when she is completely startled to find what her dad woke her up for… Or rather, who.
Niall is standing in her living room, wearing the same clothes as the night before. Her dad is in the kitchen next to her mom, both holding coffee cups and watching her come to an abrupt halt.
The two twenty four year olds look each other up and down. And it's Niall who breaks first, doing a soft smile as he sheepishly admits, “Well, Harry ended up calling me last night.”
Warnings: minor mentions of addiction, sexual content
Summary:
I was drowning in the ocean inside of the man I thought I loved. The man I thought that loved me too, pushed me off the edge into a storming sea I had no chance fighting off. I was drowning, and he was the one who bound my hands and latched five heavy words to my feet to drag me to the bottom of his sea. Five words and they still hurt like hell.
“I asked for a divorce.”
Session 1: Chelsea, London, age: 23
Harry did not look at me. The man sitting in front of us was contemplating the file lying open on his desk, and I could not shake the feeling that he was judging us. The minute that passed without a word from anyone in the room felt like an eternity so when Doctor Marcus Farley finally closed the file to trade it for his notebook and the black pen he had been fidgeting with I can’t help but let a sigh slip through my clenched teeth.
Although my gaze was fixed stoically on the not moving clock above Doctor Farley, I could swear Harry’s gaze turned to stare a hole into the side of my head when I made the slight noise.
“I don’t usually take on clients on short notice but your Lawyer, Mr Styles, is a dear friend of mine and he insisted that I take both of you in.”
This time Harry completely ignored my scoff when his slow drawl filled the room. “Yeah, Mr Horan can be quite persuasive.”
Persuasive my ass. If it hadn’t been for the continuous push from his sister and me to convince Harry to consider therapy before throwing everything away without looking back, we’d never be sitting here at all.
“So how long have you been married, Mrs Styles?” “Actually, It’s not Styles. I never took his name. Just-“ I stopped, mouth slightly ajar as I chanced a look at Harry beside me. My husband seemed to be void of any emotion as his blank stare ahead acted like a black hole waiting for me to fall into. I turned back to face Doctor Farley who was busy scribbling something down into his notebook. “Just call me Nora. Please.”
It took him a second until he looked up again, and I could feel the weight of his written words already lying on my chest. Great. Not even five minutes in and I’d already given him something to judge about. Harry too seemed to be curious as to what the doctor had written, as he abandoned his nonchalant position in his chair to lean his upper body forward until his elbows were resting on his thighs.
When it became clear that I would not be speaking again anytime soon, Harry took over, sounding distracted, “We got married four years ago and have been in a Relationship for seven.”
Doctor Farley hummed while he went back to writing in his notebook. I waited for him to finish and I cursed the urge to take a look at the expression on Harry’s face.
“Childhood love, then?”, “Something like that.” Harry hesitated, not willing to give any further information even as the man observing us raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
“We hated each other.” I blurred, and I immediately cursed my voice for sounding so insecure.
“I wouldn’t call it hate-“,”Oh please, we kept throwing things at each other, and I remember more than just a few incidents where we both ended up in detention just because we couldn’t keep away from each other’s throat.” I huffed, underlining my little outburst by crossing my arms over my chest. I did realise that it made me look like a stubborn five-year-old, but I didn’t care.
Harry looked affronted, but our therapist kept a straight face and closed his notebook. “Before we begin to talk about your relationship more deeply I need to know if there is a specific reason why you are here today.”
I didn’t really feel in the position to give him an answer and turned to look at Harry instead just to find his eyes already on me. I had let my guard slip for a moment, but it was long enough to take me back to the edge of the black hole that he had created just for me and that I hated so much. I was drowning in the ocean inside of the man I thought I loved. The man I thought that loved me too, pushed me off the edge into a storming sea I had no chance fighting off. I was drowning, and he was the one who bound my hands and latched five heavy words to my feet to drag me to the bottom of his sea. Five words and they still hurt like hell.
“I asked for a divorce.”
Part 2: Home, Soho, London, age: 23
No one ever told me that separation would be so difficult to define. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to feel awkward as we both boarded the waiting taxi outside of Doctor Farley’s office, ready to take both of us home to our flat. Was it normal for us to still be living together? Shouldn’t Harry, out of courtesy and because it is the proper thing to do, move out of our place to give me space? I didn’t have an answer to any of that questions, and I felt annoyance starting to bubble inside my mind because I didn’t think of asking our new Therapist those questions when I had the chance to. Harry himself seemed to be deep in thoughts as he silently held the door for me open before getting into the cab himself. Neither of us said a word during the entire ride.
---
I walked out of the kitchen through the dining room and into the lounge. The steaming bowl of food I was trying to balance on top of my notebook, several scripts and the sad and beaten looking pencil case demanded too much of my attention to notice that the couch was already occupied by Harry. Not actually planning to I pause, and I wondered if I should just turn back around and eat in the kitchen instead, but he was quicker than I am and was already on his feet before I had finished my thought. He opted to turn in the opposite direction towards his office, and the click of his door pierced through me even before I had reached the couch to sit.
I fought the urge to sink into the warm spot Harry had left behind and reluctantly chose the other side of the couch instead.
Silence, I discovered, is actually something you can hear. Even my own chewing was too loud for my ears, and I quickly lost any sense of appetite.
Throughout our relationship – in the beginning, and marriage – we had always tried to at least eat one meal of the day in the company of each other.
Especially since Harry’s and Louis’s record label started to take off and I had been busy with my job at the publishing house, it had become one of our most adamant rules to find the time to eat together. Now he was sitting in his office, alone, doing who knows what and I was pretty sure, that the left over dinner I had put aside for him would go uneaten once again.
I sighed and chanced a look at the closed door, my gaze landing on one of the many pictures hanging on the too white wall. Although a lot of different faces were smiling back at me, only one of the photographs showed Harry and myself together. It was the only picture taken at our wedding four years ago, and if I didn’t know that it was taken just seconds after we became husband and wife officially, I wouldn’t be able to see it. Neither of us was wearing something you’d expect a bride and groom to wear on their big day. But then again, our wedding certainly didn’t fit the traditional picture. Neither of our families was present. No friends, no parents and not a single sibling to be seen. They hadn’t known that we were going to get married and to be fair, neither had we. It was a spur of the moment. We eloped, and now, four years later, we were about to get a divorce.
When there was something I hated with a passion, then it was clichés. And I was just about to become one myself. Sad, 23 years-old me stared at happy, 19 years-old me as she clung to Harry’s left arm, her gaze not fixed on the camera but on her new husband. Oh if she’d known what was going to happen just a few years down the road. I wondered if she’d still be smiling at him like that. I certainly no longer did, when I looked at the man in the picture. I exhaled a huff and looked back down into my lap where several scripts still lay waiting for me to page through them. I’d usually work until Harry would finish in his office so we could go to bed together. I still held on to that routine even though we now inhabited two different bedrooms. My new routine was to work until Harry would try to sneak out of his office and into the guest bedroom on the other side of our loft. So when the clock struck two in the morning, and he still had not made his way out of his office, I had to fight against the heaviness dragging down my eyelids.
When I lost my fight twenty minutes later, it would be another two hours until the door that always seemed to close on me finally creaked open. But of course, I didn't notice, and I did not stir from my much-needed sleep. So when I woke to the noise of dishes banging in the kitchen, I do wonder if I dragged the blanket over my heavy body myself or if Harry found it in him to show some sort of tenderness towards me.
Secretly, I welcomed the noise he was making from the kitchen because it was the only thing that was strong enough to fight the silence he had invited into our relationship. For I have discovered, that silence is something you can actually hear. And I have never wished for anything as much as for the silence to disappear.
Part 3: Session 2, Chelsea, London, Age: 23
"Perhaps, if he didn’t feel the need to provoke me with the same argument every time, we wouldn’t be sitting here today," I told him while purposely looking towards my frowning husband.
I thought it had been fairly obvious, but when I finished my thought, I found Harry giving me an incredulous look. I jerked my head and raised my eyebrows as a silent What? To his narrowed eyes.
I dropped my arms that were crossed over my chest as if I was expecting a blow to my heart any second when I realised that it might come across as insecure. You start to have that kind of thoughts when you begin seeing a Therapist. Those self-conscious worries, steadily nagging on your mind, turning you into a paranoid mess.
"It might be a good idea, to start with the little things, Nora. What is it that bothers you about Harry?"
Harry’s jaw clenched at his question, and I could see that it took him quite the amount of self-control to fight the urge to defend himself. But just this once he wasn’t allowed to. See, Doctor Farley was set on following his rules where one of them just happened to be, if the question is not directed at you, you are not allowed to talk, except you are given the clear go ahead from him oneself.
“And have you ever told that to Harry directly, Nora?"
"Yeah, but he is the one who keeps bringing it up."
"What is it you usually fight about?"
"Work. Moving house." I told him and moved my gaze upwards toward the high ceilings of his office. "But that too kind of has to do with our work situation."
"Why is that Harry?" He said, and I did not expect him to shift his focus onto the man beside me.
I didn't actually think that Harry would answer, but he surprised me when he sounded sincere. "We both have busy schedules. Me with my record label and Nora with her publishing work." Harry paused and raises his left hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "For me, one of the biggest issues is that we spent the majority of last year travelling. But not with each other. If I was heading to LA, she was off to Prague or Paris or some other city. I mean, sure, this is something where we both are at fault but-"
"Oh, not this again, you and I both know that this is not happening on fair grounds here-" I tried, but Doctor Farley was quick to stop me in my outburst.
"Nora, please."
"But-" I tried again, but he was giving me that look that clearly meant business. Fine.
"What were you trying to say, Harry?"
"The Thing is, with Nora," Harry changed the position on his chair, shifting his entire weight toward the edge of it, the words now rushing out of him. "- It would be possible for her to bring her work wherever she goes. So there is no real reason for her not to come with me whenever I have to go to the states."
Both men chose to ignore my humpf, and I slumped into my seat, arms back to being crossed over my chest.
"Have you been there often over the last year?"
"At least once a month for a week. Sometimes two."
"He bought a house there without telling me." I offered, trying to gain back some ground in this discussion.
"I talked to you about it–"
"No-" I waved my finger at him, "you told me that you thought about it. The next thing I know we are suddenly owners of a house I’ve never set foot in nor that I ever plan to."
"Yeah, because you are stubborn." he growled, and I smiled sweetly at him in return.
"Harry, please." Doctor Farley starred at us for a second, clearly trying to establish some sort of even ground before he continued, " Nora, why are you so sure, that you won’t be going to see the house?"
"Because I hate LA. I despise that place."
"How can you say that? That’s where I proposed to you. Jesus, we even got married in California. Where is this coming from?" he muttered the last bit, and I nearly snapped at him for being such a git.
"I just do, ok. I don’t like what it does to you. Us. It’s like you become this completely different person, every time you return from that god forsaken place." I was happy about the frown he gave me. Satisfied, I turned back to look at Marcus, who too was looking at Harry.
"It’s like I am married to two different men. The Harry I know that doesn’t put up with any bullshit, the one that I agreed to marry and then there is this version of him who can’t get enough of spending his time with those people-"
"They are my friends-"
"-And all they care about are their looks, their bodies, the latest trends to follow, being famous. That is not you. That is not the person I want to spend my life with."
"Those are the people I work with, Nora. You’d find plenty of those here in London if you’d just-"
"You and I both know that that is not true. We have friends here. Dear friends. Why should I give that up just to move to a place on the other side of the world? I don’t want that."
"It’s not like we’d be spending the rest of our lives in LA-" he stopped and took a deep breath. When he started speaking again, his voice was back to the deep drawl I am used to.
"Marriage is about compromises, Nora. And-"
"Exactly. I don’t want to go to the states. Deal with it."
Part 4: Isle of Wight, England, Age: 19
I have never been a morning person.
And still, it was 6:34 am, and I was not in bed where I was supposed to be but on the beach. It was nowhere near as nice as I had remembered my times at the beach to be. Granted those were usually taking place somewhere in the south where the sun was brutal on my skin, and the sand on my too white legs would be easy to brush off once the heat had robbed it from every ounce of water it possessed. But those memories are not strong enough to make up for the harsh weather and cold morning wind on the beach I was currently at.
It was that sort of day where you would not be able to tell whether it was morning, afternoon or evening approaching. Everything was grey, the sky, the air around me and the wet sand beneath my feet. The only contrast fighting the dullness was the wild and angry water which stretched like an endless belt along the beach.
I have never been a morning person, and I despised the cold that has become the newest tenant inside my bones. Harry is just a small figure somewhere to my right as he tried to capture the wind that won’t take mercy on the dark blue waves ahead of us with his newest camera. I was supposed to stay in bed, stay asleep while he sneaks out the door of our tiny hotel room to get some good pictures of the sea with the toy I had given to him for his birthday last week.
But I woke when I no longer could feel his heart beating beneath my ear and the addict that I am, I offered to come along for an early morning stroll. “But it is raining,” he tried, smoothing over my tousled hair as I struggled to untangle my limbs from the many blankets that were supposed to keep out the cold ocean nights. (Spoilers, my toes would have been tragically lost to the cold if it weren’t for Harry’s hot calves).
“I don’t mind, really”, I told him, while I actually meant, I’d rather be wherever you are for I am an addict and you are my drug. But of course, I would never admit those thoughts to Harry out loud, and I’d sooner die than confess that I am no longer sure if that was a bad thing or not.
“You sure? I could pick you up in a few hours to get some breakfast.”, “I’m sure. Trust me. Besides, I get to wear the wellies you bought me for Christmas”. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. The weather is quite brutal today.”
So I went along. And because I am not a morning person and the coat I brought along to keep out the wind did not as it was supposed to, I decided to walk along the beach to get my blood pumping again.
Harry had not exaggerated when he had told me that the weather was brutal that morning. The wind kept attacking every surface of my body, and the sea wasn’t the only one having difficulties to withstand its power. The way the air rushed over the many big rocks scattered around the beach reminded me of Harry’s breath streaming through his teeth when he was kissing me the night before.
The water lapses over my toes that are well protected by the bright yellow plastic of my boots and from where I am standing, Harry’s silhouette mixes with the misty air dominating over the British coast. I have to squeeze my eyes until only a last few light streams make it to my eyes and I am no longer sure if the fuzzy little blob on the top of the hill guarding the sand and its waves is actually my boyfriend or something else indistinguishable.
My Gaze turns back to the endless angry black before me, and I marvel at the power it is showing. Even in its agitated state, the wind beating the water causing white streaks among breaking waves, I can’t help thinking of Harry. Even its current anger and violence reminds me of him, how it fights against the obstacles it faces. It will always remain where it is, the sea, the ocean, constantly changing but still the same. Whether it was calmly licking the shoreline with soft strokes like the heart beating in his chest. Or the silence at its deepest point where I would find myself, every time he was near me.
Sometimes it felt like he had created that space inside of him just for me to exist. It’s a blessing and a curse at the same time. It is a blessing when I am desperate for a place to forget the world around me and it is a curse when I can’t find my way back to the surface again.
I did not see him coming nor did I notice that he had left his position on that tiny hill guarding the beach. But I knew the waves of heat that usually pulsed off his tall form like the lines on my hands. So I knew it was him when his fingers wound around my wrist and his lips found a home beside my ear.
For a second I was afraid of turning back around to face him, for I might not find my boyfriend Harry but the ocean itself trying to lure me into its dangerous darkness. But of course, what I find are Harry’s warm eyes and his usual heart-melting smile.
I turn around completely, my front pressing into his, and rest my closed lips against his pulse, basking in the feeling of drowning in my favourite sea. Like I said, I was an addict and Harry was my drug. Another second passes until his lips return to my right ear and he grants me with an, ”Come on, let’s go.”
I do not know where we are going, but I know the feeling of Harry's breath down my neck as we wait for a car to pass so we could cross the road towards our own vehicle. We wait, and he draws my body to his own, his warmth enveloping my whole being. I do not know where the streets lead we are driving on but I know the feeling of Harry's fingers gliding over the inside of my wrists as he steers the car along the winding roads that part the beach and the dunes on either side.
I was content, with Harry by my side, because I was an addict and Harry was my favourite drug.
What I didn’t know then was that just a month later, we’d be standing on another beach. A beach that would be much warmer and much more friendly than the one we were at today. A beach that played guard for a city named after angles. How could there be any harm? I didn't know that I would begin to hate that beach, that city it guarded with every year that went by.
The sky resting above it would be blue and orange and pink and yellow and the sun trying to hide behind the edge would be red and white and purple.
But I wouldn’t notice because Harry will stand behind me, his arms keeping me a willing prisoner and I would feel his lips on my neck, his breath too warm with the Californian heat surrounding us. I wouldn’t notice how the sweat travelling down my back disappeared into the fabric of my worn out shirt that I loved so much.
I wouldn’t notice because Harry will be standing behind me, his arms holding me hostage his lips blocking my ear. I wouldn’t notice because Harry will be whispering promises in my ears and five words, that will pull me under for good.
Just a month from now, he will push me down his well for the very first time, and I won’t resurface until many years have gone by. I will fall with Harry’s words attached to my heavy form. And I won't mind one bit because I would feel Harry’s arms surrounding me and his breath travelling down my sweaty neck, carrying his words over my entire body until they found a home in my heart.
“Nora, will you marry me?”
Part 5: Session 3, Chelasea, London, Age: 23
“Are there any issues with your physical relationship? Has anything changed since you have been married?” Farley asked, fixing his eyes on Harry. “Harry?”
“I have never been not attracted to my wife.”
My eyes snapped from the clock above Doctor Farley’s head to find Harry stoically looking our therapist dead in the eye. I was surprised and a bit speechless as I actually am not able to recall the last time we had shared a bed myself.
“Then Harry what is the problem, do you think, in your relationship?”
I exhaled a huff and nodded. “Yeah Dear, do enlighten us because I for my part cannot remember when the last time was where I was sleeping in the same bed as you.”
“Nora, please let Harry talk. You will have the opportunity to contribute to the discussion in a second.” Doctor Farley - or Marcus - Because Doctor Farley just wouldn't do any longer - especially if he decided to dive straight in before more than two minutes of our session today had even passed, countered.
“So nothing has changed in your eyes, you still feel attracted to Nora?”
I swallowed hard, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “No, I don’t think that will ever go away. I love Nora. I can confidently say that she is the love of my life but just because it is love doesn’t mean it won’t destroy me, or us, over time."
Here we go. I wished I wouldn't find a spot for his words in my ribcage, but they belonged there as much as his Love you's and his pet names for me. I knew what he was going to say next and because I am more of the "Rip-off-the-band-aid-as-fast-as-you-can" sort of girl, I did him a favour and spoke those words so he wouldn't have to.
“We don’t fit” I whispered. Because this was the conversation we’ve had many times before - but those words were not used to hurt each other, but something we marvelled about together.
They did not fit. They had always known that. And for them, that was the reason why they had decided to get married in the first place.
We do not fit. We knew it, our families and friends knew it, and that was fine because we loved each other. What else would you need to share a happy life together? To hell with being compatible. We had two different worlds beneath our feet, ready to explore the other when we didn’t feel like dealing with our own. I was the sky, home to stars and galaxies and whole universes. And Harry was the ocean, the sea, the dark water which would swallow everything it could find. He would carry anyone that needed to travel from coast to coast.
I was the sky, and he was the ocean, designated to never touch but always able to see one another.
That was what kept our relationship going, those differences, our differences. Or at least I thought so until he brought it up when our therapist asked us what the problem was in his eyes.
I looked at Harry, sitting beside me talking about our past, our life and our future with a man that was supposed to build a bridge to bring together what was never destined to be one. I looked at Harry, my husband, the love of my life, the ocean.
I looked at him, speaking and not hearing a single word that left the lips that have become as familiar as my own. And for the first time since he had asked that damn question I had to wonder if he was not asking for the impossible after all. What if I was the one who tried to fight physics by demanding the ocean and the sky to merge into one? What if I was the one being the unreasonable part of this mission?
I was not sure if I would keep loving Harry forever, especially if he decided to discard me like that. How can you love the person that had pushed you into a black hole to drown?
Those thoughts cancel out both men talking, and I can’t help but think about a future without Harry by my side, for the rest of our session.
Part 6: Session 4, Chelsea, London, Age: 23
"Nora has a strong belief in soulmates."
"Do you think that she regards you as her soulmate?"
"No. But I can’t stop feeling like she is trying to change me until I fit the part."
"What do you mean by that, Harry?" I frowned, and Harry shrugged.
"I don’t think she really means to; I can’t shake the feeling that she keeps trying to change me into her perfect match." He tried, and I scowled through his entire explanation.
"As if I am supposed to change and mould into something I am not.
Like those little things that bother her about me. Those places where we do not fit."
"I am not-" I tried to object, but just like always, Marcus stepped right in to cut me off with a stern look clearly saying to let Harry finish.
"Harry, why did you decide to propose to Nora?" Marcus asked, looking over the stack of papers on his desk.
Harry did the most unhelpful thing and shrugged like some teenager would when asked what they were up to. "I felt like it at the moment."
"But you do not now?" Marcus asked, looking surprised for once.
"No, that is not what I meant."
"It felt like it was right at that time, so I proposed. We were standing on that beach, and all I could think about was that I just couldn’t imagine a situation where she would not be standing beside me any longer."
"Yeah. But that is not enough to get married, is it?–" I butt in before Marcus had the chance to scold me again, and I quickly added: "Right at that time" as a murmured afterthought. My eyes were fixed on the wall behind Marcus not really seeing anything but the blue paint.
"What is your position on that, Nora?"
"There are times where I regret getting married." There it was. I didn’t dare turn my head to face Harry.
Marcus contemplated me for a second, turned toward his notebook, scribbled a few words down on the blank page and then returned his full attention back to me. "You do? Why is that?"
"I just think that if we had waited a few years and just stayed engaged, we’d not be having the problems we are having now."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, looking alarmed.
" I mean, just that-" I groaned and tried to rub away the throbbing in my left temple. "-God, this is going to sound so stupid."
"Nothing you say will be judged, Nora."
"See, we would be so much more flexible if we were engaged instead of married. It is easier to put an engagement on hold if we happened to face a problem we could not deal with at the moment. It would be much simpler to reconcile after a break. But putting marriage on hold? That’s impossible, isn’t it? You can’t just take a break from being married."
"Says who?" Marcus offered, smiling a smile that was supposed to evoke trust in us but only rubbed me the wrong way.
"Well, I do. It just wouldn’t feel proper. Whatever we’d be doing while being apart would feel like a betrayal to the other."
"But if we weren’t married it wouldn’t?" Harry asked, supporting his head with his arm resting on the arm rest of his chair, his eyes fixed on me.
I blinked in surprise at how calm he sounded and turned to find his no sign of anger in his eyes. "No, I don’t think so. At least the pressure wouldn’t be this heavy."
"Pressure from whom?" Farley asked, looking over the notes in the notebook on his lap.
"Him, me, our families. I don’t know. I just don’t think that we'd be able to pick this up again if we were to get divorced. It would be like destroying a bond between us that can never be fixed again."
Farley hummed, and I watched as the lines appeared on his forehead.
"Harry, why did you ask for a divorce?"
But Harry didn't answer, a puzzled look on his face and his eyes trained on me as if I was a stranger he was just introduced to.
He stared at me and the sneer on my face melted away.
"Harry?" Farley broke our silent exchange, and Harry's eyes snapped back to our Therapist.
"Yeah. Uhm. I guess I wanted to relieve the pressure like Nora said. Take a break. I mean, love is a tricky thing. There are too many layers, and nothing is just black and white. I’d continue loving Nora, but we wouldn’t have to keep up with those expectations around our marriage. We both are hurting. Isn’t it kinder to just let go?"
"But Harry, there is nothing the two of you have to justify yourself for," Marcus argued, and for once I felt some kind of alliance toward that man, especially when he did nothing to stop the word vomit coming from my tired mind.
"Damn right we don't. Who fucking cares what others think? Who cares how we choose to live our marriage? It is no one’s business how we define this relationship. We can still make this work if we just set the rules anew. Define our own, to hell with the rest." I sniffed at him, moving my upper body to face him.
"You want to travel to LA every two weeks? Fine. Go ahead. I don’t mind. As long as you return to our flat here in London. I. don’t. Care. As long as you do not betray me with someone else, I don’t care what you do. We define our marriage. We can do what we want." I huffed the last part and Harry looked more confused than ever.
"So you suggested a divorce because you felt like the pressure from others was too much for you both to handle? Or did you want to see Nora’s reaction? Maybe even hurt her as much as she has been hurting you with her refusing to make adjustments to her life so it would fit better to yours?" Marcus offered and I watched as Harry slowly turned his head to look at Marcus again, but he quickly snapped his eyes back to me when I whispered, “I refused the position at head office."
Harry looked surprised while Marcus offered me a slight smile.
“What? Why?” Harry frowned which made me frown because I had expected him to react differently. But not Harry was the one who looked happy but Marcus who granted me with a warm “That's good. That's really good Nora.”
When the confusion on Harry's face wouldn't lift, I turned to him and murmured, “Marcus told us to start making more compromises for each other, so I did. When they asked I declined. Easy like that.”
Harry stared back at me, and something like panic was starting to fill my bones. What if he didn’t care if I decided to finally put some effort into our relationship? What if Harry was not willing to do the same? Neither of us said anything else, so Marcus took back control by returning to his earlier question for Harry.
“Do you actually feel like there is a reason for you to let go of this marriage?"
There was silence, and my ears started ringing with the noise taking over my mind.
"I don’t know." Harry breathed.
Both of his hands moved to rub his tired face. And he reminded me so much of the Harry I’d usually find between our white sheets, on a lazy Sunday morning that my breath caught for a moment in my throat.
"But I do know that I can’t go on like this. It is wrecking us both. And what is a marriage worth if all it does is destroy us in the end."
I had nothing else to say to that.
Part 7: Chelsea, London, outside Dr. Farley's office, Age: 23
Marcus's office was located on the second floor of a fancy looking building hidden in between two narrow streets in the heart of Chelsea. From our first session onwards, the lift had not been working, and so we were doomed to climb and descend that staircase every Thursday afternoon. Like a heart, beating twice before falling still for another seven days.
Pure panic was chasing through my veins, and I did not have a plan for what I was about to do. I was going to burst, and I would not go down on my own. I was taking Harry with me, whether he liked it or not. The power would be back in my hands for once, and I couldn’t wait for the relief that would follow.
I stopped Harry in his tracks by grasping the hand that was reaching for the old and beaten looking bannister. I was standing a step above his own and just this once my eyes were level with his.
"Listen, Harry. I appreciate that you agreed to the Therapy and I get why you want to split. I really do."
"But I can't do this anymore. I am suffocating. I have been from the moment you asked me for a divorce. Actually, I think I have been trying to catch my breath for quite some while now, Just-" I turned to look behind me, fearing for Marcus to interrupt us any second. But when my eyes were finished inspecting every single spot on the empty floor with any sign of the therapist, I relaxed a bit. So when I started to speak again, my voice was not rushed but soothing, nearly whispering the string of promises for Harry's ears only.
"You want a break? Fine with me. I’ll give you all the time you need. Just don’t cut that bond, Harry. Don’t push me off the edge. That pain would be far worse than the one I feel right now."
Harry paused, and too glanced around the empty corridor, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Not here, Nora, please."
"Why not? Why can’t you just do it already."
"Do what?"
"Break me. Please just do it I can’t keep doing this anymore. Do you have any idea how it feels to be so up in the air? Not knowing how this is going to end? I can’t keep doing this any longer."
"What do you mean?" he sounded alarmed, and I praised the heavens above for the storm returning to Harry's eyes.
"Therapy, living with you under the same roof when you clearly no longer want to be with me."
"But I do. I- Look, I do want to stay with you Nora, I honestly do, but we are both breaking with every day that passes. We are destroying each other and to what cause? If we keep going like that there will be nothing left of us. Nothing left worth living for."
"Then why are we here Harry? Why do we have to prolong this pain? Why did you agree to Therapy if you think like that?"
"I don’t want to lose you. But I’m not even sure if I already have.”
And I snap. I lunged towards him, falling off my step and into his chest, my arms snaking around his waist.
Harry didn't hesitate and answered my embrace by sneaking both his hands under my coat and tugging me even tighter to his body. His next words were mere whispers somewhere near my hairline, but they could have easily been waves crashing against a shoreline.
"I want to stay with you, but our lives won’t move in the same direction anymore. No relationship is made to survive that sort of strain."
"I don’t think that there is any pain stronger than the pain you are causing me right now."
"I never intended to cause you pain, love."
"Then why does it hurt so much? Why does Loving you hurt so much?" and instead of pushing him away, I pulled him closer to me until my face was buried into his chest.
I mumbled, my voice lost in the fabric o his shirt.
"Please just end this already. Make a decision. I don't think I’ll survive another day in this limbo. Please, Harry."
In a desperate attempt to convince him, I rose to the tip of my toes and pressed my lips against his own. His mouth cautiously pressed against my upper lip but when I made a sound- nothing more than a small sigh- he opened his mouth, his breath fawning over my face. His sweet, moist breath dancing over my always too pale cheeks.
I couldn’t say if the last kiss we shared was mere hours ago, or if it had been years, but it still felt like I was coming home. I was an addict and Harry was my drug. I was an addict on a serious withdrawal, and Harry was about to fix that. His lips on my cheek made me squeeze my eyes shut, tears threatening to pool at the corner of my eyes.
I felt the breath more than I heard it, his shoulders tensing under my tight grasp. I tried to struggle against his pull, but of course, I was no match for him, and he managed to pull me away far enough to look me directly in the eyes.
His hand moved under my chin, and I found his eyes warm rather than angry. I didn't think I would find my voice after that and apparently, Harry had problems too because his next sentences were mere murmurs.
" Ok. Ok. Look. Just give me tonight. As soon as I know, I’ll come and find you. Please, Nora. Just this night. I promise it will end."
I was too much of a coward to actually whisper the words for him to hear but they were jumping in my head like they were trying to break through my skull. Please don’t leave me. Please chose me. Please don’t leave.
But I nodded instead and watched silently as he descended the stairs, shoulders hunched, feet dragging.
My heart with him.
Part 8: Cab, approaching Soho, London, Age: 23
The air in the cab was sweet and cumbersome on my mind, and I did not like it one bit. I felt like a sore nail among the many people on the streets and in the cars and buses around me. My face was covered in makeup and sweat, and I knew for a fact that the mascara on my right eye had lost the fight against my tears and found a new home on my lower lid.
Despite my sour mood and the still drying tears on my cheeks I couldn’t help but marvel over my lips still tingling from kissing Harry again. I didn’t pay any attention to the glances the driver kept giving me through his rear-view mirror. Who cares if I looked like a mess. Who cares that I reeked of the day I had to face today. I certainly didn’t. I no longer cared. Why should I. I might no longer have a husband in the morning and even worse, I might be about to lose my best friend in the process. I left my heart, my soul and all my stars on those steps leading to Doctor Farley's office and I did not know if Harry was ever going to pick them up again.
Yes, we were not made for each other. Yes, life for both of us would be much easier in the end if we went our separate ways. But who wants easy if you could have love.
The sort of Love that was dangerous. That would constantly threaten your existence with its flames licking at your bones. I loved that feeling. I loved that Harry was the ocean and I was the sky. I loved that when I found myself at the bottom of his sea that my stars above where the only light strong enough to reach me in the darkness. And I can’t fight the words that keep pounding in my head, from the bottom of his ocean, fixed stars govern a life. Our life, together.
I don’t really remember arriving at the entrance of my house, nor do I remember taking all four floors by foot instead of the usual ride with the lift. Once the door of our apartment was securely closed behind me, I let go of everything that was not attached to my body and made my way over to the kitchen. I duly noticeed the stale taste of the already opened bottle of wine I chose as my company for that night, and it slowly started to shut down my buzzing mind. Once it’s entire content was inside of me, and I could feel it taking effect, calming my nerves, I sunk down toward the floor, not caring that no one had bothered to clean it in days.
There was nothing else for me to do than wait for Harry to return. So that is what I did. Slightly drunk, tired from the last few months I sat on the dirty floor of our kitchen. I sat and waited.
Part 9: Kitchen floor, Soho, London, Age: 23
We always ended up on the kitchen floor.
The first time it happened we were fifteen years old, and I knew I was falling in love. Not slowly and not at once either, but falling none the less.
We always ended up on the kitchen floor, but somehow this time Harry was not by my side as he usually was. The floor refused to warm against my exposed thighs resting on the wood, and when a shiver ran down my spine, I suppressed the urge to get up and sit on the rug covered living room floor instead. But I stayed put because we always ended up on the kitchen floor, only this time, I was on my own.
There was a reason why I’d rather stay in the dimly lit kitchen, no sign of the rising sun yet to be seen. The reason was simple, and yet it was strong enough to keep me put. Just twenty feet shy of where I was sitting, the old and beaten Persian rug I loved so much carried the weight of my current dilemma. I couldn’t see the coffee table from where I was sitting nor could I see the camera lying on the stained glass surface. But I knew that it was there, waiting for its owner to return. Just like the worn out Chelsea boots beside the kitchen counter or the many notebooks he had scribbled in that had become neighbours to my own many books lining the entire living room wall. But the real damnation for my mind was that camera. Lying on that stained glass coffee table.
It was the camera I had given him more than four years ago for his birthday. And it was the camera he had used when we were on that beach the week before he had proposed.
To be completely honest. That camera wasn’t the one I had gotten Harry. And it wasn’t the camera he had used when we were on that beach.
But Harry did not know that. And if it were for me to decide he would never know.
I still don’t get how he never noticed nor how he didn’t realise that it broke when he pushed me against the tiny kitchen table it was resting on. It fell when I found a place to sit on that table and tumbled under the giant shelf dominating over the tiny space of our open kitchen.
It had been early in the morning when that little thing had found its doom in our love, and I would have been sorry if it wasn’t for the amazing feeling Harry had caused deep inside my bones.
We had just returned from a party, both drunk with several undistinguishable drinks and our love. I felt giddy, and Harry was clumsy with the toxic liquid in his veins.
We both fought for dominance as his tongue forced me out of his mouth, raging a war within my own.
There was a kind of desperation to it, how his hands easily disposed of my ugly dress leaving burning fingerprints on my naked skin. Eager to do the same, I had started to open the sparsely buttoned shirt that looked just as ridiculous as all the other ones that were living in our closet. His love burned around my rib cage as his hands had moved back up to my neck, deepening our kiss. I just managed to work his trousers off and was going to take care of his pants next, but Harry stopped me by pulling me to his chest, telling me to jump as he guided my legs around his hips.
I kissed him frantically, and he kissed me back, hard.
He licked his lips before pushing his forehead against mine, not breaking eye contact. I knew he would come any moment now and I was so caught up in him; in how the sweat made the swallows under his collar glimmer of the lights in the living room behind me; how his long locks tickled my exposed shoulders with every thrust he made.
When my eyes moved back to stare into his, I fell victim to the violent shudder that shot right through me. We didn’t break contact until Harry groaned and his muscles tightened. He pulled me even closer as his head rested on my shoulder, pressing lazy kisses against my sweaty skin.
Hours later I would find the camera, broken and forgotten beneath the giant shelf and made a vow to myself to replace it as soon as I could.
It was me who gave that camera to Harry as a gift for his birthday so many years ago. It had taken me weeks wrecking my brain as to what to give to him that would make him as happy as I felt. And of course, it was he who ended my misery by whispering his wish into my neck while we sat one Sunday morning on the floor of a kitchen that once belonged to his parents.
It had been more than ten hours since I had last seen Harry and the turbulence in my heart hasn't felt tolerable for a while now. I had spent the night sitting here, on the kitchen floor, wishing Harry would sit beside me. Sit with his side pressing into mine. Harry, sipping directly from one of the expensive bottles of red wine that he loved so much. Me, reaching for the liquid happiness in between his fingers to feed the fire building in my veins until the bottle would no longer do and I had to reach for his lips instead.
I can’t bring myself to regret marrying Harry. I probably never will. Even if it was going to end in us splitting up.
I was not ready when the rustling of the key in the lock signalled that my time was up. Harry was home. And in just a few more seconds I'd know which road I'd be heading down.
For a second I wished the limbo back, even if it would mean that I'd never feel like myself again. But as fast as that thought had come it was gone again because there was a hand putting pressure on the door handle on the other side of our flat. I held my breath. The lock clicked one final time. The door swung open. Harry was home.
Summary: Lucy and Harry couldn’t be more different if they tried. But they also couldn’t be more meant to be.
A summer love fic that travels across countries and seasons.
“It isn't possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.”
― E.M. Forster, A Room with a View
Florence
12th July 2017
Lucy Hollande was tired.
She was very tired indeed. From her last 5 university years, from her newest break-up, from her smothering parents, and from, you know, life in general when you’re 23 and overall scared about the future. Anyways, all this must have made Lucy very tired, because that’s the only explanation for what had just happened.
Because this isn’t normal Lucy. Normal Lucy would never, not in a million years, be crying her eyes out in the reception of a sketchy inn in the middle of Florence because of the view from her room, from all things.
So yeah, Lucy must have been exhausted.
Not that the receptionist seemed to care even the slightest bit about Lucy’s condition. Oh no, the thirty-something year old man standing behind the counter was barely sparring her the light of day, as he peered from being his newspaper to her, kneeling on the floor, sobbing with her head between her hands and surrounded by all her suitcases. Which were a lot, if you were wondering.
‘No, you don’t understand, I just can’t stay in that room!’ Lucy sobbed ‘This is not what I signed up for when I booked this room! I’m not supposed to be staring at a back alley filled with dumpsters for the next two weeks.’
‘No English.’ That was it, that was the only response Lucy had gotten from the man behind the counter to all her cries and complaints.
‘I booked a room with a view. I paid for a room with a view, actually. It was more expensive than the others, did you know that?’
‘Listen lady, I can do nothing! You want room or you leave.’
Lucy gasped, indignation making the tears finally stop their way down her cheeks. How dare him?
‘Excuse me? “Or leave”? Are you kidding me? I want what I paid for, sir!’
‘Hey hey, what’s going on here?’ a deep voice sounded from behind her, and when Lucy looked up from where she was kneeling, a man was standing there, a rucksack on his back and a guitar in his hand.
‘Oh God, finally, an English-speaking someone!’ Lucy squeaked, jumping up from the floor ‘Maybe you can help me. Do you speak Italian?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ well, fuck.
‘But maybe I can still help. What’s wrong?’ he sounded half decent, even though he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there, dealing with a hysterical girl and a rude Italian, but Lucy decided he was her only hope.
‘Well, this gentleman here just gave me the key to a room that I haven’t paid for. You see, I booked and paid for a room with a view, but turns out he sent me up to a room that looks over a breath-taking quantity of dumpsters and pigeon crap.’
‘Are you making a scene in the middle of Florence because you didn’t get the room you wanted?’ his words sounded harsh, but his tone was actually soothingly monotone, for someone who was blatantly calling her out on her bullshit. Great, as if this day couldn’t get any worse, now a stranger was making fun of her as well. Just great.
‘I’m not making a scene. I’m just… I want what I paid for, that’s all.’
He shrugged and passed by her, leaning now over the counter as he spoke to the receptionist. What an ass! If he didn't want to help he could at least not be a jerk about it!
Now, normal Lucy would have thought exactly this, but remain quiet about it, as her insides boiled with rage. But Disgruntled Lucy (that seems like something we should be calling her from now on) clearly couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
‘Hey, thanks a lot for your help, jackass! Please, just go straight by me and take care of your own shit!’
‘Could you just not get your panties in a wad, I’ve not said I’m not helping.’ the guy turned back to the receptionist and continued in his monotone voice. ‘Hey, could you give me the key to my room? It’s under Harry Styles. Thanks.’
He turned back to Lucy and handed her the key he had just been given. ‘Here. Enjoy your room with a view.’
‘Wh-‘
‘I honestly couldn’t give two shits about the view from my room, so let me just to up there to take my stuff and we’ll swap rooms.’
‘Oh… that’s actually really nice.’ Lucy muttered, her cheeks suddenly turning a lovely shade of crimson.
‘Pretty nice for a jackass, right?’ Harry mocked, his lips twisting into a grin. His very… pretty… pink lips, Lucy started to notice. But that’s surely a Disgruntled Lucy doing.
Normal Lucy would never find Harry Styles attractive. No, certainly not.
****************
Harry’s room did have an amazing view. The kind of view you would expect when staying in Florence, with numerous tilled domes doting the horizon and picturesque bridges crossing the calm waters of the Arno river. It was lovely, really. At least that’s what Lucy kept saying to herself throughout her first two days in Italy, while she sunk further and further into the bed she had yet to leave since she had arrived.
She was young, she was in Italy, she had just finished her degree, and she had her life seemingly planned out, at least for the coming two or three years. So why was she feeling so unhappy, so lost? I mean, sure, her boyfriend of two year had just dumped her, and she wasn’t sure she was so keen on the job she was going to start in just a few weeks back home. But so what?
Lucy Hollande always knew she wasn't meant for an eccentric life. She was just not that kind of person. She liked plans, and lists, oh, endless lists about the pros and cons of everything in life, and she liked routines. She loved to know just exactly what she could expect from everything and everyone, and she was ok with this existence that appeared so boring and ordinary to certain people.
People like Harry Styles, for example. God, Harry Styles! He was the opposite of everything Lucy stood for. At least he looked like it. There was really no way to know for sure, because Lucy hadn’t spoken to him since she had taken refuge in his - I mean, her - room, and she wasn’t planning on doing it anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter.
So, when Lucy finally heaved herself out of bed on her third morning in florentine soil, her last wish is to have to indulge in small talk with Harry Styles during breakfast. But alas, that’s exactly where she finds herself, with her cup filled to the brim with coffee in her hands and no place to sit. Except for the round table where Harry already is, of course.
‘Do you mind if I take this sit? You won’t even notice I’m here, promise.’ Lucy breathes, not making an effort to pretend she likes this anymore than he does.
‘Sounds unlikely coming from someone like you. But sure.’
Lucy rolls her eyes as she takes the seat across from him, balancing her coffee cup on the edge of the table, as she tries to occupy as little space as possible. “Someone like you”. What the fuck does he mean? Is this some sort of Adele song?
‘What do you mean, someone like me?’ oh no, Disgruntled Lucy has taken over. That sure seems to happen a lot when Harry Styles is around.
‘What happened to not noticing you’re here?’ Harry frowns, taking his glass of orange juice to his mouth as he keeps his eyes focused on the book he’s reading. Bukowski. Obviously.
‘I’m sorry if I don’t like to start my day being insulted.’
‘I was not insulting you.’ he still hadn’t taken his eyes from the book, and God only knows how worked up Lucy gets when people don’t spare her a look when they’re talking to her.
‘Oh really?! I’m sorry then.’ she snorts, as she prepares to get up. There’s not enough hunger in the world that justifies sitting across someone like Harry, especially this early in the morning.
‘I really didn’t meant it as an insult. Please sit back down.’ he’s finally looking at her, but now Lucy wishes he wasn’t. Because she is met with the two greenest eyes she has ever come across, and he’s even looking up at her through his lashes, and she could swear her heart just leaped a little bit in her chest.
So she seats back down, even though she has no idea why. He really does piss her off, cross her heart, but he’s also really good looking. Plus, her stomach has started to make some awfully loud noises, so she better eat something sooner than later. Harry must have heard the sounds coming from her belly as well, because he pushes his plate with an half eaten sandwich and some biscuits in her direction.
‘In case you don’t want to get up to get something. It’s ham and cheese.’ and just like that, he goes back to reading his pretentious book.
‘Hmm… thanks.’ Lucy manages to mutter, taking the sandwich from the plate.
‘So’ Harry starts after a while of reading (or pretending to read, actually, from the way his eyes keep peering at Lucy from above the book) ‘How are you finding the room?’
‘Oh, it’s lovely, really. Thank you for that.’ Lucy can feel the heat creeping up her neck and settling on her cheeks, another of those things that seem to happen frequently to her when Harry is involved. This is embarrassing, really, but all of a sudden she feels this overwhelming need to explain herself. Before she knows it, words are flowing out of her and into the air between them, at an usual speed for Normal and Collected Lucy. ‘You know, about the other day, I feel like I should explain myself. I see why you would think I’m a bit of a… well, a bit of a brat, but that’s really not the case. I’d just had a difficult couple of weeks - actually, months - and that stupid room just seemed like the last straw, y’know? Anyways, I’m sorry, for… y’know, kind of snatching your room and being overall… dramatic.’
God, that felt draining.
‘Dramatic is a good way to describe it.’ Harry smiles, that same crooked smile from the other day, that makes him look like a pretentious bastard, but one that you’d gladly snog. ‘But that’s quite alright. I really don’t care about the view, I didn’t come all the way to Florence to stay locked in a room anyways. You know?’
Did he - did he just call Lucy out again? Because it sounds a lot like he did.
‘I’m sorry?’ she mutters.
‘I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to have liked your new room so much that you don’t really leave it all that much. I mean, at least I haven’t seen you around.’
‘Have you been stalking me?’
‘No, but I do stay in the room across from yours, and I can hear your weeping whenever I pass by. Plus, you always have your lights on. I can see it from under the door.’
Lucy can’t help but let her mouth open and close like a stupid fish, without words coming out of it, because there is really nothing she can say to that. I mean, she wouldn’t call it exactly “weeping”, but… the guy is pretty much spot on. She would never admit it to his face, but still.
‘I’d love to show you around, though, whenever you feel like it.’ Harry says, wiping his mouth on his napkin as he gathers his stuff from the table and prepares to leave ‘It’s kind of heartbreaking to think of a girl like you locked away in a room while in the country of love.’
And just like that, he stands up and walks away, leaving behind a baffled Lucy that can’t help but notice that she still doesn’t know what “a girl like her” means to Harry Styles.
*************
Much like a lot that has happened since Lucy has touched down in Florence, she has no idea how or why this has happened. But somehow, she finds herself slipping a note under Harry’s bedroom door just a couple hours after he called her out (for the second time in less than a week) at the breakfast table. She honestly can’t pinpoint what’s more ridiculous, the fact that she’s slipping a note under someone’s door, or the fact that that door leads to Harry Styles’ room. But perhaps the content of the note is the real winner of this ridiculousness contest. Because the note read something like “Hey Harry, it’s Lucy. I would really like to take you up on that sightseeing tour offer. So, if it’s still standing, just knock on my door.”
Of course, it gets worse. As soon as that damned piece of paper was out of Lucy’s reach, a minor detail popped into her mind. Harry had no idea what her name was. Between stealing his room and hating his guts, she hadn’t really had a chance to present herself. She hoped he wasn’t offering sightseeing tours to half the guests on the inn, so he would eventually figure out who the note was from. Hopefully.
******************
Florence
17th July 2017
The next day, Lucy woke up to incessant knocking on her door. She considered just putting her pillow over her head and ignoring the sound, but whoever was at that door was rather persistent, so she dragged herself out of bed with a moan and shuffled towards the door, stubbing her toe on the wardrobe in the process.
‘Fuck’ she breathed as she swung the door open.
‘Do you always wake up in such a good mood?’ she could hear the smile of his voice before she even lifted her eyes from her throbbing toe.
‘Harry?’ she panted, suddenly very self-conscious about her flimsy nightgown. A dangerous combination, when the air coming from the corridor is a bit chilled.
‘Yeah. Sightseeing tour, remember?’
‘Oh, yeah… that.’
‘I mean, I suppose you’re Lucy.’ he awkwardly shuffled his weight from one feet to the other, and Lucy could swear that for a split second she saw a blush creep up his cheeks. A lot of blushing had been happening between them at this point.
‘Yeah, that’s me. I- just give me a minute.’
‘Ok. I’ll see at breakfast in a bit then.’
Lucy saw him walking down the aisle and enter the lift before she could uncross her arms from over her chest, as she seemed to be frozen on that spot. What was she thinking? She could never put up with Harry for an entire day! And this is just considering he’s a pretentious ass, but he could very well be a pretentious murderer for all she knows!
This had been a terrible idea from the beginning. Not from the moment she slipped a note under his door, and not even from the moment he appeared behind her while she was crying her eyes out because of a stupid room. No, this roll of bad ideas had begun when she allowed her parents to buy her flights to Italy as a gift for finishing her masters. She shouldn’t be here. And she definitely shouldn’t be going around an unknown town with someone as unreliable as Harry Styles.
So, she would go down to the breakfast room and lay him off gently. That was the sensible thing to do. And Lucy was nothing if not sensible.
The thing is, when she entered the breakfast room 15 minutes later and laid her eyes on Harry, sitting alone in a table next to the window, the morning sun bathing his (very attractive) features in an almost majestic light, she couldn't bring herself to say the words she had been rehearsing in her head. Especially not when he was smiling at her like that.
‘C’mon, let’s get moving. If we leave after 10 we will spend most of the morning on queues.’ he gestured towards the breakfast table that took up most of the room, urging me to hurry up. ‘And today don’t go just for coffee and a half eaten sandwich. There’s going to be quite a lot of walking.’
Lucy nodded dumbly and made her way towards the scrambled eggs and orange juice, determined to balance as many pancakes as possible in one of those tiny plates they give you in these sort of buffets.
This time around, Lucy didn’t sit so far across from Harry in the table they shared, and he at least tried not to call her out on any of her strange habits (even though there was a visible shudder when she was piling her pancakes into a perfect stack before she ate them). It was a victory for them, really, sharing a meal without going at each other’s throats.
‘So’ Lucy started, when she was taking the last gulps from her coffee ‘What is the plan for today?’
Harry shrugged ‘I thought we could just go to the most obvious places first, like Piazza del Duomo, the Old Bridge and that sort of thing.’
‘Ok.’ Lucy knew about those places. She had read about them and planned to visit them, down to the price of the tickets and the best hours to go to each and every one of them. Because Lucy is a planner, and she would never just come to new place without knowing anything about it. But then again, Lucy would never spent 4 days in bed and then let herself be dragged around a foreign city by a boy she had just met. Clearly none of the previous rules apply to the alternative universe that Lucy seems to be living in since she arrived in Florence.
‘Are you ready?’ Harry jolted Lucy out of her thoughts.
‘Yeah, sure.’
But she wasn’t actually ready for what was to come.
******************
Harry and Lucy ended up forming an unlikely, but functional, duo.
None of them was expecting this outcome when they first set off that morning to uncover what Florence had to offer, but they somehow found themselves knocking at each others door every morning for the next few days.
In between climbing the 463 steps of the Duomo, admiring the artworks at the Uffizi Gallery, and crossing numerous times the Ponte Vecchio, they had fallen into a comfortably exciting routine of exploring the city. And each other.
‘So’ Harry began ‘What brings you to Florence, Lucy Hollande?’
It was the end of the afternoon, and the sun was setting behind the Arno river, painting everything around them in shades of orange and pink. Harry and Lucy strolled side by side, languidly eating ice cream (real Italian ice cream, like the one you’d die for) while they made their way back to the inn.
‘My parents. Well, my parents money. They wanted to give me something for finishing my masters, and somewhere along the line they thought Italy was it.’
‘You don’t seem all that excited about being here.’
‘Oh, no, I’m loving it! I just- It’s not the sort of thing I would have chosen. I would be more than content with a lovely dinner in my favourite Italian restaurant back home. But sure, eating Italian food in Italy beats that.’
They fell silent for a while, and Lucy could see Harry furrowing his brow from the corner of her eye. He seemed to do that an awful lot. When he was thinking about something.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. I was just-‘ he laughed softly ‘I was just thinking how unlikely it is that we have become friends.’
Friends.
‘Well, what about you? What sort of wind made you land here?’
That sounded like the right way to phrase it, from Lucy’s perspective of Harry’s personna. He seemed like the sort of person that gladly floats with the air, the water, or whatever takes him somewhere. And he’s just happy wherever he lands.
‘Hmm… A bit hard to explain actually. I’m not sure myself, really. After I dropped out of college I ju-‘
‘You dropped out of college?’ Lucy’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised that Harry had actually wasted any of his time in college, or the fact that he had dropped out.
‘Yeah. Law school, in fact. Got kind of boring after a while.’
‘And so you just… left? What did your parents say about it?’
‘They weren’t thrilled. And that’s part of reason why I’m here, really. I understood why they were so pissed off. I had been wasting all their time, and frankly, all their patience.’
‘How did you get the money to leave, all of a sudden?’
‘Oh, y’know, some minor burglars and whatnot.’ he shrugged, not even taking his attention from the ice cream he was licking. He only started laughing when he realised Lucy had chocked half to death. ‘I’m joking, Luce. I had some money saved, like from birthdays and Christmas, and did I mention I used to work in a bakery?’
She took a deep breath before answering, her eyes still watering from all the coughing she had been doing.
‘No. Fascinating.’
‘Thanks. So, yeah, I used that money to go to France. Then Spain. Now Italy. I just stay a little bit somewhere, long enough to make some money, or long enough to get tired of it, and leave.’
‘That sounds kind of-‘
‘Crazy?’
‘Scary.’
‘Hmm. Why do you think that?’
‘Well, don’t you ever get scared?’
‘Of what?’
‘Of not knowing whats next. Of the future. I almost had a nervous breakdown in the month I had to figure out what master I wanted. Just because I didn’t know what was next. When I got accepted, even though it wasn’t even the master I wanted, I was just so relieved to know what I was going to be doing for the next two years that I almost cried. How can you do this? How can you… not know?’
Wow, she had never said that out loud. Not even to her parents or her boyfriend at the time. Honestly, she hadn't even fully admitted it to herself up until this point. Had she settled for a future she didn’t exactly liked just because of her fear of the unknown and uncertainty? Somewhere along the line, they had stopped walking, and so they stood in front of each other, both of them lost on their thoughts. Harry was the one to break the silence first.
‘I think it’s kind of… liberating to not know everything there is to know about life. To not plan, to not have schedules or routines that control every waking hour of your day.’ he shrugged.
‘You just belittled my three favourite things.’ Lucy muttered, her gaze fixated on the pavement below her feet. ‘Plans, routines, schedules. I like to know what to expect. Do you think that is crazy or scary?’
Harry didn’t answer right away. Three days before, he would say yes. “Yes, I think it’s crazy how you want to control your life, because it’s impossible to do so”. But at that moment, he wasn’t so sure of his reply. Maybe it’s just the way some people are built, maybe it’s supposed to be this way. The world would probably implode if there were only Carefree Harrys and not enough Sensible Lucys. Maybe they were meant to balance the earth. And maybe they were meant to balance each other.
‘No. No, I don’t. I think it’s just part of who you are.’
**********************
Their first kiss was in front of the “Birth of Venus”. Lucy was admiring the painting and going on and on about the techniques that had been used and how Botticelli wanted it to represent the birth of love, but Harry wasn’t listening to her. He wasn’t even looking at the painting in front of them. Because he was too busy staring at her profile.
That was the first time he noticed how her chocolate brown eyes shone when she talked about something she was passionate about, and how her lips parted ever slightly when she just stood admiring something. When she turned her head in his direction, he couldn’t bring himself to look away, even if it made him seem foolish. When he leaned in to kiss her, he was actually prepared to feel the scalding of a slap across his cheek, or at least prepared for her to turn her mouth away from his. But she didn’t. Instead, she fluttered her eyes shut and tilted her chin up, to grant him better access to her lips.
Now, Lucy wasn’t exactly Harry’s type. Actually, when he first saw her that fateful afternoon at the inn, throwing a fit over a view, he wanted to walk away from her and never look back. She was uptight, she planned every single aspect of her life down to the minute, and she wasn’t even acquainted with the meaning of “spontaneity”.
But, for some reason not even him can seem to phantom, he didn’t walk away. Maybe it was some cosmic power pushing him towards the receptionist and forcing him to say he would switch rooms with her. Maybe that higher power already knew they would end up kissing in from of the Goddess of Love. Whatever it had been, he was glad it had intervened. Because in that moment, with his mouth on hers, and her gentle hands making their way behind his neck to bring him closer to her, he was really glad he hadn’t left.
*******************
Florence
22nd July 2017
Whatever was the cosmic strength that made Harry swap rooms with Lucy, it had clearly not thought through the timing of this situation, because the kiss happened just five days before Lucy was supposed to fly to England. Of course, there was a lot more kissing during those days, but Harry hadn’t had enough. Of her lips, of her laugh, of her. So, the day before she was due to leave, he took her to the Bardini Gardens, with a basket filled with sandwiches, fruit and wine under his arm. The same question had been playing around his brain for the last couple days, and he felt like that was the day to let it escape his lips.
He wasn’t sure what to expect as an answer, really. If it was him, it would be a define “yes”. But Lucy wasn’t him, she was nothing like him.
‘Lucy’ he began, his hand slightly trembling while he poured wine in her glass ‘Come to Venice with me.’
There it was. It was up in the air, the words dancing in the breeze around them. Harry wasn’t sure Lucy has heard him, though, as her face remained inscrutable. But then again, this went against the three things she loved the most.
‘Harry, I-‘
‘I know, I know, this wasn’t planned, and you have your flight tomorrow. But I don’t think it’s such a bad idea.’
‘Harry, I have my life waiting for me back home, I can’t just-‘
‘You have your life waiting for you? What is this then?’ he could see the tears starting to well up in her eyes, but he couldn't tone down the annoyance in his voice.
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Then what did you mean, Lucy?’ she was really crying now, but he couldn’t stop himself ‘What is this? Some type of fairytale? Do you think this is you taking a time off from your life?’
‘No, Harry, this is a dream!’ Lucy’s voice gained a new impetus, as she clenched her fists next to her sides and got up from where she sitting on the ground next to him ‘This is a dream, all of this. This carefree Lucy, the picnics, the kissing… You! You don’t even seem real to me, the fact that you give me the time of the day.’
‘Lucy’ Harry stood now in front of her, his arms reaching up to caress her shoulders ‘I’m real. I’m here.’
‘But-‘ Lucy sobbed ‘I have that job waiting for me in London, and- And none of this was part of the plan. You. Falling in love with you.’
‘Lucy!’ Harry whined, his hands finding their way towards Lucy’s cheeks, requiring her to look directly into his eyes ‘Please, please, let go of this plan of yours for once! For once in a lifetime, do what you want to do, and not what you should.’
‘I want you.’ Lucy breathed out, just above a whisper, before she pressed her lips to his.
*********************
Venice
8th August 2017
Being with Harry was, indeed, dream-like. Lucy couldn’t really put it into words, because no words would suffice to explain how she felt around him. It was certainly not like anything she had ever felt before. Not with any of her ex-boyfriends, at least.
She felt loved. She felt safe. She felt free.
She felt like she had no expectations to meet, and Harry clearly surpassed whatever expectations she had of him when they first met. Everything was just so perfect. So perfect, that it was meant not to last. Lucy tried not to think about it, she really did. Whenever she tried to bring up her imminent departure from this dream, and from him, Harry would dismiss her with a quick kiss to the lips and a “we still have time, love”.
The thing was, they hadn’t.
It was like a gloomy dark cloud loomed above their heads wherever they went in sunny Venice. It was there when they shared an ice cream in San Marco’s Square, when they were getting around in a gondola, when they made love. For Lucy, it was impossible to ignore. For Harry, it was barely even a presence.
‘Lucy’ Harry’s voice mustn't have been above a whisper, but it was enough for Lucy to hear him. They laid in complete silence in bed, their limbs linked together even though it was far too hot for any sane person to want to snuggle. But alas, they were madly in love. ‘I love you.’
Lucy stayed quiet for a while, staring at the dark ceiling of their room and savouring his words, the vulnerability of his voice. It took a lot to make Harry vulnerable.
‘You don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to.’ Harry whispered after the silence coming from her was too much for him to bare ‘I just thought you should know.’
‘I love you too, Harry.’ Lucy twisted her body, so she could prop herself up in her elbow and take a closer look at his face. He sure was beautiful. So, so beautiful. ‘I love you quite a lot, actually.’
Harry smiled, a smile so bright and so relieved it almost knocked Lucy off the bed, and snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her body impossibly closer to his.
‘Don’t leave.’ he whispered into her collarbone.
Lucy’s own smile quickly vanished from her face. She was supposed to start her job in one week. Her job in London. The one she wasn't even sure she wanted. The one that would pull her away from Harry, and from the first real love she had ever experienced.
‘Harry… You know I can’t do that.’
‘You can actually. I looked it up. It’s called “quitting a job”.’
‘Can you quit a job you haven’t even started?’
Harry shrugged, his face still buried in her neck while he scattered small pecks around her shoulders.
‘You can stay with me. We can travel the world together, y’know? Where would you like to go next, love?’
Lucy’s heart started to feel extremely heavy in her chest, and she could feel a discomfortable heat emanating from her chest and up her neck. All of a sudden breathing seemed like a very difficult task. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break his heart. She couldn’t break her own heart.
‘Harry, I-‘ she jolted up, sitting straight in bed hoping for fresh air to reach her lungs. God, the heat was suffocating her. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘Lucy? Lucy, are you ok?’ Harry grabbed her shoulders, peering at her face in alarm ‘It’s ok, everything’s ok.’
‘No! No, it’s not! I shouldn’t have to leave. Not now. Not so soon.’
‘Then don’t’
Lucy shook her head, tears making their away down her cheeks in silence.
‘It’s not that easy, Harry. And you know it. Please don’t try to say it is.’
‘Lucy, love, you’re the one making everything so difficult.’
‘Don’t say that, that’s really unfair.’
‘Luc-‘
‘No. Maybe you’re ok with dropping out of college, and living on the edge, and not knowing what tomorrow holds. But that’s not me.’
‘It could be you. It is you, when you’re with me.’
‘But Harry, you know I worked so hard to get here, to get this job-‘
‘This job you don’t even like?’
‘Harry. It’s what I need to do.’
‘But is it what you want?’
Lucy didn’t say anything. In her mind, she went back to just a fortnight ago, when Harry asked her the same thing about going with him to Florence. That time around, she had said she wanted him. And it was true. It was still true, as they sat there is bed, Lucy crying and Harry frustratingly running his fingers through his disheveled hair. But she couldn’t give that answer again. She had given in to what she wanted once, and she just couldn’t do it twice. Not when it meant she would loose everything she had worked for her entire life.
‘We can’t always have what we want, Harry.’ she finally said, her hand resting on his cheek.
The next day, Lucy boarded a flight back home.
Harry didn’t kiss her goodbye.
And none of them looked back as she entered the airport.
They didn’t want to look at each other knowing it was the last time.
****************************
London
23rd December 2019
Christmas time in London was one of Lucy’s favourite sights. The snow falling lazily from the sky and settling on top of people’s heads, or making its way down to the frozen pavement beneath her boot clad feet. The children running excitedly from one shop window to another, pointing with their chubby, and often sticky, fingers at their latest wish for Christmas’ night. It all seemed almost magical to Lucy, like all bad things in the world and all the worries haunting people’s minds vanished for two or three days, to give space for the holiday.
Of course, not all bad things could vanish that easily. This was still Lucy’s first Christmas alone, and the pile of paperwork she had to go through before New Year’s Eve was still waiting for her at her desk. And she still felt like shit. Not even Christmas could shake her out of the self-pity spiral she had been going down for the past week. Well, maybe the past year. It wasn’t that her life wasn’t great. It was pretty good, actually, she had a stable job with health benefits, a one bedroom apartment with decent neighbours, and, seemingly, a planned out life in front of her.
The things was, that was what 23 year old Lucy wanted, but 25 year old Lucy wasn't so sure about that now. She had just woken up one morning, and felt terribly hollow, like her entire existence had lead up to this meaningless way of life that all of a sudden seemed to haunt her every step and decision. Did it really matter if she didn’t deliver that report on time? Did it really matter if her apartment was clustered in empty chinese food containers and pizza boxes? Did it really matter that she had gained 11 pounds in the last year or that she hadn’t returned her parents’ calls in weeks? Not to Lucy, or at least not anymore.
Maybe if she focused really hard she could pinpoint the exact moment this change had occurred inside of her. It was a big enough transformation for it to be almost physically felt, like her organs had shifted place inside of her to give space to that terrible feeling of uneasiness and lack of purpose. It hadn’t really been a change occurred overnight that she noticed once she stretched out of bed. No, it was far less poetic than that. She was actually standing in the line to get her latte, in some random coffee shop. She had no idea what possessed her to go to that particular coffee shop in that particular day. She wasn't even sure she had ever noticed that little place on her way to work any other day, but, somehow, she found herself getting in line to get ever beverage. And that’s when she saw a mop of curls, towering over everyone’s heads, standing a few feet in front of her in the queue to the register.
Her mind immediately thought of Harry. Not that it was Harry, no, never that, but always Harry. Whether it was a stranger’s chocolate brown curls, or green eyes, or even some stupid ankle leather boots. She always thought about Harry, probably more than once a day, since she had left Venice that day, more than two years ago. She was sure this wasn’t an healthy behaviour, but she had grown used to his constant presence in her life, even if that only reminded her of his undeniable absence. So no, that mop of curls that particular day wasn’t Harry. Because Harry was somewhere out there, far away, bathing in the sun of some picturesque little village, with his guitar resting on his chest as he laid in the grass. Maybe thinking to himself, or maybe playing a melody to a lucky girl lazily sprawled next to his body. But definitely far away from the monotony of the cold month of February in London. She shook her head, a smile playing in her lips, even if the recollections of that summer seemed to make her more heartbroken with each passing day. No, there was no way that was Harry.
But then, just as the stranger was nearing the front of the line, he dropped the pennies he was counting on his palm, and as he leaned down in a hurry to collect the change, she saw him. It wasn’t just the hair. It was the green eyes, the greenest she had even seen since Italy, and the big veiny hands that had once held her, and the cross tattoo in one of them. And, of course, he was wearing a pair of black leather boots. It was him! It was Harry, there, a mere feet way from her, now putting the pennies back in his pocket. But it couldn't be him. Not entirely him, or at least not the Harry she had met. Because now his green eyes where framed by two dark circles under them, his face looked pale and pasty compared to the sun kissed skin she had once caressed with her fingertips, and the heavy book under his arm belonged to a Law degree student. Her brain hurt just trying to put side by side the person in front of her in that line, and the Harry she had left that day at the airport. It was like trying to put together two puzzle pieces that belonged to entirely different puzzles. It didn’t make sense, and it made her sick to her stomach, so she turned around and left the coffee shop, without looking back. And then she ran. She ran down the street, she passed her office building, and then she ran some more, until the sole of her feet hurt and people on the street looked at her like she was demented. She didn’t care.
She missed work that day, the first time since she had started working there, but no one even bothered to call her to make sure everything was ok. In total honesty, probably not many people realised she wasn't occupying her usual sit, and the ones who did most likely didn’t care about it. She couldn’t really call herself the social butterfly of the office, really, she had barely made any acquaintances since she was introduced in the company, two years earlier. So no one really cared if she had spent the entire day holed up in the couch, not eating, not sleeping, and not even crying, just… staring at the blank wall in front of her.
She couldn’t wrap her mind around what had just happened, but she was sure of one thing. It had been worse to see Harry like that than to keep imagining him in the other side of the world, with some other girl. So, so much worse. All this time, she had held on to the hope that leaving Harry behind had been the right choice to both of them. She could go on with her organised life, and Harry could go on being the free spirit she knew he was meant to be. Just because she couldn’t adjust to that life style, that didn’t mean she didn’t envy the lightness with which he faced life. Like everything was effortless, like he floated through life with an ease that Lucy would never attain. She admired that trait in Harry’s personality, more than anything else.
And that’s how she had managed to go through the last two years, thinking she had made the best decision for her and, more importantly, for him. But that belief had crumbled to the ground as soon as she saw that boy, that resembled Harry in some ways, but that overall seemed like a person he would despise. How had that happened? How had he become everything he loathed just a couple years ago? Lucy knew it was almost egotistical of her to think she had anything to do with that change, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she had ruined the best peculiarity in the best person she had ever met. Had her constant agitation rubbed off on him, just from the month they had spent together?
These questions had been playing around her mind since that day in February, but she knew she didn’t really want to know the answers. That’s why she never went to that coffee shop again. She even changed the path she took every day to work, just so she would never accidentally rub shoulders with Harry. She started fearing going to the grocery store or the pharmacy and coming across Harry doing some other mundane things, like comparing the prices of different brands of cereals or buying medication for a cold. Those were the kind of tasks that Lucy couldn’t associate with Harry, no matter how hard she tried. It almost seemed profane to think about Harry worrying about the inflation of bread prices or about the delay on the tube that morning. Harry didn’t belong in any of those places, he didn’t belong in a law degree, and he didn’t belong in cloudy London.
She, however, shouldn’t be anywhere else. She was just like everyone else she passed by on the streets. Always rushing to go somewhere she didn’t really want to be, or to do something that wouldn’t really make a difference in the world, always looking down at her own feet, and always with a frown on her face. Even on Christmas Eve eve, she didn’t look any different, as she shuffled between the masses of people to get to her apartment, balancing her purse, a grocery bag and a box of pizza in her arms.
Yes, pizza for Christmas, that’s how bad things were for Lucy that year. And it didn’t seem that bad of a plan to her, if she were to be honest. It would continue to be a pretty uneventful, boring day, much like she had grown used to. That is, if she hadn’t spot that thick mane of brown curls.
Her heart now skipped a beat every time she caught sight of anything Harry related, knowing that there was a real probability that it was actually Harry and not some passerby fortunate enough to resemble him. This mane of curls in particular was standing in the sidewalk, in front of a travel agency, his eyes probably skimming across the offers splayed on the shop window. Just like a kid, minus the greasy chubby hands. It was when he raised his hand to pinch his bottom lip that Lucy saw the tiny cross tattoo.
Oh God, it was Harry.
And he was turning towards her, even though his eyes remained focused on the brochures in front of him. Lucy couldn’t move. Her feet seemed to be glued to the sidewalk, and her head was spinning so much that she was afraid she would collapse right there on the floor if she tried to make a run for it. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, every nano second taking some extra time to pass. Or maybe Harry was really just moving slowly, Lucy remembered he was like that sometimes. Taking everything ever so slowly, with such serenity. She could even see the smile plastered in his face while he still looked at the window shop, before he turned completely in her direction, and his smile dropped. His entire face seemed to drop, really, when he laid his eyes on her. Lucy had no idea what her face must have looked like, but it probably looked like she had just seen a ghost.
It wasn’t one of those perfect movie-like moments, when two people just stare at each other in the middle of a crowd, because this wasn’t a movie set, it was London on rush hour two days before Christmas. The passersby weren’t incredibly touched by the emotional encounter taking place between Harry and Lucy, they were just pissed that they were taking up so much space on the already cramped sidewalk. Not that either Lucy or Harry budged when people slammed into them and cursed in their direction. They were too busy looking at each other, with such intensity that some might think they were looking into each other.
Lucy didn’t know how much time they spent like that, but at some point Harry gently took her arm and pushed her closer to the window shops, now closed and with the lights dimmed, in order to avoid the wrath of any more pedestrians.
Harry was the first one to speak.
‘I’m-‘
‘In London.’ Lucy breathed out, like she had been holding her breath for that entire time. It wouldn’t surprise her if she truly had. Her brain sure seemed to be lacking a lot of oxygen.
‘Yeah.’
‘I already knew that.’
Harry furrowed his brows, and Lucy noticed his hand had yet to leave her arm.
‘I saw you. In a coffee shop once.’
Harry nodded slowly, his lower lip between his teeth. ‘I already knew you were here too.’
Lucy couldn’t suppress the cold laugh that escaped her mouth.
‘Well, yeah, you kind of saw me boarding a plane to London a few years ago…’
‘No, I mean I also saw you, a while back. At the Whole Foods Market, in Soho.’ he blushed slightly, and his eyes dropped from her face to look at the ground ‘It probably seems eerie, but I even remember the day and everything, it was the 14th April, it was-‘
‘My birthday.’ Lucy muttered.
‘Yeah.’
All of a sudden, Lucy felt a warm wave flooding her chest. Anger. Unjustified anger, probably. But she couldn’t help the tear pricking her eyes, and the quickening and shallowing of her breath.
‘Why didn’t you say something?’
Harry was caught by surprise with the bitterness in her voice, but he only let his own anger flash by his eyes for a split second before returning to the calmness that was so typical of him. At least that hand’t changed.
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘It was my birthday!’
‘Yeah, and honestly, it killed me that I didn’t say anything. It was the only thing I thought about for the rest of the week. But you were the one who left.’
‘That was two years ago!’ Lucy hadn’t noticed earlier that she was screaming, but she definitely was now. Only Harry could bring her out of the lethargy she had been on for one year. God, he really pissed her off.
‘Why didn’t you come up to me when you saw me?’ Harry asked again, a sense of urgency in his voice.
‘Because… because’ God, why hadn’t she?! ‘Because you had that stupid law textbook under your arm!’ she finally blurted out.
Harry blinked at her stupidly for a while, before the air around them started to vibrate with his laughter. The kind of laugh when someone doubles over and slaps their only thighs, tears rolling down his cheeks and everything. And, somehow, Lucy found herself laughing as well. She had no idea why, but it all seemed so ridiculous, all of a sudden. Were they really standing in front of each other in the middle of a God damned street, for the first time in over two years, discussing why neither of them had made the first move after that nasty break up all those years ago?
‘Lucy’ Harry breathed out, his voice still breathless due to all the laughing ‘Oh Lucy… I thought about you every single day for the past two years.’
‘What are you doing here?’
It wasn’t what Harry was expecting to here after what he had just said.
‘I just- I need to know, Harry. You hated this. This town, these people… Law school! You fucking loathed that! What happened, Harry? What happened to you?’
‘I grew up, Lucy.’
‘No.’ Lucy shook her head in disbelief, unable to look into his eyes.
‘Why not? You were the one always insisting that had to happen someday.’
‘And I regret saying that everyday.’
‘Lucy’ he held her face between his palms, gently forcing her to look up at him ‘I’m here because I want to. I’m in law school because I want to. You were the one that was right all along.’
‘No. No, I wasn't Harry. Planning out things suck. I planned out my entire life and now look at it. It’s complete shit.’
‘Lucy-‘
‘No, it was you who was right about this. About life. About the right way to live life. I just- I just can’t bare the thought that the carefree Harry I met in Italy is all- is like me now. That all this is my fault.’
‘This isn’t your fault, Lucy. This is who I am now, who I choose to be. I haven’t even changed all that much.’
‘You haven’t?’
Harry smiled at Lucy’s hopeful tone.
‘Not really. I clearly still piss you off. I still don’t plan much in life, alas the reason I’m trying to get my mum a Christmas gift one hour before my train back home. I’m still the hot mess you met in Florence, Lucy. I’ve just stopped being the irresponsible kid you were right to call out all that time ago.’
‘Harry, now it’s my time to be a mess, and you seem to have everything so… put together, and-‘
‘You clearly haven’t change all that much either.’ Harry laughed ‘You’re already two steps in front of me. You’re already planning something and deciding that plan in rubbish without even taking a second to breath.’
Harry was right. Lucy was already listing out the reasons why her and Harry would never work out, but this time she felt like even her was two steps in front of herself. It was exhausting to always be so aware of the many ways how anything could go terribly wrong. Why couldn’t she just stop, for a minute? Why couldn’t she just be a little bit more like Harry?
‘I tell you what.’ Harry’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts ‘Maybe we can compromise.’
‘Compromise.’
‘Yeah. Meet in the middle. I’ll worry a little more, you’ll worry a little less. You’ll quit your job and star doing something you really like. I’ll responsibly and happily finish my degree. Hell, I’ll even start making lists! Lucy, I just want to be with you.’
‘I want to be with you too.’
‘So the question is, what’s the winner this time around? What you want, or what you need?’
Harry was still smiling, but Lucy knew just how important her answer to this question was to him. He had asked this two other times since the had met, and each time she gave a different answer. And she only regretted one of them.
‘Harry, you’re the only one I want and the only one I need.’
Elisheba Aut fell in love with Niall Horan almost immediately. She had traveled to the deepest corners of the universe and never saw anything as beautiful as him. When given the chance to travel the galaxy with her beloved boyfriend, will she say yes? A story about true love, foreign languages, and Niall Horan's star girl.
Star Girl - Missed Video Message (1)
He waited for the hologram to load. He hadn’t spoken to her in two days. He tried to get back to his quarters in time to see her but he was a few minutes too late.
Her face appeared above his personal communication device. She was wearing the moon rock necklace he had gotten on his trip to the outer region of the Gamma Rhogana system. It was the perfect shade of green. It matched the color her eyes turned in the early morning light.
“Niall, mo mhíle grá.” She said with a smile.
His heart skipped a beat as the words of his native tongue slipped past her lips. He hadn’t been to his home planet in what felt like forever. He didn’t know if he’d even recognize it.
His parents chose to leave when he was young. They headed to Tanith, the home of the High Council, and took jobs as interpreters for the government. It was noble work and he had always admired them for it.
Instead of helping people voice their opinions, he decided to protect them. When he came of age, he joined the Intergalactic Defense League. Through hard work and dedication, he worked his way up to commander and was now doing private security detail for the High Council.
In fact, that’s how they met.
Her name was Elisheba Aut but those who knew her well called her Lisa. Her story was simple. She came from a line of migrant workers. Her ancestors escaped war-torn planets and toxic dictatorships. After many years of searching, they ended up taking refuge on the lush jungle planet of Ogoul. Instead of joining the family health food business, she put herself through school and became an interpreter for the High Council.
She traveled throughout the galaxy helping people like her parents. She became the voice for the occupants of the smaller planets. She spoke 450 different languages - including four different humanoid dialects.
She was a work of art. She constantly made his knees weak. From the way her periwinkle skin glowed in the moonlight to the way her bright magenta hair looked in the early morning sun, he couldn’t get enough. Although she was physically beautiful, nothing could surpass her inner beauty. That had been passed on by the generations before her. Her blood came from the veins of warriors and poets. She loved fiercely and fought fair. She was a voice to the voiceless and believed in doing things for the greater good.
She truly was out of his world.
They first met at the annual High Council meeting. She thought he was a reporter there to take notes on the controversial order that a group of greedy leaders was trying to get passed. He thought she was a princess from Cebu, an aquatic planet known for beautiful women and extravagant starships. They couldn’t be more wrong. His rank left her stunned. A man of that stature could not protect the members of the High Council. But he did and he did it well.
When he first heard her speak, she was advocating for a group of leaders from the mountainous planet of Bianor. A language that took most people years to learn fell effortlessly from her lips. He realized that she was something special and it didn’t take long for him to fall for her. But that’s okay because she fell too - fast and hard.
They had been together for five years. Five years of travelling millions of miles just to spend a few nights together. It was difficult but somehow they made it work. During their third year, she was offered a job as the personal interpreter for a very influential member of the High Council. If she accepted, she wouldn’t have to rely on holograms and long shuttle rides to see her beloved. If she accepted, her job would change. She’d be no longer looking out for the underdog. She’d no longer be helping people like her parents and grandparents. She’d be helping a leader rule over millions of people. That didn’t sit right with her. As much as she loved Niall, she couldn’t do it. He understood but that didn’t stop him from being disappointed.
“We made it to Kallisto and we should be in Tanith by the morning. I miss you and can’t wait to see you, my love.” She said as a small yawn escaped.
He missed her dearly. The way her nose crinkled when she yawned. The way she spoke in her native tongue when she was mad. The way her hair smelled after a shower. He couldn’t believe it’d been nearly six months since they’d seen each other last.
Lisa played with her hair subconsciously, “Only one more sleep until I see your face.”
Niall looked at the clock on the wall. He still had six hours until her shuttle arrived. He knew he should sleep but his mind was wide awake. He kept his eyes on the face of the holographic girl sitting in his lap. He could not wait to hold her close.
She started to talk about a new job offer she had received but didn’t give up any real details about it. She said they’d speak about it once she arrived. He hoped it was something in Tanith so they wouldn’t have to spend so much time apart.
“Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.” She spoke before ending the call.
“Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.” He whispered to himself before placing the device on his night stand.
Those five words played in his mind as he stared at the ceiling. My heart is in you. He loved her deeply. He wanted to show her that. Maybe he’d find a different job to make the distance more attainable. Maybe he’d suggest going on vacation. They could take a trip back to Ogoul or Hibernia, just the two of them. Maybe he’d ask her to move in.
He didn’t know what he wanted to do but he knew he needed to do something. He needed her to know that despite the distance, she was his true love. His star girl.
Those six hours came and went. His alarm had been going off for nearly ten minutes before he stumbled out of bed. He quickly threw on his uniform and attempted to do his hair. His watch beeped letting him know he only had five minutes to make it across the station to the docking bay where her shuttle would be landing. He wasn’t going to make it in time.
The lanky lad jogged through the space station weaving in and out of people as he went. He headed for his favorite shortcut but it was blocked. Some sort of construction project was being done so he had to go the long way around.
Fortunately, Niall made it to the bay just as Lisa was exiting the ship. She grabbed her luggage from the bin that had been underneath the plane. She scanned the crowd before landing on his face. A happy smile fell upon her likes as she made her way over.
At first, they didn’t speak. He closed the space between them. His strong arms pulled her into a warm embrace. She buried her head into his neck. He loved the way she molded into him. He placed a kiss on top of her head. He had missed this.
“Hi love.” He whispered softly in her ear.
“You’re early.” She teased.
“I only overslept by ten minutes and not the usual twenty.” He replied dryly.
“You’re stepping up in the world, Horan.” She replied lifting her head from his chest.
“Are you hungry?” Niall asked looking into her eyes.
Lisa shook her head before stealing a sweet kiss. “I need to change for the meeting.”
“My shower awaits.” He winked making her skin grow warm.
“We can’t do that until after the meeting.” She said with a furrowed brow.
Niall let out a dramatic sigh. “I know.”
“Let’s go.” Lisa said pulling away from him.
He looked at her confused. She usually wasn’t this shy around him.
“I want to give you a proper kiss but don’t want you to lose your job over it.” She said interlocking her fingers with his.
“Elisheba, everyone knows.” He sighed giving her hand a squeeze.
“Still doesn’t mean they can’t fire you for fraternizing with a mere civil servant like me, Commander.” She said razzing him.
“You are a pain in the ass.” He mumbled trying not laugh at her joke.
Lisa tilted her head to the side, “What do you mean? I didn’t even touch you.”
“It’s just a sayin’ love.” He smiled before placing a quick kiss on her forehead.
Lisa was hands down the smartest woman he knew. The amount of languages she was fluent in was astounding. The amount of time it took her to learn all those languages was even more impressive. He knew a few different languages but he didn’t know them very well. He didn’t know how she kept each language straight. There were times, like right now, where she took things a little too literal. He knew she didn’t know any better but he still found it adorable.
She nodded slowly. “Like the cold shoulder. I understand.”
“Exactly baby.” Niall smiled sliding his arm around her shoulder. “Like cum mula peperit.”
Her eyes lit up, “You remembered!”
“Of course I did.” He said as they started to walk to his home. “I had a great teacher.”
“My mother used that phrase a lot when I was little.” Lisa said reminiscing about her childhood. Her native tongue was one she held close to her heart. “Especially with my uncles.”
“How are they doing?” He asked.
“Good. It is almost shuura season so they are all very excited for it.” Lisa said with a smile.
Shuura was a sweet yellow fruit that grew in abundance on her home planet. The season when they bloomed was her favorite. She remembered sitting in her grandparents’ kitchen with her brothers and sisters waiting to help sort through the harvest.
“Maybe she’ll send some to us again.” He said as they headed deeper into the station. “Or maybe we can just go visit.”
“Ogoul?” She said with a hint of excitement to her voice. “Really?”
Niall nodded. “I was thinking we should take a trip to Ogoul, Hibernia, and maybe somewhere like Traugantu to see those volcanic flowers you’re always going on about.”
“Canna Durban!” She chirped with a grin. “Oh Niall can we really? Can we go?”
“I’m do for some time off. What about you?” He asked as his living quarters came into view. He slid his arm off of her shoulder and grabbed her hand instead.
She let out a sigh. “I don’t know.”
“What about this new offer?” He asked placing his keycard in its spot on his door.
“I don’t know if I should take it.” She said hesitantly. “It’s a big responsibility but I wouldn’t be able to help out as many people as I do now. Or at least I don’t think I would.”
“What’s the job?” He asked allowing her to enter before him.
“You know Mandy?” She asked heading for the restroom.
”Yeah the main translator for the Council.” He said following behind her.
“She wants to retire and move to like the care sector so she can help take care of the Council members’ kids.” She said slipping out of her travel clothes. “So her job would be open.”
“That’s great.” Niall said watching her closely. He had every inch of her committed to memory. He wanted so badly, to recommit certain parts but there wasn’t enough time.
She slid on her top before peaking out of the doorway. “Mandy recommended me specifically to take her spot.”
“Really?” He asked surprised.
“Yeah.” She blushed. “Isn’t that crazy?”
“No. You’re great at your job. Anyone with eyes could see that.” He said crossing his arms over his chest. “She’s always thought highly of you.”
“That’s true.” She said searching for the rest of her uniform. “I just–I just don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
“It’s the same job isn’t it?” He asked.
She mumbled an answer making him smile. He had missed her so much.
“You would have an advantage though.” He said as she shot a confused look in his direction.
She stood up. “How?”
“Mandy was born and raised in Tanith. She never ventured out. Everything she learned, she learned here.” He said walking up behind her.
“You have gotten so much experience being out in the field. You have traveled all over the galaxy learning new languages. And you have a spot spot for those nations that are underrepresented.” Niall said placing his hands on her shoulders. “You could change the way those meetings are run.”
“I’m just an interpreter Ni.” She sighed.
Niall placed his lips to the base of her neck. Her body relaxed into his. He placed a string of kisses against her exposed skin causing goosebumps to form.
“You are so much more than that baby.” He whispered before placing a kiss on her temple.
“I mean you would be a lot closer and I could see you more.” She said closing her eyes.
“Exactly. That is a plus.” He smiled.
“And the pay is significantly better.” She added. “And it would help my parents out more.”
“And Mandy specifically recommended you for it.” Niall said giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “And you know how Senator Abderos is about that shit.”
“I know. I know.” Lisa said opening her eyes and turning around.
He studied her face. For some reason, she looked older to him. It had only been six months but it felt a lot longer. He cupped her cheek, gently stroking her skin with his thumb. She nuzzled into his hand. His heart skipped a beat at her touch.
Niall had always heard women from Ogoul were different. They were often described as rough, crass, and a whole lot of trouble. The moment he met Elisheba Aut, he knew this couldn’t be true. She was gentle, caring, and humble. She was everything he could ever want in a partner.
With a slow breath, she made up her mind, “I think I’m gonna do it.”
“Perfect.” Niall smiled placing a deep kiss on her lips. “You’ll be absolutely perfect.”
“I love you.” She whispered as she pulled away.
He whispered back, “Amo te.”
Her eyes lit up. She had taught him some words from her native tongue. He loved to use them. Whenever he did, she fell more in love with him.
“Okay I really need to get ready.” She said pecking his lips. “So go away.”
Yes ma’m.” He winked as he left the room.
The rest of the day was spent discussing galactic safety standards and disaster protocol. Foreign languages were decoded and foreign dignitaries were protected. He was allowed to leave at six but she was asked to stay until eight. She didn’t mind though. She sat in Senator Abderos’ office filling out paperwork putting her transfer into place.
Lisa was moving on to bigger and better things.
She was going to have a better job with a better wage. She was going to be able to spend more time with her boyfriend. Most importantly, she’d be getting to help people in a different way.
A wave of excitement radiated from her chest. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother.
As she left headquarters, she founded her blue-eyed boyfriend waiting for her. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair was a mess. He was standing amongst a group of co-workers with a carefree smile plastered to his face.
She had missed that.
She missed the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed too hard. She missed the way he slid his arm around her shoulder when they were out and about. She missed the way he kissed her hand on the long walk back to his place. She missed his laugh, his smile, his face.
Another joke was shared before she caught his eye. With a nod of his head, he motioned her over.
“Commander.” She nodded making him blush. She turned to the others with a polite smile on her face and curtsied, “Gentlemen.”
Various forms of “Good evening Miss Aut” were thrown in her direction.
“Ready to go?” Niall asked softly.
Lisa nodded slipping her hand into his. Niall placed a quick kiss on top of her palm before giving his friends a quick goodbye.
The pair left the pod where all the official High Council work took place. They travelled through the clerk's quarters before stepping into a lift that would take them down to the ground floor.
“So, what’d they say?” Niall asked eager to hear about her meeting with the senator.
“Well they brought up Mandy retiring and how it would put them in a tight spot if they didn’t find anyone soon.” Lisa explained. “Then they asked about my schooling and experience on the job. Mandy brought up the invasion I prevented between the A'Fannaeans and the Paragons.”
The A’Fannaeans, a science-based society, found an undocumented moon in orbit near their planet. They planned to send out an exploration team to claim it as their own. However, it also orbited Parago, a desert wasteland. The Paragons were a very stubborn race. They could start a war at the drop of a hat. When the news of the A’Fannaeans plans hit the dunes of Parago, tensions rose. Lisa was brought in to defuse the situation. It took forty days for them to reach an agreement. Thanks to her swift work, the A’Fannaeans and the Paragons agreed to share ownership.
She did that a lot. She helped small planets work out their differences.
“Did she bring up the Creetite incident at Vrialm Gorge?” He asked sounding interested.
“Yes she did. Then they spoke alone for a bit while I started the paperwork.” She said exiting the lift. “When they came out, they asked if I had any issues moving to the station and if I felt comfortable enough translate whenever I was need.”
“You don’t have any issues moving here, do you?” He asked. He knew she wanted to be closer to him but he never took in consideration what she’d be giving up if she moved.
“I mean I’ll miss where I’m at and I could always go visit if I wanted but I think this is what I need.” She said as they entered the living quarters quadrant. “We’ve been apart for too long. I’m sick of having an entire galaxy between us.”
Niall’s cheeks grew warm as he looked at her. “Really?”
“Is Commander Horan blushing because of me?” Lisa smirked making him blush even more.
He rolled his eyes making her laugh.
“I just want to make sure you really want to make this move.” He said pulling out his swipe card. “That you are doing it for the right reasons.”
“This is a dream job for so many people. I get to work with even more languages than I already do on a daily basis.” She said reassuring him. “I just can’t believe I even was offered the opportunity.”
“I can.” He said confidently. “You’re amazing.”
Lisa stood on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”
“So what happened next?” Niall asked flashing his badge to the guard.
“He just wanted to make sure I was okay with the transfer and then he said if I wanted to switch then the job was mine.” Lisa shrugged nonchalantly. “I think Mandy was more excited than I was.”
“When do you start?” He asked as his place came into view. He wanted to start making travel plans.
“I have to go back in next week to finish up some more paperwork and then I will have to do a week long training to learn more of the ins and outs of being at headquarters instead of out in the field.” She explained. “But I don’t know when my first official day on the floor will be.”
Niall just sighed. He tried to hide his disappointment but it was difficult. His reconnection trip around the galaxy was going to have to be put on hold.
“What’s wrong?” She asked as she watched him plop down on the couch.
“I got my vacation time approved.” He sighed covering up his face. “But it’s gonna have to wait now.”
She walked over and crawled on top of his lanky frame. “Why’s that?”
“You’re going to be too busy to go with me.” Niall mumbled into his palms.
“Says who?” Lisa asked nuzzling into his neck. His hands left his face to rest on her lower back.
“I mean you’ve got a week of training and plus we’ve got to move all your stuff to your new place here then you have to get acclimated to Tanith.” He rambled. “Plus you’re going to want to go to some work functions before you actually start to meet people. And that doesn’t leave very much time to go back home with me.”
“Ni, why are you worrying so much?” She asked tracing the logo on his chest.
“I know that’s usually your job.” He chuckled softly. Her touch caused goosebumps to form.
“You didn’t let me tell you the best part.” She whispered into his skin.
He hummed happily. “What’s that?”
“I get three weeks off before I have to go to the training.” She explained. “Someone I know is one of the senator’s favorites.”
“He didn’t say anything, did he?” Niall asked peering down at her shyly.
“He just said you told him about our plans and that if he wanted a well rested and focused staff that a few weeks off would be a good thing.” Lisa said making him smile.
“That bastard.” He laughed.
“So we can go to Ogoul and Hibernia and wherever else you want.” Lisa smiled.
“Let’s go to Partheon too.” Niall said thinking of all the combinations of planets they could visit.
“But you’ve been there so many times with the IDL. Aren’t you sick of it?” She asked.
“No because I haven’t been there with you yet.” He smiled.
“Ni.” She blushed.
“I could travel the entire galaxy with you by my side and never get bored.” He whispered softly into her hair.
Lisa exhaled slowly, “That would be nice. Travel around for a while, just you and me.”
“We could do it. Take sabbatical and then come back when we’re refreshed.” He said curling a strand of her hair around his finger.
“I wouldn’t be able to send money back home if we did that.” She yawned.
“I could use my savings for that. I’ve got at least three months worth maybe even more.” He offered.
“I don’t know. I just – I don’t know.” Lisa sighed.
She wanted to but she couldn’t let herself do it. It was too irresponsible.
“Wouldn’t you like to come with me?” He asked.
“Yes but I can’t.” She closed her eyes. “Not for that long at least.”
Lisa laughed, “Besides I think after traveling for three whole weeks with me, you’ll want to be by yourself for a while.”
“Impossible.” He said moving so they were face to face.
She looked at him confused, “How?”
“Because you’re my star girl.” He kissed her lips. “You rule my world.”
Warnings: language, mild sexual content, alcohol consumption
Summary:
they always say behind every great man is a great woman. sometimes, they say behind every great song, there’s a great, untold story
or, a story about sweet creature and the woman behind it
He was going to miss it. Jamaica had grown on him. He had been dreading the trip, for obvious reasons, but he ended up getting a lot of material to work with and put together for his first solo album. He’d come so far, yet it was only the beginning. And she’d been there for him ever since she’d entered his life. She knew him like no one else did, had put up with his bullshit like no one else had and was still there for him in the end, even after putting her through hell. It truly was hell when they fought. Still, he knew she’d be there when he’d get off his plane and show up at their doorsteps. He wasn’t even sure if he should head back to their house; it was that bad. He knew he wouldn’t want to see himself if he were her. But that was the reason why three quarters of the songs written down in his leather notebook with his messy handwriting were about her. He wasn’t planning on putting any of them on the album. He was very comfortable and capable of writing down his feelings in songs; he was better at that than communicating in person. What he wasn’t comfortable with was airing out his dirty laundry and feelings about the woman he loved for the whole world to see. They were only meant for them. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he’d ever show them to her.
Harry was sure he dreaded going back to London more than he had flying to Jamaica. His stomach was in knots the whole plane ride there. Despite his best attempts to occupy his mind with anything other than her, his thoughts kept drifting to one specific song he’d written about her. He was always so honest with his lyrics, always speaking his mind, completely putting himself out there. It was what made his songwriting so unique and real. He loved that about himself as much as his manager and his fans did.
But this one struck him to the core. He wasn’t sure how much he’d enjoy being tormented with every memory behind each line. Perhaps it was meant to be.
/ / / / / /
"we don’t know where we’re going but we know where we belong"
"You are a sight for sore eyes, my darling," was the first thing he said when he got back from his long trip from America. He’d clearly startled her as she dropped the pan she was holding on the kitchen counter and turned to face him with wide eyes.
Waking up to the sight of her green eyes was one of his favourite things in the world. He loved watching them fluttering open or staring right at him when he woke up. She looked so peaceful asleep, so different than her usual self. That’s how he found her most of the time when he came home from the studio, or a day booked with press conferences, interviews and all that jazz. He especially loved finding her all wrapped up in one of his sweaters, cuddled against his pillow on his side of the bed. It was small signs like these that reminded him that even with all their arguing, she missed him as much as he missed her.
"Harry," she breathed out, slowly grinning at him as she took his figure in with her eyes, clad in all black, leaning against the wall with his duffle bag in one hand.
"Hi." He smiled back at her, dropping his bag by his feet, and took a few steps towards her.
"Hi," she repeated as she removed her oven mitts, carelessly throwing them on the counter. The only thing she cared about was getting herself into his arms, and that’s exactly what she did. Rushing to him, she was engulfed by his smell, a mix of his cologne and the sterile odour of airplanes that had seeped into his clothes. Still, she wrapped her arms around him tightly and breathed in his smell, which was oddly comforting. "I didn’t hear you come in. You were supposed to land a few hours ago, but I didn’t hear anything from you."
Harry pulled his head back, looking into her wide green eyes. His hand reached for the side of her face, cradling her cheek as his thumb ran over her lips and jaw. "I know. My flight was delayed."
"You got me so worried. I tried calling you, multiple times. Kept being sent to voicemail."
"I know," he said again, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "I just wanted to surprise you."
"So you let me go to voicemail? I was freaking out! I was actually checking the news to see a headline like ‘Superstar Harry Styles dies alongside passengers in a plane—"
"Shut up," he said disbelievingly, interrupting her by pressing his lips against hers. Taken by surprise, it took Kass a split second to react and kiss him back, relishing in the familiarity of their position. He felt her entire body relax in his arms, making him tighten his grip around her waist and press her closer to himself.
Every time he kissed her, it felt better than the last. He never forgot what her lips felt like against his, but actually having them on him reminded him that no matter how amazingly he imagined the feeling in his head, it would always feel better in reality. It especially felt better knowing they were on good terms, and had been for a while now.
When the band had broken up, their relationship got better. With a lot more time falling into his hands and their schedules syncing up more easily, they were able to spend more time on them and work on what they’d tried so hard to keep together during his days in the band. That included more going out, more staying in and talking, rediscovering each other, basically falling in love with one another again. They’d been reminded of their early days when they’d met through a mutual friend of theirs, completely unaware of the differences between the worlds they each lived in. Being a uni student and being an international superstar did not exactly have many common notions, but love was common ground for everybody. Times had come when their relationship had been put to the test, but they survived, even if just barely.
So, things got good. They stopped having meaningless fights over jealousy, mainly since Harry’d escaped the public eye and facts weren’t twisted up in tabloid articles. Ever since their relationship had gotten a bit more serious, Kassia spent every day she could with Harry at his house in London, which was a lot more private and spacious than the flat she shared with three friends.
Harry loved that there was always one or two pairs of shoes half the size of his by the doormat or that there was always an extra blue toothbrush in his bathroom. She always left a few of her favourite pens at his place in case she ever brought her books and notes over to study, trying to get the best out of both worlds, those being the life of a uni student and that of a busy superstar’s girlfriend. It wasn’t because he was done touring and recording for the moment that he was always staying inside the country. Harry’s life never really seemed to hit pause, even if it seemed that way to the rest of the world. Even after filming Dunkirk, he was still constantly emailing, calling and staying in touch with important people that were required to help him start off his solo career, and part of that meant flying over to the States numerous times, trying to sort everything out and finding the right people to help him set the tone of his new start.
And this all made him appreciate coming home to his girl that much more.
They wound up with her back pressed against the kitchen counter and fully making out, completely lost in each other. But the oven’s timer went off and the pot on the stove started gurgling at the same moment that Harry’s stomach grumbled.
He pulled back, sighing. "We were having a moment," he said to the appliances.
"And we’ll have plenty of more moments later, but now, I gotta take care of this and you, mister, need to shower." He pouted, brushing his bottom lip against hers, trying to lock them back together. He missed her and he wanted to kiss her, make up for every time he had let her down and the time he spent away from her. She laughed as she pushed him back, sounding so beautiful to his ears. Her laugh was a sound that’d become very rare during a part of their relationship; Harry wasn’t going to take for granted another blissful moment ever again.
"All I want to do is hold you and love you. I missed you," he admitted, but it was probably no secret. He watched her face slowly morph from a small sheepish smile to a fake grimace.
"You smell like airplane," Kass pointed out.
"Okay," he said at first, "but I wear it sexily. Plus, it didn’t really bother you two seconds ago."
"My mouth was a bit busy, couldn’t really call you out on it. Now please, go shower so we can eat."
He hid his face in the crook of her neck and tightened his grip around her waist despite her attempts to break free from his hold. "Will you at least join me?"
It was with great difficulty that Kass got him off of her and sent him towards their bedroom. When he got back, she’d set everything up in the living room and he caught her nursing a glass of wine, legs tucked under her as she sat on the couch and scrolled through her phone. They rarely ate on the dining table, which was mostly used when guests were over, and breakfast was almost always eaten on the kitchen counter. Whenever they dined together, it was by the fireplace and TV in the living room.
Kass caught him with her eyes and handed him his glass as he walked over to her. They ate in comfortable silence, save for the few small stories Harry recounted from his trip. Kassia mostly kept quiet; every time the subject of university was brought up, it usually led to a small argument. She thought she was being slick about it, that Harry wouldn’t notice how she avoided the matter completely, but he did.
After setting their plates aside on the coffee table, Harry leaned against the couch’s armrest and pulled Kassia with him, her back pressed against his chest.
"Thank you. This was nice, " Harry said and pressed a kiss at the top of her head. She gave him a look, urging him to go on. "Coming home to this. To you."
"I’m always here when you’re in London, at least as much as I can be. And I’m always feeding you."
"No, I know," he chuckled, "but this time, like, I don’t know. It was different, actually coming home to you." Harry felt Kassia’s body tense in his arms. "It’s just, you don’t understand how nice it is knowing that there’s someone waiting for you to come home."
"So you want me to wait around here while you go do your stuff all around the world?" she scoffed. "Well guess what; I’m always fucking waiting around for you, if you haven’t noticed."
Harry flinched at her swearing. He was used to it, but it didn’t help that her tone was growing more and more defensive and angry.
"Babe, it’s happened so many times that we didn’t see each other for almost a week after I’ve come back because you have—"
"I have what?" she snapped, interrupting him as she leaned forward and turned to face him. Her eyebrows were raised and her lips pouted, an expression Harry’d become quite familiar with and one that he didn’t really enjoy seeing. He could only imagine what he looked like, and as much as he tried to keep his cool, Kassia had proved more than once how difficult she could be. "School? Exams? A life that doesn’t revolve around you? You’re being a serious asshole and it’s getting on my nerves."
"I’m not trying to be." Harry sighed and watched her get up, pile up the plates and walk to the kitchen. "I’m just trying to talk about something important, and you snapping at me every time I say something isn’t helping."
"Then stop saying stupid things that are bound to make me snap back at you!" she yelled from the kitchen. Harry got up and followed her, grabbing the glasses and the bottle of wine they’d shared over dinner.
"Literally everything makes you snap at me when you’re the least bit pissed," he exclaimed, which probably wasn’t the smartest thing he could say, considering the glare Kass shot him. He seriously thought she might throw the plate at his head.
"You’ve got a special way of getting me really pissed."
"I was just trying to say something nice—"
"Okay," she cut him off. "Say it, and please, for the love of God, don’t say anything stupid."
"Move in with me," Harry fired back without missing a beat, taking her by complete surprise.
Kass’ eyes widened, mouth opening and shutting at a complete loss of words. "What?"
"I want you to move in with me," he repeated a bit slower, taking small steps towards Kassia. He took her folded arms, bringing them to her side, and took her hands in his.
"What part of that doesn’t fall under something stupid?"
Harry sighed dramatically, pursing his lips. "Why are you being so difficult?"
"Just because things aren’t going your way doesn’t mean I’m being difficult," she scoffed, causing him to look away, biting his lip.
"Okay, okay," he agreed. "Why is it so unfathomable to even consider moving in with me?"
His voice broke, despite his attempts to maintain his hard façade. Desperation and defeat were audible in his voice, something he was sure wouldn’t go unnoticed by Kass. She shut her eyes for a second, trying to calm herself, before looking at him with soft eyes. Her hands crept up his arms and rested on his chest, rubbing it over his sweater.
"I don’t think it’s unfathomable to move in with you, Harry. I love you. I would move in with you right now if I thought it would do us any good," she admitted. "We’ve got so much going on in our own lives; there’s nothing we can give up."
"I don’t want you to give up anything for me, not your student life, not your university, nothing. You know that’s not what I meant. I want you to keep doing your thing; we can change one of the spare rooms into an office for you, where you can keep feeding that beautiful brain of yours crazy shit that’ll make you the best fucking interior designer this city’s ever seen. I’ll change the colour of my bedroom because I know how much you hate it; I’ll let you redesign the entire house if you want to. Hell, you can take all of it down and build it back up however you want."
"The city wouldn’t be too happy with that," she sheepishly contradicted him, because she was Kass.
"I don’t care," he laughed. It was true. They fought like hell for a better part of their relationship, but he’d do absolutely anything for her. "I just want to make you happy, Kass."
"I don’t need this house to be happy, Harry." Her voice dripped with conviction and sincerity. "You make me happy. I just need you. I don’t need this gigantic house that’s gonna be empty half the year."
"We talked about this, babe," Harry reached for her face, pushing back a strand of her hair. "Things are going to be different. I’m gonna have a lot more control over the scheduling now; we can even discuss it together, see how things would work out best for the both of us."
"Then can we talk about this when that time comes? Because that’s exactly what we’ve been thinking for several years now. First there was the band, and when that ended, it was good. Until Dunkirk came around, and everything nearly went to shit again. And now, it’s gonna be the recording, promoting and then touring. And it’s not only you. I love everything you do and I love your passion for your job, but there’s gonna be my job too. First my classes, exams and then an internship and then my actual job, and--" She was rambling, but she paused, catching her breath.
Harry was staring at her wide eyes, slowly shaking his head at her and holding her face with both hands. Her eyes were about to start watering; he could tell by the way they were becoming frantic and by how much she was blinking. He hated to admit it, but he’d become accustomed to a lot of things Kassia related during their rocky relationship.
"Kass, breathe," he instructed her and pressed his lips against her forehead. "Everything’s going to be fine. No need to get so ahead of yourself now. We’re here right now; me, you, this house, your uni, and all the fucking time in the world."
"We can’t even go a day without fighting. You just got back, and look at us."
"We’re not even fighting anymore. We were fighting about not spending time and moving in together. If we fix that, we won’t be arguing about that anymore."
"Yeah," she scoffed, "until something else pops up."
"I don’t get it." Harry frowned and pulled back a bit. "You were literally just going on about how everything’s gonna become so hectic and how we won’t have anymore time for each other, but then you say it’s a bad idea to live together and literally be obligated to spend almost all of our time together."
"I’m just saying that we don’t have to make a decision right now," Kassia sighed before wrapping her arms around him. "We can think a bit, give it some time. I’m sure we’ll make the right decision."
Harry’s hands rested on her hips, pulling her in towards him until her chest was flushed against his. He softly kissed her temple and slowly made his way down her jaw, giving a little more attention to the spot under her ear, until she turned into putty in his arms. "That’s all I can ask from you."
"Good," she joked, softly whimpering when he nipped down her neck. "Don’t go asking for too much."
"Would it be too early to bring up marriage, then?" he asked between kisses, a light tone to his words. He couldn’t say the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.
"I knew you’d say that," she smirked proudly, "and you should stop talking before I hit that pan on your head."
A loud laugh erupted from him while he threw his head back, exposing his neck to Kass’ tongue licking a fat stripe along the length of it. He retaliated by peppering kisses all over her face, some sloppy, some toothy, before landing on her mouth, where he kissed her properly.
Harry took her to his bed and made love to her in all the sweet ways he knew drove her crazy. Fittingly, they spent the rest of the night watching a stupid kids movie she’d searched on Netflix, sprawled out over each other, following the story of a little girl and a purple alien trying to learn, love and find their homes.
/ / / / / /
"two hearts in one home"
"Kass, they’re both literally the same colour to me," Harry said for the thousandth time since they’d left the house. Of course, Kass had picked the snowiest day to take on paint shopping and Harry would rather throw himself in a pile of snow, naked, than look at a bunch of white shades that looked exactly the same to him under the fluorescent lights of the hardware store they were at. He’d made a point to complain a few times.
"Can you have some vision, please?" Kass groaned, looking back and forth at the two colour samples she was holding in her hand.
"Here’s a vision; you could paint the wall half-half and I probably wouldn’t notice the difference. You’re the designer. You pick." Harry put the weight of the decision on her shoulders once again. It had been the same with the pieces of furniture they were planning on buying; Harry said he’d only help with setting them up once they were delivered. Obviously, Kass didn’t take that as an answer.
"Harry, it doesn’t take an interior designer to see that Lily of the Valley is a warmer white than Honeymilk. You’re just useless."
"I’m plenty useful. Think about who’s gonna be carrying these cans up the stairs," Harry scoffed.
"Okay," Kassia sighed, turning to the poor boy that was standing behind the counter, and trying to calm herself. "I told him to look at the samples at home and decide, but obviously, that didn’t happen."
"It’s okay," the boy mumbled, clearly unsure about the situation.
"You already had your mind set on Honeymilk when you showed them to me. What difference would it make which one I liked?" Harry exclaimed, despite Kassia glaring at him. He turned to boy, throwing him an exaggerated smile. "We’re gonna go with Honeymilk."
Ever since Kass had agreed to move in the house with him around a month after he’d proposed the idea, he’d become all about pleasing her and making sure it was as comfortable as possible for her. She’d practically been living with him prior to their definitive decision, but this seemed to make it so much more official. It was definitely a huge step forward in their relationship, and it was needless to say that Harry was trying as hard as he could to spoil her.
They stopped for lunch on their way home, as their fridge had been empty for a few days now that they’d seriously started redecorating and spending more time on the house. Once they got back to their house, she took a few ‘before’ pictures of the place, saving them for the day their project would be over. They were starting with the master bedroom first, which resulted in them taking one of the guests rooms during the time it’d undergo a transformation.
Walking into the empty bedroom, Kassia waited for Harry to follow her up the stairs.
"You could help, y’know?" he said breathlessly, placing the cans of paint at the top of the stairs with a thud.
"Oh, relax," she said, turning her head to face him.
"It’s like carrying you up the stairs," he blurted out without thinking, but quickly regretted his choice of words. Kass’ less than impressed face earned an apologetic smile from Harry’s part.
"Yeah, and you do it all the time, so effortlessly," she teased.
"It’s not as bad when you’ve got extra motivation," he grumbled, scratching the back of his neck.
"How’s not having a proper bedroom for extra motivation." Kass lightly pinched his waist over his thick wool sweater. "You look cute when you’re a bit sweaty."
Harry hummed jokingly. "How cute?" He wiggled his eyebrows, leaning his face towards hers. "Wanna show me?"
"You’re an idiot," Kass laughed, pushing his face away, but only ended up getting slobbery kisses on the palm of her hand. "Please be a dear and go get the rest of the stuff from the car."
"Lovely," he said dryly. "Making me do all the grunt work."
"C’mon, babe. Put these bad boys to good use," she teased as she squeezed his biceps. She sent him back downstairs, but not before he snarled and stole a kiss, pinching her bum just for good measure.
Painting the room with him turned out to be a completely different experience than expected. Sure, they got the job done, but only halfway. They spent the whole day going at it, trying to be as meticulous as possible with the paint roller, making sure no visible streaks were left and that the walls were evenly coated. With that said, they only finished two walls and probably spent more time putting paint on each other than on the walls. It started with a swipe of Harry’s coated finger across her cheek, which was inevitably followed by Kass reciprocating the gesture. By the end of the day, Harry looked like he’d gone for a terribly done ombré with all the paint in his hair. And even though he knew the hassle it would be to take it all out, he’d do it all over again if it meant he could see Kassia smile and laugh they way she had all day.
He watched her step out of the shower as he wrapped a towel around his waist, and handed her one as well. Her cheeks were red from spending that much time under the steaming water and he couldn’t help but notice how soft and fresh she looked, the deep warm tone of her body glistening with drops of water that’d yet to dry off. She twisted another towel around her hair, reminding him of the time he had shoulder length curls, before standing on the tips of her toes to press a sweet kiss to his lips. Her fingertips lightly skimmed the soft lines of his abdomen, feeling the goosebumps rise on the skin beneath them.
Harry felt warm all over, partly because of the steamy bathroom they were standing in, but he knew better. That feeling reached deep within him; there was a fullness in his heart that could only be explained by the woman standing in front of him. The woman he loved.
His tongue traced the curve of her bottom lip, slowly following the path he knew so well. Kass whimpered softly when he unfastened the towels around their bodies. Instinctively, her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, using it as leverage to tilt her head and gain easier access to him while his body pressed hers against the cool granite around the sink. The edge cut into her ass, and her right leg came between his, her thigh repeatedly brushing over his cock. It sent electric shocks through Harry’s body and he involuntarily thrust forward, yearning for the friction once again.
Kass was the first to pull away, after teasingly running her fingers over his groin, and her lips were swollen, eyes fully glossed over.
"Food should be here soon," she managed to say, very distracted by Harry’s hands, one skimming the curve of her backside while the other lightly cupped the underside of her breast. Neither was fully satisfying her.
"Hmm," he hummed, staring into her eyes before studying her lips. "Just a bit more," he mumbled as he leaned forward and kissed her softly. Despite the blood rushing to his cock, he managed to stir away from kissing her dirtily; instead, he gently moulded his lips around hers and lazily traced circles with his thumb on the skin of her hipbone.
They somehow managed to make it downstairs, fully clothed in sweats and sweaters, not trying to rip those clothes off each other, and before the delivery guy was ordered to arrive. As usual, they ate in front of the TV, feet propped on the coffee table while Harry flipped through the channels.
"No, go back," Kass said, mouth half full as she waved her chopstick towards the screen.
"No." He knew what she’d caught.
"Harry, yes. Go back."
"No."
"Harry," she whined, pleading with her eyes. Finally giving in to her, Harry skipped a few channels backwards, until he fell upon the one she was seeking. He watched as her eyes literally turned into hearts when she saw the purple little alien. At least that’s what he thought it was.
"Kass," he whined this time. "Seriously?" They’d watched this movie over a hundred times; Harry was sure he wasn’t even exaggerating.
"Yes."
And that was that.
Harry stopped protesting and they watched Home once again, because it meant he got to listen to her murmur all her favourite lines ("What is the purpose of your face?" was her personal favourite) and sing along to the songs she’d become familiar with. When their food was done, he cuddled into her side, resting his face on her breasts. The only downside to possibly having the most comfortable pillows under his head was that he couldn’t properly see her face light up every time the characters said something endearing.
They somehow found themselves lying in each other’s arm by the fireplace under the flatscreen, kissing and loving one another to the sound of the crackling fire. Heat radiated off them as well, keeping their naked bodies comfortable during the cold winter that London brought. Harry noticed the fire dancing in her eyes as he rocked into her languidly and tenderly, loving her until his heart was so full.
And yet, as she sighed an ‘I love you’ in his ear, surrendering to the euphoric rhythm of their bodies, he managed to fall for her that much more.
/ / / / / /
"i always think about how we don’t speak enough"
New York was always so nice to them. Despite its busyness and overpopulation, they’d always had their best times there, whether it be at Fashion Week or in the bed of their 50th floor royal suite. This time around, they’d been invited by Harry’s producer to celebrate his twelfth year in the industry and his achievements, an annual event held by the artists he worked with. Naturally, with Jeff being Harry’s producer on his debut album, Harry’s name and Kass’ name were on the guest list.
Stepping into the spectacular ballroom of the Plaza Hotel, a hostess seated them at their table, already occupied by some guests Kass recognized, like John Lennon and his wife, and others who she introduced herself to after Harry did the same. He put his hand on the small of her back as they sat down and let his long fingers gently graze her ass over the sheer fabric of her dress. Courtesy of a bridal brand, Kass was dressed in a near see-through maxi slip dress, adorned with delicate crystal-like gems all over. She’d opted for simple nude strappy heels, visible thanks to the slit in the center of her dress, and a large diamond necklace resting on her chest where her dress plunged deep.
From the he’d set eyes on her in their hotel room, Harry couldn’t stop looking at her or touching her, hence their special rendezvous in the back of the limo on the way to the Plaza. For once, they had both been grateful for the hectic streets of the Big Apple.
"Think we could head to the bathroom for a few?" he whispered in Kass’ ear, the luxurious scent of her perfume filling his senses, heightening them.
"Harry," she tutted, placing her hand on his to prevent it from trailing any higher up her thigh. "We just got here."
"Can’t help it." His lips grazed the shell of her ear as he spoke. To anyone else, they just seemed to be having a normal conversation over the loud buzzing of the ballroom. "You just look so beautiful."
Kass could say the same about his all black tuxedo, sophistication and luxury dripping off him like he’d been born to wear silk designer ensembles. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, already a bit more tousled since they’d left their suite.
"Later," she gave into him, placing his hand back on his knee.
‘Later’ didn’t happen through the night. After dinner was served, Harry was whisked away by some of his friends and left Kass mingling with the few people she knew. He loved catching her stare from across the room, watching her mingle with her friends until she felt his gaze on her. When she noticed it, she’d subtly raised her martini glass at him, intently watching him reciprocate the gesture before they both tipped their glasses back.
"Ladies." He watched her excuse herself from the group she was socializing with, downing the rest of drink and placing it on a server’s tray, before walking towards him. He’d long forgotten about the conversation going on amongst the people around him, too captivated by the way the sway of her hips and the look in her eyes made him want to leave for their hotel immediately.
"Gentlemen," Harry politely excused himself. He met Kass halfway, placing one hand on the curve of her hip. The other held his glass of scotch, carefully bringing it to his lips, all while keeping her stare. "I’m gonna be honest with you, I’m really horny—"
"What’s gotten into you?" Kass chuckled, checking around them to make sure no one had overheard him. Luckily, the chattering and music made anything they said pretty inaudible, and nobody was paying any attention to them.
"—and you, in this dress, is most definitely not helping," he admitted as he felt her hands roam over his black dress shirt and make their way around his waist.
Between dropping his gaze to her chest, her lips and her eyes, he watched as a knowing smirk played on her mouth. "Suppose this wouldn’t be the best time to tell you," she started before dropping her voice and leaning toward his ear to whisper, "that I think you’d be happy to know that I’m not wearing any underwear."
His grip on her waist tightened and he felt himself twitch in his pants at the thought of her bare under her dress. That image had his mind going hazy, picturing the feeling of her soft skin so easily accessible if he’d just trail his fingers a bit lower.
"You’re driving me crazy."
She hummed. "Very happy."
"Should make our bathroom trip a lot easier," he cheekily commented, and she tried to suppress a smile.
Before she could answer, the lights from the chandeliers dimmed and the background music turned off as all the invitees turned to watch the stage at the back of the room. Kass leant into Harry’s side as they all watched numerous artists, long time friends and colleagues walk up the stage to give a tribute to the man of the hour. They were followed by Jeff himself, giving a small speech, thanking everyone for attending his event.
As he made his way down the podium, the guests went back to chatting and more champagne was served, as the reputable producer joined Harry and Kass, as well as his manager and the small band he’d put together himself, a few others who’d be partaking on Harry’s first solo project. They gushed and praised Jeff, congratulating him on all his previous work before moving forward and talking about the ones to come.
"Here’s to many, many more years of creating, producing and winning Grammys, baby," cheered Jeff’s wife, Glenne, taking their intertwined hands and kissing the back of his. The whole circle of friends raised their glasses to him, Jeff bashfully grinning back at them, and teased him for his soft side, as he was known to be quite frank and straightforward, although always kind and thoughtful.
"Speaking of," Jeff’s manager, Sophie, intervened,"what’s the plan for your album, Harry?"
Harry tensed a bit, knowing that this wasn’t be the perfect timing to elaborate on some things that were to occur in the near future.
"Not really sure myself," he chuckled, thinking a few white lies would go unnoticed. Now definitely wasn’t the time to talk about the trip, but nobody could stop Jeff’s manager from pressing the matter, not even her client, to whom Harry was sending pleading looks.
"I thought Jeffrey had booked the villa though," Sophie stated innocently.
He felt the colour drain from his face as Kass’ hand went limp in his, only making him grip hers more tightly. The plan wasn’t to keep the trip a secret from her; he knew he’d have to tell her eventually, he just didn’t know how. He knew she’d take it the wrong way, and now, she’d just been delivered with the news in the worst possible way. His producer and manager knew, of course, about the trip and the fact that Kass was unaware of it; his producer’s manager, however, probably hadn’t been let in on that small piece of information.
"Villa?" he heard Kass ask confusedly, looking between Jeff, his manager and Harry’s manager, and a chill ran down his spine at the tone of her voice. Any previous teasing and flirting they’d done was long forgotten as Harry contemplated how he would get himself out of this one. This was all on him.
"Yes!" Sophie excitedly exclaimed. "Ocean view, outdoor pool, three stories and fully equipped to record the album. If that doesn’t scream inspiration, I don’t know what does," she gushed.
Harry did know. Kass had always been a source of inspiration for him. And she could scream, mostly at him.
"Ocean view?" his girlfriend questioned, finally turning to face him. Her nails were now digging into his palm, and honestly, he would rather endure a pain ten times worse than look into her icy eyes, masking the hurt behind them.
"Of course. You don’t take a trip to Jamaica without taking advantage of the ocean," Sophie added as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It probably was, but Harry couldn’t think properly, not with the way his brain was trying to come up with a thousand excuses to give Kass. Her buying any of them wasn’t really likely.
"Of course," repeated Kass, dropping Harry’s hand when he refused to acknowledge her or the situation. He was frozen. "Excuse me," she mumbled distraughtly and exited the ballroom.
An awkward silence fell upon the group, all of them looking between themselves confusedly as Harry shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. A million thoughts were going through his head, yet he couldn’t focus on any of them. The picture of Kass walking out of their house with her belongings stuffed in a bag was scaring the hell out of him, as he simultaneously tried to recall all the steps that led up to now, considering how easy and flirty their dynamic had been less than an hour ago.
"Harry," Glenne called out his name, pulling him out of his thoughts. His eyes wildly searched hers under the scrutiny of the friends around them, desperately begging her to help him. "Go after her, dude," she hissed .
He looked back and forth between one of his closest friends and the woman he loved, walking further and further away from him. The voices around him were quickly reduced to faint buzzes as he contemplated staying put, giving her some time to cool off, or to follow her and possibly have his head bitten off. He cursed himself, disgusted that the former was even an option.
In a split second, he followed her footsteps at a faster pace, having to push and wedge himself through the sea of people occupying the room. He could make out the top of her blond curls as she was taller than average, something he liked to think as more of her for him to love. He loved her. Following her through the high ceiling hallways, relief washed over him as he noticed that they were surrounded by a considerably smaller amount of guests. For the event, half of the floor on which the ballroom was located had been closed off to anyone whose name wasn’t on the guest list.
The determination and anger in each and every step she took complemented the sharp clean clicking of her heels resonating in the large area. It shook him to the core. He picked up his feet more quickly, closing the distance between them, still unable to produce any coherent thoughts to speak. The second his hand made contact with her upper arm, Kassia spun on her heels and pressed the palm of her hand on his chest, hard, pushing him back.
"Where are you going?" Harry dumbly asked, blurting out the first question that crossed his mind.
"To the fucking ladies room," hissed Kass, glaring at him through slitted eyes. "Funny I’ve got to let you know when I’m going to take a piss while you make plans to—"
"Kass, babe, you’re gonna cause a scene." He looked around, trying to see if anyone had taken an interest in their confrontation; all he realised was that the few people near them were engaging in a conversation and walking down the hallway, furthering themselves from the couple.
"Don’t fucking babe me," she scoffed, pulling her arm from his grasp.
Harry sighed, reminding himself that she was angry at him, and rightfully so. If only he could explain himself. He never meant for her to find out this way, especially through someone else at a fucking gala.
"Okay," he calmly agreed, "can we— can we talk about this later?"
"Later?" She laughed humourlessly . There was nothing funny. "Like we did before you flew to France? Or—or when you came back from that, and we still didn’t talk about it. And then after that, when you were in LA all the time, but we just turned a fucking blind eye to all our issues and moved in together. Later," Kass repeated, scoffing. "No. No we can’t. There is no ‘later’ with you. There’s no ‘talking’ with you. There’s just you, what you need, what you want, and then there’s me, having to fucking deal with it, whether I like it or not." Her words were laced with anger but her eyes defied her, tears welling over the most beautiful green he’d ever seen.
She left him there, standing in the middle of the opulently decorated hallway and pushing down the urge to knock over every single vase and sideboard lining the stretched out walls of the corridor. He wanted to follow her, run after her and beg her to listen to him. Instead, he turned his back on her just as she swung open the restroom door, and he numbly walked himself to the men's room. The sensation of freefalling, common during dreams, shot through him four times while he walked the few meters that separated him from the washrooms. He was then thankful for the console tables he could grip when he couldn’t trust his knees.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he barely noticed any signs of distress painting his facial features. To anyone else, his wild eyes could be blamed on the champagne. After splashing some water on his face, he slapped it a few times, urging himself to snap out of his trance. He wished he had the willpower to punch himself repeatedly for somehow managing to fuck up over and over again.
When Harry stepped out of the bathroom, he spotted Kass standing by open doors of the ballroom they’d fled, playing with her nails. She looked up at him after hearing the sound of his footsteps, barely daring to look at him in the eyes.
"I think we should leave," she mumbled, her eyes fidgeting between his and whatever decor was behind him. Harry, however, couldn’t take his eyes off her, studying the dull shape her eyes had taken and the crease between her brows. Unable to resist the urge to kiss it, he placed his fingers under her jaw, feeling it tense over his touch, and shut his eyes to fully embrace the warmth of her skin upon his lips. Before he could press them on her, she bowed her head, refusing the gesture. "You should go say goodbye to everyone and thank Jeff before the car gets here."
The car ride back to their hotel was nothing like their previous one. Filled with tension, Harry and Kass both took interest in the city behind their tinted windows, shielding them from prying cameras. They weren’t hidden at all times though; the short journey from the limousine to the top of the hotel’s front steps was packed with photographers, dying to get a glimpse of one of the most talked about couples. Their argument remained unresolved, but still, Harry walked behind his girlfriend, who was following a security guard pushing the crowding paparazzi aside. His arms created a sort of belt around her, preventing the men around them from touching or disturbing her, despite the hundreds of questions and comments being thrown at them.
"How’s it been, living together?"
"Looking so beautiful, Kassia. Who are you wearing?"
"When are we gonna hear more about Dunkirk, Harry?"
"How’s uni, Kassia?"
"Harry! How’s the album doing?"
"Look here, please, Harry!"
"What’s the next step for your relationship, guys?"
It was hard for Harry to admit that his heart started beating harder, faster when Kassia took his hand and gripped it hard.
Once they reached their suite, finally getting the privacy they yearned, they went about their normal night routines. Unlike usual , tonight didn’t involve any speaking, not even when Kass silently asked Harry to unzip her dress and unclip the hefty necklace. It wasn’t how he’d wished to undress her.
Harry was startled to hear her voice croak when she spoke to him for the first time since they’d gotten to their hotel, almost an hour ago. Standing over the double sink vanity of their ensuite, he stared at her through the elongated mirror reflecting both of them. Her makeup had been washed off, leaving her face bare, and she was dressed in her silk pyjama set that he’d grown accustomed to and quite fond of as well.
"I thought you didn’t have a set date?" Kassia replaced the cap of her moisturizer before placing it in one of her many makeup bags. "For the release of your album," she clarified when he didn’t answer.
"I don’t," he replied simply, slipping on a clean pair of boxer-briefs.
He watched her face fall, clearly disappointed at barely getting an answer out of him. Sighing, she threw her hair into a loose bun and walked herself to the bed, giving him a whiff of her perfume as she brushed past him. She was irritated, he could tell by the way she hit the rows of plush pillows, pushing them aside and rendering them more comfortable. Finally satisfied by their position, she leaned back against them and rubbed her lotion over her legs.
"Kass," he pleaded, begging her to acknowledge him. "Talk to me."
Her movements came to a halt and she snapped the cap of her body cream closed before tossing it on the bedside table. "I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry." She shrugged, sounding so distant to him, even as she sat just a few feet away from him. All he wanted to do was hold her.
The strain in her voice indicated that she was trying her hardest to remain calm. He was known to push her buttons to get a rise out of her; they were known as that couple. But this was different, it felt different. Harry felt like he was walking on eggshells; at any moment, the wrong words could cost him the love of his life.
"Tell me how to fix this." He took a few steps, standing under the arch of the ensuite, and the smell of her moisturizer filled his senses. "I--I don’t want to leave us like this before I go."
Confusion drew upon her face. "When are you leaving?"
"I think Jeff booked it starting next week."
"You think?" she scoffed, focusing on the lamp next to her rather than on him. "How long?"
He couldn’t answer that; he knew what her reaction could be. He couldn’t respond to that before explaining himself to her. "Kass, babe, listen, I—"
"How fucking long are you going for, Harry?" she asked again, raising her voice, and finally snapping her eyes towards him. This time, Harry couldn’t bear to look at her, knowing that behind her anger was the feeling of hurt and betrayal.
"A few months," he mumbled, irritably running a hand through his short hair, pulling at it.
"What do you mean?"
"Fuck, I don’t know, Kass. Two, maybe three. I don’t know. Depends on how long it takes."
"How long does it take, then?" she pressed.
"It takes as long as it takes, Kass. It doesn’t happen overnight," he tried to explain. "It needs time and I don’t want to rush it."
She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. "That’s not good enough."
"I don’t know what you want me to say." Harry enunciated each word slowly as his breathing shallowed.
"What do you know then, Harry?" she sarcastically asked.
"That I love you," he cried, staring into her teary eyes. "Damn it, Kass."
"People who love each other don’t pull shit like this."
She stabbed him in the heart with each word. He knew how much of an idiot he was for treating their relationship this way. His mother wouldn’t be proud. Kassia certainly wasn’t proud of him; his singing and acting achievements meant nothing to him if they came at the cost of his relationship.
He dropped to his knees in front of her and took her face between his hands, forcing them to look at each other. His heart nearly stopped, noticing the vivid emotions behind her eyes, switching back and forth from pain to anger as they searched his.
"I’m sorry." His voice cracked as he spoke while he willed himself to not break down.
She sniffed, shaking her head. "Sorry doesn’t stop you from leaving me for another two months. I just got you back." It had been less than six month since he’d been home. He was always away and she loved what he did, but she had been committed to them ever since the start, even with her hectic schedule. Saying the same for him wouldn’t be entirely true.
"I can’t not go." It pained him to say it, to tell her he had to once again put work before her. He’d never seen it as that when he’d be constantly touring or jetting off to shoot his movie for almost half a year. "I made work commitments, Kass. We have everything set and ready for Jamaica."
"What about this commitment, Harry?" she asked, pointing between their bodies. "How much more do you think I can take? How much longer can I come second? How much longer do you think this will last?"
"Don’t say that," he hissed, his own tears welling up as he difficulty pictured his life without her. He didn’t want to live a life where he couldn’t hear her laugh at one of his corny jokes. He didn’t want to forget the softness of her skin or the plushness of her lips; he didn’t think he ever could. "I can’t live without you. I love you."
"Then do something about it. You have to meet me halfway here, Harry," she hiccuped, and he knew it was just as painful for him to hear the words as it was for her to speak them.
"I can’t," he choked. "I can’t. Not this time."
"Then when?" Her voice trembled as tears ran down her face and the pads of his thumbs brushed them away. She even looked beautiful when she cried, red-rimmed eyes and flushed face. He never wanted to see her this way. "When are we gonna be a priority, Harry? When will I be worth it?”
And there went his heart, shattered and torn into a million pieces because he couldn’t possibly imagine her thinking she wasn’t worth it.
Time wasn’t their friend. Harry didn’t necessarily have a deadline for his album release, but for promotional reasons, it was best if it came out a few months prior to the premiere of his movie. It had all been crystal clear when he’d arranged it with his manager, Jeffrey, but the plan was never to leave for Jamaica for so long. Originally, it was meant to be a maximum three week trip to distance himself a bit from the routine and hecticness of his everyday life. To find inspiration and have no distractions. Just him, his guitar, the studio, and an ocean view.
She was his everything. She was his inspiration in every aspect of his life. He wanted to be a better person for her, a better lover. She wasn’t a distraction.
He was frowning hard. He felt it through the prominent crease between his brows, stinging his forehead. A suffocating bubble blocked his throat when she wouldn’t meet his eyes, casting her gaze down to her fidgeting fingers. The words were caught in his throat, despite how desperately he wished to tell her that he didn’t want any of it if it made her feel anything less than worthy.
He couldn’t tell her, no matter how hard he tried or how many songs he wrote, so, instead, he showed her. All night, he loved her sweetly, pressing their bodies as close as he possibly could, until they truly felt like one. Kass’d been hesitant at first, as if she were roaming unfamiliar territory, but she found her comfort quickly. Her skin almost felt softer than the silk of her night set that he carefully peeled off her, allowing him to press his mouth against every inch of her skin. A feeling of nostalgia loomed around them as they rocked their dimly lit bodies, with one of the biggest cities at their feet.
This wasn’t goodbye. Harry certainly hoped not.
He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, kissed her, reminded her how much he loved her. Anything but naive, Harry knew that one night of making love to her wouldn’t patch everything up. That being said, the last reaction he expected was her breaking down in tears in his arms later that night when they both laid silently in the oversized bed. He wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for her tears wetting his chest.
"How long have you known?"
The rasp in her voice hurt him beyond words.
"Kass," he sighed, stilling his hand rubbing her arm, a bit frustrated that all he could see was the top of her head. "It doesn’t matter."
"It matters to me."
Fuck.
"I—I, uh, it’s been a few weeks now," Harry shamefully whispered and expected the worse reaction from her.
"When were you planning on telling me?" she asked calmly, as calmly as she could between her shaky breaths.
"Around now. Maybe tomorrow." He made a mental note to cancel their reservation for her favourite restaurant.
A long moment of silence passed where he thought she’d fallen asleep, her body slumped and pressed to his. He was tired of fighting. He thought they’d gotten over the hard part, that he had learned. The fact that she couldn’t look at him certainly didn’t prove him right.
Startling him, she pushed herself up on her forearm, looking at him with her big eyes, filled with tears and confusion. "Why?"
He knew that she knew why he was going. That wasn’t her question. She’d never actually stop him from going and pursuing his dreams as he was filled with ambition and never settled for just ‘good’.
"I didn’t know how to tell you," he confessed, ashamed to admit he couldn’t talk to his long time partner.
There was only silence after that, apart from the irregular sobs coming from the girl next to him. He couldn’t relish in them, he couldn’t block them out, he couldn’t tell her it was okay.
The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was telling her he loved her.
He wasn’t even sure if she was awake to hear it.
/ / / / / /
"it’s harder when we argue, we’re both stubborn, i know"
Jamaica was fun. Sort of.
Harry would be having the time of his life, if it weren’t for the unsettling nerves in the pit of his stomach every time he thought of home, which was quite often. It didn’t help that his phone’s home screen was a picture of Kass laughing at the camera. It only pained him more remembering the day it was taken, a day spent in his mum’s garden drinking sangrias while his parents were out. He couldn’t bring himself to change it. He’d grown so fond of the picture; it had quickly become one of his favourites of hers. Instead, he left his phone on his nightstand, only checking it twice a day in case of an emergency.
They’d been there for almost three weeks now, and his debut album was starting to fall into place. It was nowhere near done, but at least they’d gotten out of the limbo they were stuck in for the first two weeks in Jamaica. Jeff was particularly pleased with him, watching the talent he had
As for Kass and him, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms. He wished he could just pick up the phone and call her, tell her about Jamaica, about the amazing people he’d met and about his album. God, he wanted so badly to go on and on about the vibe he wanted to go for and how he wasn’t sure how long it would take for it to turn out how he wanted it to. Hell, he was so scared it wouldn’t live up to his expectations, no matter how many times everyone, including himself, tried to reassure him that authenticity was all he needed. He knew he was gifted, so did his producer; the nerves were still there.
She was the person he always turned to. And now, she was the person he was turning away from. He hated it, but he couldn’t swallow his pride and call her. instead, he spent his time solely focusing on his album and taking advantage of every bit of inspiration that hit him; luckily for the album and his producer, there was a lot it. Unluckily for him, they all led back to Kass. He’d had previous relationships that’d meant a lot to him, and he definitely planned on exploring those ideas. Now, however, all he could think about was Kass and how so many things were always left unsaid between them.
Sometimes they did, except the message wouldn’t get through. Like when Harry nearly cancelled the whole deal and tried to tell Kass about it. He’d been set and ready to call off the trip and book a studio back in London, with maybe a few trips to LA; he’d even gone to the point of letting his manager and producer know. It almost went through.
As quietly as he could, he tried to calm down Jeffrey and Jeff on their three way merged call, both clearly irritated while Harry was getting fed up by the similarity in their names. The digits under the TV read 3:29 AM, an awkward time to be woken up by his anxious thoughts. Her tears had dried on his chest, only having been shed less than two hours ago, destroying almost all evidence of their rough night. Almost. Harry was a songwriter and a lover. He knew that emotional scarring was much harder to forget
The yelling in his ears continued, as both Jeffs had first been annoyed at being woken up at such an hour, despite both their phones being reachable, and now, they were going out of their minds that their key player was probably crazy. He just hoped the loud screeching coming through his phone wouldn’t wake up the woman in bed, only separated by an archway holding up white curtains.
“Guys!” Harry whispered harshly. It was unlike him to get angry at the people he worked with. “I’ve made up my mind. We’ll just figure out something in London.”
“Harry, no,” Jeffrey protested, trying to reason with him.“There are hundreds of people and things coming into play. You can’t--you can’t just cancel--”
“What’s going on?”
The fourth voice coming from behind made him end his call in a flash. He turned to face her like a deer caught in headlights.
“Kass,” he breathed, “I thought you were asleep.”
Her lips rolled against each other and she wrapped her silk robe around her a bit tighter. She shook her head. “I woke up when you did.”
Oh. Maybe she’d heard everything after all.
“Who were you talking to?” she spoke again.
“Nobody,” he scrambled to answer, mind frozen. “It’s not important.” He didn’t want to promise her anything he wasn’t sure he could make true.
She scoffed, nodding this time. The wall in front of him invited him to bash his head against it. “It always is, though, isn’t it?” she asked rhetorically.
“Kass, please. I’m trying to fix things.”
“Okay.” Her eyes roamed around the hotel, before focusing on her feet for a few seconds. “Maybe you should just focus on you, right now. Do what you need to do, get your album done the way you want to. Make sure it’s everything you want it to be.” Harry was already shaking his head. “And when you come back, whenever it is, we can maybe focus on us a bit more.” Her voice was cracking and Harry knew this wasn’t what she wanted.
“No. No, I want us to focus on us now, before it’s too late.”
“We’ll have all the time in the world. We’ll manage,” she said with a small smile. “But for now, maybe you should work on you a bit more, Harry. You need to figure out a way to balance out your professional and personal life, or else it will rip us apart. And I can’t be the one making you spend your time with me. It has to be something you want. I love you, so much. We’ll be okay for right now, when I’m so fucking in love with you, but there will come a time when that just won’t be enough, not when I only have a part of you."
Silent tears were running down both their faces; hearing the truth always sounded worse out loud. “What are you saying?”
“Maybe we should take a--” she cut herself off, trying to carefully choose her words. “Maybe it’s good that you’re gonna be away,” she spoke with a small voice. He knew she was scared to speak her mind, something so unlikely from the outspoken and confident woman he knew she was. “Perhaps we need this break, Harry.”
Either his heartbeat slowed or picked up like crazy, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that if he didn’t sit down soon, his legs would give in and his head would probably hit the edge of the coffee table. Hard.
Jeff had been over the moon when Harry showed up at the airport. Although he’d re-confirmed with his manager around ten times and assured his producer a million times that he would show up, he’d given them a reason to doubt him. So, Harry set his mind on pulling himself together the second he stepped on their private plane and making sure his producer and crew wouldn’t regret a second of flying down to Jamaica and working on his album.
During their third week in Jamaica, their days got a bit more busy. Harry had a few songs coming together, with lyrics that meant more to him than anyone could understand. He started writing about himself and how he felt. At first he thought he couldn’t write about her point of view, about how she must’ve felt, facing his behaviour. And then, he truly started writing about himself, and how he fucked up in New York. He wanted to tell her how much he hated himself for it, and that he was aware of his imperfections and his flaws. He was certainly aware of them now, when they were thousands of miles apart and not talking, mostly because of him.
It was nice to get it off his chest. He felt like he was directly talking to her, explaining it to her; it was undeniably more romantic, but he knew that when it came to it, Kass didn’t want romantic. She wanted real, raw and personal. A song would get her to soften up and open her mind. A face to face talk would bring them back together.
Harry knew what he had to do. He just couldn’t do it over the phone.
That’s what he thought, at least, until one night after he and his friends went out for drinks as a mini celebration for getting one song completely done, recorded and tuned. It was probably one of the only nights of his trip when his mind wasn’t so clouded with guilt and anxiousness. They returned to their villa around 2 a.m., most of them smashed, all of them ready to crash on the couches and watch some TV.
Harry was sprawled on the recliner in his blue Hawaiian t-shirt and matching swimming trunks, and he could still feel his sunglasses on his head. They were starting to give him a headache. He wasn’t as drunk as some of his friends; he was capable of forming coherent thoughts and sentences.
"Should we watch another rom-com?" someone asked. Harry guessed it was Mitch. It didn’t really matter who said. Harry wasn’t in the mood and frankly, all the rom-coms they were watching only made him miss Kass more and want to fly over to her and cuddle with her in their new bed.
He was staring at the big screen through half shut eyes, and once again, all he could think about was her. He remembered her smell and he tried, as hard as he could, to somehow smell it again, shutting his eyes hard. It was impossible, he knew that. He would give up just about anything to run to her and cry on her shoulder.
When he opened his eyes, someone was scrolling through the movie genres and as they were selecting comedies, right above it, the children and family movies caught his eye. It was only for a split second, but it was still long enough for him to notice it.
Damn the purple alien.
Almost against his will, his legs bounced off the couch and he stood up, mumbling a quick goodnight to his friends before disappearing into his bedroom. He switched the lights on, only for them to blind him for a second so he could find his phone and then they were off again.
Before he knew it, his fingers were automatically scrolling through his contacts and suddenly, her voice was coming through the phone.
"Hello?"
He almost dropped his phone, his fingers fumbling to grasp it in his long fingers. All he could think was, angel. He had to sit down on his bed, still in his day’s outfit, before he tripped over his own feet.
"Harry?" The way she called out for him made his chest tighten, because she sounded so worried.
"Hey," he croaked. A sort of relief washed over him after hearing her voice, but it wasn’t long-lived.
"Is everything okay?"
He rolled his lips together, tightly shutting his eyes. He hated that they’d reached the point where she thought he would only call if there was a problem. He wanted to tell her there was a problem, that nothing was okay, but he knew it wasn’t the right time.
"Yeah, yeah," he repeated slowly, almost out of breath. The inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper, either because of the alcohol or because of Kass. Neither reason pleased him. "Did I—Did I wake you?" he asked, his hazy brain trying to figure out the timezones.
"No, it’s, uh, almost eight thirty now. In the morning," she added. Harry could imagine her looking at the floor and wiggling her toes, as this had to be one of their most awkward conversations ever. She tended to show off that habit when she had to endure tense phone calls, and he’d seen her do it more than enough times to know that she’d be doing it now.
"How’s everything?" He didn’t know what to expect as an answer, but silence definitely wasn’t it. Anger bubbled within him; she’d been the one to propose taking a break after all. This was what she wanted. Still, he kept those feelings at bay. "How’s the house, with the decorating, y’know?" he asked after too many seconds of nothing.
There was a cough at the end of the call before Kassia answered, "It’s good. Things are good. I looked at some new stuff for the kitchen and bathrooms. I’ll show you them when you, uh, come back." He could feel the question burning at the tip of her tongue, but she refrained from asking when he was coming back.
"I didn’t know we were redoing the kitchen too," he said dumbly. Out of all the things he could’ve commented on, he managed to pick the worse.
"We didn’t really discuss it yet."
Harry didn’t know if there was a double meaning to that, but if the edge in her tone was any indication, he concluded that the kitchen wasn’t what she was most upset over.
"Yeah. It’s okay. We can do the kitchen too."
"Okay," she whispered. With each passing second that went silent, again, Harry’s heart thudded louder and louder in his ears. "How’s the album coming along?"
"It’s, um, it’s coming along," he said. He couldn’t tell her everything he wanted to, but his mouth was running a bit faster than his brain could catch up. "I write about you a lot."
He immediately regretted saying it.
"Oh."
He didn’t know if she said it because she was surprised that he wrote about her, or that he said as much out loud. There was some more silence before Harry managed to talk again.
"I think about us a lot."
"I know," she whispered after a few seconds. He didn’t tell her that he knew she spoke to Jeff about him, wondering and worrying about him, but he imagined that his manager was acting as their intermediate. That made him feel like a teenager again, scared and nervous to talk directly to the girl he liked. Except, a lot more was at stake here.
"God, I missed your voice." He slurred a bit, but she didn’t notice.. He was thankful for the long-distance call and its mediocre quality.
"You could’ve tried returning my calls." Her voice didn’t sound too angry. It was more sad than anything, but Harry knew her defence mechanism; she was about to get pretty irritated, and Harry had to carefully choose his words.
"I know, I know. I’m so sorry. It’s just--everything’s been so hectic." He proved unable of being wary with his choice of words.
"I thought you were going there because things were hectic here." There was an edge to her tone. Harry knew she’d be unhappy with him; it was just different experiencing it than imagining it. He’d gone over this confrontation a hundred times in his head, but the few drinks he’d had had not been part of the plan.
"That’s not why I’m here Kass." He was starting to get irritated and almost regretted calling her in the first place. "Can we not do this right now?
"Do what?"
"I don’t know. This." Harry waved his hands around as if she could see him. "Can we just, fuck--" He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think clearly, before repeating, "Can we just talk about this later?"
"Later. Okay." Kass scoffed, but insisted, "When? When you’re back home and won’t talk to me about major plans you have? Or when I wouldn’t be killing your buzz maybe?" He didn’t say anything. "What? You thought I wouldn’t notice?"
So she had noticed. How did she even know? She was Kass. She knew him better than he knew himself, and she probably knew he was about to get defensive.
He chuckled dryly. "So now you’re pissed that I’m drunk?" The words didn’t really hold any meaning to him; he knew why she was upset. It didn’t change the fact that her condescending tone was getting to him.
There was a moment of silence where Harry thought maybe she’d apologize or even go back to their previous topic. He wasn’t prepared for the next words she spoke.
"No, just disappointed."
He couldn’t think of anything worse she could say to him. It hit him hard, knowing that he’d let her down. She was the one person who was always on his side, who always had his back, no matter how his day way, no matter all the bullshit that he would cause with his career and the media. Her words were like daggers, and they cut deep.
It was the first time he’d spoken to her since he left home, if he didn’t count the few text messages they’d exchanged as soon as he’d landed.
It was the first time he’d spoken to her since he left home, and he was borderline drunk. He understood where she was coming from. But he didn’t know what to say. The next few minutes on the line were completely silent, save for their audible breathing. Kass’ end of the call was nearly silent, or maybe he couldn’t hear much over his own erratic breaths.
Harry hung up on her before he knew it. He regretted it immediately.
He didn’t drink again for the rest of the trip.
/ / / / / /
"when I run out of rope, you bring me home"
London was grey and rainy when he landed. It was quite fitting, Harry thought. He was a nervous wreck, drained and tired, and his delayed flight only fuelled his restlessness. He terribly missed her.
He tucked the leather of his notebook back in place and wrapped the string around it to secure it before grabbing his duffle bag and stepping into the hectic night of Heathrow. Dodging as many photographers as he could, he couldn’t help but be thankful for the questions they threw at him. It helped drown out his thoughts racing over the words Kass had told him before he’d left.
He didn’t know what was waiting for him at home. He wasn’t even sure anyone would be there at all. When he walked up the front stairs of his house and stepped into the living area, he half expected Kass to be waiting there to slap the shit out of him. Finding her asleep on his side of the bed, wearing nothing but his green sweater both relieved him and made his stomach tie up in tighter knots. She missed him too.
Quietly changing out of his clothes, he decided that taking a shower could wait another few hours. All he wanted to do was get in bed next to her and hold her close and tell her that all he could write about was her.
Kassia shifted when he slipped under the sheets next to her, awakening her from her light sleep.
"Hi." He weakly smiled at her, studying her taking in his presence. He wasn’t expecting her to lunge forward and wrap her arms around him.
"Harry," she simply acknowledged him. He slowly laid their bodies back down on their bed, locking her under him as he kissed the side of her head.
"I missed you." Quite oddly, he sharply inhaled through his nose, trying to satisfy the longing he felt to smell her once again.
"You didn’t call." She was referring to his delayed plane trip.
"I’m sorry."
"I know."
He pressed his forehead to hers. "I wish things were different."
"I do too."
"I wish I were different," he heavily gulped, "for us. For you."
They hadn’t talked it through. He didn’t know where they’d left off. Things had been so bad, he couldn’t understand how she was here, in their bed, in his arms.
"It’s okay," she choked, shaking her head and tightly gripping his. "I don’t want you to be different. I just want you. All of you. Everything else is trivial."
Fatigue tormented his body, not only from hours of traveling, but from fighting and spending time apart from her. Likewise, deep shades of blue and purple tainted the skin under Kass’ eyes, exposing her sleepless nights and weighing thoughts about them.
"I’m sorry," he apologized again. He couldn’t say it enough.
She let her eyes roam his face, taking in his troubled features. "My beautiful man," Kassia commented, mostly to herself. "I’m sorry for ever bringing up a br—"
"It was me," he said, taking the blame, "it was all me. I’m sorry. Never again," he promised. He never wanted to put her or himself through such pain again.
"It’s okay." She pressed a kiss to his creased forehead before he laid down beside her and placed his head on her chest.
"What about us?" Harry asked after a while of mustering up the courage to face the consequences of his actions. The answer would determine the course of the rest of his life. Part of him, most of him, couldn’t imagine her saying this would be their end. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
His heart beat louder in his ears— either it was his or hers, vibrating through her chest— as Kassia carefully thought for a moment.
"We’ll be okay."
Okay it would be, then. As long as he had her, he could put up with anything. She was the reason why he looked forward to coming home, the face he always hoped to see in a crowd, and the person he wanted to fall asleep next to. She was the reason he woke up every morning and faced the world with a brighter smile everyday because she was the reason he saw the world with a bit more colour. She was the reason behind the near fifty songs he’d written in the past few months, because even as they fought, she consumed his every thought and reminded him of home.
When Harry and Tilly meet each other after Tilly's weekly music rehearsal, Harry knows he has to get to know her better. But when Harry takes the leap, has he gone too far or was it just the push Tilly needed?
3 till 4pm on Tuesday afternoons were Tilly Renford’s favourite time of the week, and the old Red Brick Music Room on campus was her favourite place to be.
After her last class of the day, which she was more than happy to get out of, she scurried across campus eagerly, almost tripping once or twice on the loose laces that were tucked into the sides of her shoes.
Struggling to sign her name on the door because of the mountain of folders she was carrying from previous classes, she was more than happy to drop them in the corner of the room when she finally entered. Taking her place on the piano bench, a familiar sense of relief flowed through her when her hands took place on the keys, she felt at home.
Although her allocated practice time was a mandatory part of her course, spending an hour in the music room each week never felt like a chore to Tilly. Music was her first and only love in life.
She tried with all her might to learn the sequence before her, concentrating hard, her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth, yet her fingers danced effortlessly across the instrument, creating a sweet and gentle melody that sounded nothing like the hard expression on her face.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noticed her time was nearly up, but Tilly felt good about the progress she’d made. Feeling confident she’d do well in the exam, she made a mark on the sheet as to where she had remembered the notes off by heart, and allowed herself the last ten minutes to play what she liked.
Since her parents had first bought her Piano lessons at the age of 8, she never felt pressured by them to reach a certain standard, and Tilly was thankful for that. They were never pushy or disappointed if she didn’t meet a grade; only encouraging to do her best. She loved to play, and her Mum had always told her the minute she didn’t love it anymore, she could stop. That was the reason she like to set aside time to just play for herself, rather than practice a set piece, she knew the moment she didn’t want to play for herself, was the moment she wouldn’t progress any further.
Leaning across the piano bench, Tilly shuffled through her bag reaching for her favourite sheet music. It was crumpled and torn, and had various ring shaped stains from the mugs of tea she’d placed on top of it over the years. To be honest, Tilly really didn’t need the music in front of her anymore, the songs she loved to play were so clearly etched in her mind she was sure she’d have to sustain a brain injury to forget the notes. But she found it comforting to have them in front of her. She smiled to herself as she looked at the scribbles she’d made as a 16 year old learning it for the first time, little prompts and tips and even small little drawings were scattered across the pages.
She propped the pages up on the stand and began to play, letting the music fill the room, she relaxed as the familiar notes soothed her and she began to sing along, washing away the tension she’d hadn’t realised had built up as she’d practiced for her exam.
*I’ve made up my mind, don’t need to think it over. If I’m wrong, I am right. Don’t need to look no further, this ain’t lust. I know this is love.*
****
Harry Styles had prepared himself to be bored while he waited for his allocated practice slot in the Red Brick Music Room on a Tuesday afternoon. Bringing along an array of coloured pens and highlighters with his notes, he’d planned to do ten or fifteen minutes or so of revision while he waited; but he found himself struggling to concentrate on his composition notes as he hummed along to the pretty sounds coming from the room.
*But if I tell the world, I’ll never say enough, cause it was not said to you. And that’s exactly what I need to do. If I end up with you.*
He tapped his pen against his leg in time with the melody that was flowing out from under the door, as he scanned the pages in front him, willing himself to learn the things he needed to know. The melody must have must have stopped at some point though, and Harry had slipped back into his studying until a voice caught him off guard, and the yellow highlighter slipped off the end of the page and onto his jeans.
“Oh I’m so sorry, did I overrun into your time?” a slightly panicked voice questioned.
He looked up to the doorway where the beautiful sounds had come from earlier, and a found a wide eyed girl holding the door open for him with her entire body weight, clutching tightly to an array of books and folders.
She was petite, and had short brown hair that fell in uneven waves just past her ears to her chin. The knitted green jumper that was haphazardly tucked into only one side of her denim skirt was falling off her shoulder, and she raced to pull it back into place without dropping the mountain of work in her arms. A pair of tortoise shell reading glasses were slightly askew on top of her head, and Harry noticed that rather than tying the laces of her tattered white converse she had simply tucked them down the side. She seemed uneven, kinda wonky (and that wasn’t just the way she was leant against the door), imperfect even, she had a presence, a kind of aura that Harry found himself drawn to.
Harry sprang up from where he was perched on the bench opposite the door. “No! Not at all, I just got here early!” He said with a smile, hoping to ease her worry. He didn't like feeling as though he'd been part of the reason she felt that way.
“Oh ok. If I ever do run over though, don’t hesitate to kick me out. I find it quite easy to lose track of time when I’m playing.” She chuckled, more to herself Harry thought, as he gathered his things up.
He smiled to himself as he imagined this girl getting so lost in the music she was creating and playing, she ended up in a world of her own. He didn’t think he ever would kick her out though, Harry thought he could have sat for hours listening to the melodies he’d heard her play.
“I presume that was you playing just then?” He asked, finally reaching for the door, allowing her to take her weight off and she stepped past him, her shoulder brushing against his arm when she turned round to face him again.
She was close enough now that Harry could really see her. He liked the way the little bump on her nose was covered in freckles, that then went their separate ways to create little dotted patterns on her cheeks. Her brown eyes were swimming, sparkling like she was thinking of a thousand things at once, but Harry had no doubt she was giving him her full attention.
“Mmhm.” The girl nodded, shuffling the folders in her arms so she could use a free hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Harry couldn’t help but smile again as he watched her dainty fingers run through the strands. He was in awe of how such delicate things could create such bellowing, yet amazing sounds.
“Well it was amazing, I’ve always loved the piano and you’re very talented.” He praised, and Harry considered himself lucky when he saw a small blush rise to her cheeks at his compliment, it was then he decided next week he’d arrive early again.
****
Over the next few weeks Tilly saw the curly haired boy who liked to chat, outside the Red Brick Music Room every time she finished her session. She was pretty sure the allocation times hadn’t been changed, and she wondered why he was making so many appearances when she was sure she hadn’t seem him at all during first term.
She didn’t mind though, not one bit. In fact, Tilly had developed what her flatmate Martha had described as ‘a school girl crush’ on the boy with emerald green eyes, when she didn’t stop talking about him for a solid twenty minutes the other day while they were meant to be catching up on the new episode of Criminal Minds.
It was harmless though, Tilly thought, she liked having something (someone) to daydream about, and she’d found quite quickly that the curly haired boy, with green eyes also had dimples. And well, could you really blame her?
Tilly checked the clock more often in her piano sessions now, and she often had internal battles with herself to make sure she stayed in the room for the full hour, even though she so desperately wanted to leave five minutes early to spend more time with Green Eyes. But, she also knew that practice made perfect, and she really wanted to get a good mark on her exam. So, every week she played her piece over and over, committing the sequence to memory until her fingers looked as if they moved of their own accord and they were made to create that music.
But true to her word, Tilly always saved time for herself to play what she wanted, and once again her fingertips played the song she loved to hear, and the happiness she felt flowed through her veins. The smile that graced her lips could be heard in the lyrics she sang, giving the normally sombre song a twist that Tilly loved.
*Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements? Even if it leads nowhere? Or would it be a waste? Even if I knew my place, should I leave it there?*
Tilly was always smiling when she entered or left the Red Brick Music Room, but usually the high she felt from the music, faded pretty quickly when she walked back to her flat. But recently she found her good mood would stick around a bit longer.
Stepping out of the room at her normal time, her grin only widened when she saw Green Eyes leant against the wall, closer to the door than he usually was.
“Hi!” Tilly greeted the boy whose eyes had been locked on the door from the moment she opened it.
“Hey!” He returned with a smile just as wide, pushing himself off the wall to stand in front of her. “You played great today, again.” he said.
“Thanks!” Tilly replied cheerily, but she couldn’t help but feel like there was something important missing off of the end of her sentence. Like a name.
Tilly was British in every sense of the word. Meaning, she drank at least 4 cups of tea a day, was prone to saying sorry for things she didn’t do, and got severely angry when someone jumped the queue. It also meant that if you missed the opportunity to get someone’s name at the first meeting, you’d be stuck making small talk with said other person that never progressed any further, because you can’t get to know more about someone when you don’t know their name.
Tilly had realised after their second run in that she hadn’t asked Green Eyes what his name was, and they’d definitely passed the point where it would be extremely awkward to ask for it now, so Tilly was trying to come to terms with the fact that the most she’d ever get out of him was a comment on the weather.
“Are you playing the Open Mic Night on Saturday?” He asked, raising his eyebrows slightly, but his eyes never left her face, eagerly awaiting her response.
Tilly liked the attention he paid her when they talked. She’d always felt like a bit of a ‘plain Jane’ and never really got noticed by boys, but the way that Green Eyes looked as though he cherished every word she said, like he was going to carve them in stone and worship them every day, was a feeling Tilly liked.
“I didn’t know there was one, so no.” She giggled, trying not to get too excited over the thought that Green Eyes might be trying to initiate something between them.
“Oh, well it’s at The Red Dragon, I don’t know if you have him, but Professor Anderson goes to them, and he counts the performances as extra credit for his modules.” he stated.
Tilly felt let down, like a birthday balloon she’d been filled up with excitement before the party, but started to deflate before the main event. It wasn’t an invite, just more small talk. She was annoyed that she’d even allowed herself to entertain the thought that he would ask her to do something, they weren’t friends she thought. She didn’t even know his name.
“That’s good to know, thanks.” she said, visibly less enthusiastic than before. “Well, have a good session.” She added, offering him a small smile before stepping out of the door and away, not waiting for his reply.
Walking out of the Red Brick Music Room the crisp spring breeze whipped around Tilly’s ankles, causing goosebumps to arise on her exposed skin. Much like the wind, the thoughts running through Tilly's brain were twisting and turning. She could feel a headache coming on.
Tilly did have Professor Anderson for two modules, so it would make sense to go, right? Plus, she didn't want to appear rude to Green Eyes, he was trying to help her. But Tilly had never performed in front of an audience before, and she could feel the nerves bubbling in her tummy at even just the thought of it. She began to wonder if she made an appearance whether it would be odd if she just went to watch, rather than perform like Green Eyes had suggested. She had three days to decide.
****
Harry swore the room was buzzing in the moments after he stepped into the practice room that afternoon. Like the energy that came from the sounds the small girl with the short hair had created was still swirling around the room.
He’d been coming over to the Red Brick Music Room early for four weeks now, just to make sure he got to hear her play, and to have a little chat when she emerged.
Harry wasn't afraid to admit that he was smitten with the dainty girl that always seemed to wear her clothes one size too big, and who always smiled bashfully to floor with red cheeks every time he paid her a compliment.
She was cute Harry thought, and he kicked himself every time he let her pass without getting her name. He always went with the intention to learn it, but every time she stepped out of that room it was as though all rational thoughts disappeared from his mind. To Harry she was like some kind of mystical creature, who only appeared on Tuesdays between 4 and 4.05pm. She was a rare sight, one of a kind, with her wide eyes and freckled cheeks. Harry felt lucky whenever he saw her.
But he had gone with a mission this week to invite her to the open mic, and he was happy he'd achieved what he had set out to do.
The past week, Harry's flat mate Niall had had enough of Harry's constant whining about the girl from the music room with no name.
“Just bloody ask her!” He cried one night while they were meant to be watching the England game, but Harry had spent the last half an hour listing the pros and cons of what could happen between him and the Piano Girl if he never learnt her name at all.
“I’ve tried!” Harry exclaimed.
“No you haven't! Because if you had, you'd know it!” Niall retaliated, on the way to becoming completely exasperated with the whole topic.
“Look Harry.” Niall continued, turning to face him where he had slumped down on the sofa grumbling to himself. “If you want to actually get to know her, you're gonna have to see her outside of that fucking corridor.”
So in the following days Harry had spent his time going back and forth with ideas of what he could ask Piano Girl to do in an attempt to get to know her better. So far they’d only ever spoken about music and what course they were each doing, and Harry had found himself wondering at times thing like; why she never actually tied her laces, or if she had a pet, and why she always played that same song every week.
He knew his options were limited, he didn’t want to come across as too forward, because he didn’t really know the girl. A one on one date at a fancy restaurant was out of the question, it would be like a backwards blind date he thought, where he knew what she looked like, but didn’t know her name. A little meet up at the little independent coffee shop just off campus was also a no, there would be too many opportunities for awkward silences he thought, plus he didn’t even know if she liked coffee. It had to be somewhere casual, with other people, but also somewhere chilled enough where he could ask her all these questions without her feeling uncomfortable.
It was Friday afternoon when the open mic idea had been sprung upon him. Harry was in his last lecture of the week, Professor Anderson’s ‘18th Century European Music’ module, and it was safe to say he had zoned out about 10 minutes into the topic of how the Lute had revolutionised music between the Medieval and Renaissance periods, and he’d been watching the clock ever since.
It was the scraping of chair legs against the floor, and sudden bustle of movement around him that drew Harry out of his daze. The booming voice of Professor Anderson above the racket of students rushing to get home for the weekend was what caught his attention next.
“Don’t forget ladies and gentlemen that the extra credit open mic night is next Saturday, meaning you have a week to get yourselves sorted! I hope to see a lot of you there!”
Although his announcement mainly fell on deaf ears as the stampede of students rushing to the door didn’t slow, Harry felt as though a light bulb had gone off. It was perfect he thought. It wouldn’t be just them, there would be other students, probably people she knew, and it was based around music, something he knew they had in common.
Even though she hadn’t actually said yes (or no for that matter) Harry was quietly confident that she would show up on Saturday, maybe even perform. He often found himself wondering what she looked like when she played when he was sat outside the room, listening to the pretty sounds escaping out from under the door.
Still smiling to himself as he got his own instruments and music sorted for his practice hour, Harry spotted something out of the corner of his eye. There on the floor, just by the piano stool, were two pieces of ratty paper, slightly ripped and torn at the edges. As he moved closer he saw that it was sheet music, probably left by another student he thought. Picking it up he placed it on top of the piano, hoping whoever it belonged to would find it there when they came looking. Just as he was about to set the papers down he noticed the piece title at the top.
Chasing Pavements by Adele
Harry had known the tune to Chasing Pavements, just as well as any other person might have a few weeks ago. But now he knew it off by heart. The lyrics and melodies were ones he found himself humming along to quite a lot recently, as he strolled from one class to another or when he was in the shower. Every week that he’d spent waiting outside the practice room, those notes had flown out from under the door. The song played and sang with such emotion he was always fully captured by the beautiful sounds. He had no doubt who those papers belonged to.
Turning the papers over in his hands, he inspected the marks and wears. With delicate fingers he traced over the darker lines, and Harry could see just how much this music had been played just from looking at it. He smiled as he took in the little doodles and scribbles scattered across the pages, but it broke into a full grin when he spotted a slightly faded mark in top right corner that revealed to him everything he wanted to know.
Harry knew this was his chance. He had waited and been patient, not wanting to push his luck with the pretty girl who was so musically gifted, and the universe had repaid him. His golden ticket had been presented to him at exactly the right moment.
Forgetting his own work that he should have been attempting to complete and practice, Harry grabbed a stand from the cupboard and placed the worn pieces of paper upon them. He picked up his guitar and began to strum according to the music in front of him. After changing the notes to fit with his own instrument, Harry spent his remaining time practicing the adjusted notes and committing them to memory.
He knew exactly what song he would play on Saturday, and he would play it for Tilly.
****
“I can’t believe he’s finally asked you out!” Martha gushed, when Tilly arrived home from practice that afternoon and told her friend what Green Eyes had said.
Tilly would liked to have been able to say that she’d um-ed and ah-ed over Green Eye’s suggestion for her to attend the open mic night, but it had taken her all of ten minutes after leaving the practice room to decide it might not be such a bad idea after all.
She had managed to convince herself on the walk home that she wasn’t attending because it was Green Eyes who asked her, but because it would be good for her grades. If someone else had told her about it, she would still go.
So she rolled her eyes at Martha’s exclamation, and wandered over to the kettle to make herself a cup of tea. “He didn’t ask me out. He just mentioned that it was happening.” Tilly replied with a shrug. She couldn’t afford to be influenced by her flatmates enthusiasm, it would only make her think things were different. Tilly knew she had to be careful about this and remind herself that he hadn’t actually invited her, she couldn’t let her grades be affected because she had a crush.
“Oh please.” Martha scoffed, a smug smile playing on her lips as she placed her own mug down beside the kettle, silently asking for a drink as well. “You’re being too hard on yourself! He wants to see you away from that god forsaken corridor!”
“Martha!” Tilly cried in frustration, the boiling kettle clicked off and the steam that swirled around the air helped to disguise the reddening of her cheeks. “It’s not a big deal. He didn’t ask me. I’m only going for my grade, and even then I don’t know if I’m even gonna get up there, I’ve never performed in front of an audience before.” She sighed, fishing the tea bags from the mugs and placing them on the breakfast bar in front of where Martha had taken a seat.
Tilly’s ‘play for yourself’ mantra had always been an important part of why she continued to play. The degree she was studying for didn’t have a compulsory performance module, it focused on the history of different types of music and the creation and production side of things. She never liked the idea of focusing the thing she loved doing, on the reaction of other people to it.
She wouldn’t say she was shy either, only that the thought of hundreds of pairs of eyes on her set a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she would just go to observe this time around, then if her grade needed pulling up later in the year she could perform at another.
“Well.” Martha began, taking a small sip of tea before continuing. “You’ve got a few days to decide, but there’s no harm done either way, right?”
****
The sun was shining bright on Saturday afternoon, and Tilly felt glad she’d decided not to put on tights underneath her denim skirt when she got dressed that morning. She was sat in The Red Dragon beer garden, her legs stretched out in front of her, hoping to catch some kind of colour after the dreary English winter had left her as pale as vanilla soap.
The open-mic wasn’t due to start for another hour yet, but Tilly thought it best she down some liquid courage in case she ran into Green Eyes beforehand. Martha, who was sat beside Tilly nursing her own beverage, had tagged along mainly in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the boy Tilly couldn’t keep quiet about, but also for moral support.
The crowd began to grow as it got nearer the time and when Tilly had stepped back inside for a refill she spotted Professor Anderson perched at the end of the bar, a prime viewing spot for the stage that was being set up.
She tried to shuffle away further down the bar, hoping to not catch his attention. She always found it odd seeing teachers outside of the classroom, it was always awkward and she never knew what to say without it getting personal. She’d once bumped into her secondary school biology teacher in M&S and had foolishly asked; “Are you here with your wife?”, when he coolly replied, “Tilly, I’m gay.” She vowed never to speak to teachers outside of a learning environment again.
Unfortunately she wasn’t given much choice in this situation.
“Miss Renford!” Professor Anderson called, just as she attempted to slyly sneak away. She took a tighter hold of her drink, and plastered a fake grin across her face as she turned back round to greet him. “I didn’t expect to see you here, are you performing?” He asked with genuine intrigue.
“Oh no!” She replied frantically, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to perform anyway. “Just supporting a friend.”
“Who?”
Your guess is as good as mine she thought.
“Oh, errrm, it’s….he -” Tilly stuttered. “I don’t think you know him.” She tried. His brows furrowed in confusion at her ramblings. “Will you excuse me?” She squeaked, scurrying off to find Martha before he had the chance to reply.
She spotted Martha’s long blonde hair cascading down her back from the door that led to the beer garden, she hadn’t moved from her shady spot at the table underneath the parasol. When Tilly reached her she immediately grabbed for the hand that wasn’t scrolling through her phone, pulling her up out of her seat.
“What’s the matter!?” She exclaimed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Her eyes suddenly widened with excitement. “Was it Green Eyes!? Where is he!? I wanna-”
“Will you be quiet?” Tilly interjected, both pleading and joking tones hinting at her voice. Still dragging Martha behind her, she made her way back inside, (expertly avoiding Professor Anderson) and towards a free table she’d spotted while she was at the bar.
Attempting to whisper in the packed out pub was a fool's errand, so Tilly explained her teacher/student run-in to her friend with the hopes he didn’t overhear.
Suddenly, while Martha was still sniggering away at Tilly’s expense the lights dimmed in the pub and the chatter that had been soaring around them, fell to a low hum. A short boy, with dark brown hair, dressed in a simple jeans and a checked shirt made his presence known on the stage by tapping the microphone. The booming sound bounced around the room, but all eyes were still on the boy who had now picked up a guitar from the stand at the side of the stage.
“Hi, I’m Toby Sherman. I’m in Professor Anderson’s second year Music History module, I’m gonna play you a song.” He looked down to where his trembling fingers were perched, ready to play, but before he began he looked back up to the audience with a smile. “Also, please clap at the end ‘cos I’ll get a better grade. Cheers.”
Everyone laughed at the performers joke, and as he strummed the first notes, the energy soon filtered down though to match the emotions of the song.
“That’s not him is it?” Martha asked, nudging Tilly with her elbow slightly and nodding towards the boy on stage.
“No.” Tilly replied. “You’ll know when you see him.” She said confidently, letting a small smile play on her lips when Martha rolled her eyes.
For the next half an hour or so, students from nearly all of Professor Anderson’s modules appeared on stage hoping to boost their grade, showing off a fantastic array of musical talent.
The effects of the alcohol Tilly had been sipping that afternoon were slowly but surely fading, and she hadn’t even seen Green Eyes yet. She began to doubt herself, a feeling of disappointment starting to build within her. She’d spent nearly all week convincing herself she wasn’t attending just for him, but the uneasy anticipation was building with every moment he didn’t show.
She let her eyes wander around the room, Professor Anderson was sat taking notes, still at the bar, Tilly recognised other faces from some of her classes, she caught their eye and they smiled in return. Finally giving up with her pathetic search for the boy who’d been clouding her mind for weeks, she returned her attention to what remained of her drink in her glass on the table.
Tilly poked around the ice with her straw, a small pout forming on her lips as she let her mind run away with ideas that Green Eyes might have set her up.
“Oh. My. God.” Martha gawped beside her, pulling Tilly away from her negative thoughts. She was looking up at the stage where the next performer was about to begin, Tilly followed her gaze curiously, wondering what could have captured Martha’s attention.
She saw the curls first, laying gracefully over his shoulders just about hiding the shadow cast from his strong jaw, and that alone confirmed to her it was him. He was wearing a striped shirt, the sleeves rolled to near his elbows showing off the tattoos scattered across his skin, and it was unbuttoned a fair way down his chest revealing to Tilly and the rest of the audience a hint of more black ink. The skinny jeans he always wore were pulled over pointed black boots that looked as though they’d had a fresh polish.
Her eyes trailed up to his face, and they snapped to his like magnets. His stare was intense but not overwhelming, like a lit fire in the winter time she found his presence comforting, all the sour feelings exiting her body when a small smile appeared on his lips. Suddenly, Tilly was sure the rambling in the room was becoming duller, as if everyone was becoming mesmerised by the eyes she was captured in too.
His head finally ducked, and Tilly swore she could see a twinge of pink settling on his cheeks underneath the glaring stage lights. It was Martha nudging her side which made her own eyes fall away.
“Think I found him.” She teased. And Tilly had to bite her bottom lip in an attempt to stop her smile growing wider.
****
The steps up to the stage were steep and dimly lit by the glow that was radiating from the big lights behind him. She was the first person his eyes picked out in the crowd when he reached the mic, and suddenly the nerves he was feeling became weaker, a boost of confidence shooting through him like he’d taken a shot of it at the bar.
He couldn’t hide the happiness he felt because she was there, and he could feel his cheeks heating under her gaze. The crumpled piece of paper he’d found earlier that week was folded safely in his pocket, but it felt like it was burning through the fabric. The past week had been spent with Harry trying not to get his hopes up about her attendance. Doubtful thoughts raced through his mind every time he picked up his guitar to practice. She’d seemed so cold when he’d last seen her in the corridor. He wondered what changed her mind.
He took one last moment to really see her. A smile broke across his features when he noticed the tiny little bun she’d pulled half of her short wavy hair back into, her legs were crossed and swinging back and forth; she had on a faded pair of Birkenstocks, and Harry wondered how many times they’d fallen of her feet as they moved back and forth.
He looked down quickly and with deep, calming breaths he prepared himself for his performance. Harry knew if he was going to get a good grade for this he’d have to perform like he usually did, with all the stage presence and talent he knew he had, completely drawing the audience into the song, but Harry also knew he had an introduction to make.
“Hi, I’m Harry.” He spoke into the mic, while finding her eyes again. “Every week I’m lucky enough to hear the most beautiful rendition of this song, so I’m gonna give it a try myself. This is for you, Tilly.” Her wide eyes looked back at him, full of wonder and surprise, Harry knew if he didn’t look away now he’d get lost in them forever.
With careful, practised fingers he began to play. The music flowing effortlessly like a gentle woodland stream in spring, and his voice the perfect partner, as gentle as a soft breeze that sways the new leaves on the trees.
It’s over before he knows it, and the sudden eruption of applause jolts him out of the trance he’d been lost in. Every time he blinked during the performance he saw her words and notes scribbled behind his eyes, like the moment he lost sight of her in the room she was still there spurring him on.
Harry mumbled his thanks into the mic, before quickly shuffling off the stage. He needed to find her.
Pushing his way through the crowd he only smiled in response to those who gave him praise. He didn’t have time to stop. Not when he knew she was here. His heart was beating faster and faster in his chest the closer he got, with darting feet and quick movements he zoomed through the sea of students.
Harry came to a sudden stop when he reached the booths at the back just past the bar. His eyes ran up and down the back wall looking for her. He searched for the cute little half bun and the pastel pink shirt with cartoon ice creams on it, even looked out for a pair of crossed legs swinging out from underneath a chair. But there was nothing. She was gone.
****
A knock on the practise room door on Tuesday afternoon, for some reason didn’t come as a surprise to Tilly. She’d been expecting to see Harry at some point, and she knew it wouldn’t be the usual five minute convo in the corridor. She muttered a small “come in” to him on the other side, before taking a deep breath in the hopes it would help calm her steadily increasing nerves.
He entered with his head down and shoulders slumped, and he looked to Tilly somewhat like a kicked puppy. His thick curls fell in soft ringlets down the side of his face, as if like a shield that would protect him from any harsh words she had to say. His lips seemed more pink, slightly chapped and dry like he’d been picking and biting at them with nerves. The soft click of door behind him made her breath hitch, as it suddenly dawned on her this was the first moment they’d truly been alone.
“I’m really sorry if I crossed a line. I didn’t mean to upset you at all, I realise now it was probably too personal. I just came to give you these back.” He reached round to his back pocket, and swiftly removed whatever it was. In an outstretched hand, not quite fully extending all the way, Tilly recognised her favourite notes at once, even more folded and crumpled than they were before. She hadn’t even noticed they were missing.
She reached out for them, tugging lightly as his fingers loosened as soon as they felt a pull. Opening the papers for confirmation that they were indeed her Adele notes, she smiled when she spotted a few extra notes and scribbles on the sheets.
“I didn’t steal them by the way!” He said suddenly, causing Tilly to pull her eyes away from the new markings. “You left them here last week, so I just kind of borrowed them without asking. I actually went off of them when I performed.”
Although the paper was old and worn, with the addition of Harry’s scribbles it looked like it had been given a new lease of life. The original printed notes were faded and grey, and the marks Tilly had written as a teenager were smudged and pretty much unreadable, but the fresh black ink on the page in adorably curly cursive looked like it belonged there.
“It was really lovely, Harry.” Tilly admitted, she had been in complete and utter awe of him when he was on the stage. His voice was smooth as silk, like a soft sheet it wrapped around everyone in the room, encasing them in comfort. He was a natural performer, no-one could take their eyes off of him. He wasn’t dancing or moving around, but the emotion he was obviously feeling was like a buzz of electricity round the room.
“Thanks. I’ll go back outside now, I just wanted to give you these incase you needed them. Not that I think you need the practise, you always sound amazing. You have a great voice.” He rambled.
“You can hear me sing!?” She cried, eyes widening in horror.
“Yeah, I tell you every week how great you sound.” Harry said, confused how she’d not picked up on his glaringly obvious compliments.
“I thought you just meant the piano. Oh my god. No one has ever heard me sing. I don’t sing!” She cried, growing more flustered.
“You sound beautiful when you sing.” Harry countered simply.
Her heart lurched in her chest, like it was pulling her towards him. For weeks she’d felt like they were on opposite ends of a string, never knowing anything new, never getting closer. But since the performance she felt it pulling and coiling, wrapping tighter around her. She wondered if Harry felt it too and they were about to meet in the middle.
“You can stay in here if you like. You don’t have to go back in the corridor.” She offered with a small smile after she’d calmed down.
Tilly watched as he took tentative steps towards the corner of the room, away from the door without saying a word. He seemed shy and timid, nothing like the performance he’d put on on Saturday. Tilly wondered if they were more similar than she originally thought. She’s been so caught up in his eyes and his kind words, that she wondered when she looked to floor flustered at his compliments if she missed the pink on his cheeks too.
She took her own seat at the piano, her fingers automatically moving to the keys, playing a simple melody to warm up. She spied Harry out of the corner of her eye, looking for any sign that he might regret staying, but he seemed content with the background noise she was providing as she spotted his feet gently tapping the floor in time with the rhythm.
Tilly continued playing her usual melodies, warming herself up and getting used to the instrument again after a week of not playing. Between pieces she’d chance a glance over at Harry, who was still sat contentedly completing some of his own work, but just as she was about to turn round and start her final one, he looked up too, catching her eyes.
It was things like the unbroken eye contact that had fooled Tilly into think he was more confident than he was, but she liked the way she could look into his eyes, fully knowing he was doing the same to her.
“Why did you leave?” He asked quietly.
Tilly immediately knew what he meant, and the guilt that had been edging at her from the moment her shoes touched the pavement outside The Red Dragon on Saturday, suddenly crashed like a wave during high tide. Now she knew why he was looking into her eyes so intensely, he was searching for signs of a lie.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered, looking down to her lap.
Her eyes fluttered up to him, she didn’t say a word, only hoped he could see her regret, because she was sorry. In the seconds after Harry played the final notes of his set she was sure she had tears in her eyes, and Martha wasn’t far off crying either. But the surprise she’d been hit with when he first appeared, which had turned to pure joy when he opened his mouth to sing, suddenly fizzled out, and a spark of fear ignited within her when she watched him begin the path towards her when he left the stage.
Without really thinking she tugged on Martha’s hand and escaped through the back exit by the beer garden. The image of Harry’s beautiful green eyes searching for her as he pushed through the crowd had been etched on her brain ever since.
Even from across the room Harry could see the sadness in her eyes, and it was shattering his heart piece by piece to think he might have had something to do with it. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and didn’t notice when he got up and moved towards her. Taking a place on the end of the piano bench, he spotted the notes he’d become so familiar with on the stand. Reaching past her, he gently pulled the papers to the front and then settled his hands against the keys.
The shifting and shuffling beside her was what finally pulled Tilly from her thoughts. She looked up just as Harry pressed down on the keys, attempting to play the song he’d already performed, just on a different instrument. However, it only took a matter of seconds for Tilly to realise Harry had evidently never played the piano before. She didn’t stop him though. Only smiled as she watched his tongue poke out from between his rosy lips concentrating on a particularly hard combination. His eyes would squint as he looked between the paper and the keys, trying desperately to follow the notes correctly, but when a wrong key was hit and the off tune sound bounced off the walls, his brows would raise so high in surprise Tilly thought they were going to disappear.
Tilly had thought the seed of hope that Harry had planted when he said her name on the stage days before, had wilted and rotted when she left without seeing him; never giving it a chance to grow. But now, with every wrong note played and small cheer of elation when something went right, Tilly could feel the roots of hope and happiness beginning to spread, getting ready to fully bloom.
Although she admired his concentration and perseverance, the out of time and off tune notes meant her own fingers were itching to push him away and play it herself. As much as he tried he didn’t seem to be getting much better, and after what must have been the tenth attempt at one particular set of notes, Tilly could no longer hold in the giggle that had been resting in her throat.
“What happened!? You did so well on Saturday too!” She teased, sliding along the bench closer to him, stopping when their arms touched.
She giggled again when she took in the expression on his face. His jaw dropped open as if he was offended, but she could see the dimple on his cheek starting to form, so she didn’t feel bad laughing at his feeble attempt.
With a sudden burst of confidence Tilly reached out for his hands that were resting against the keys, and took them in her own. Pressing against his fingers in the way they should have moved if he was following the notes correctly. It didn’t sound great, a few wonky notes being hit every so often as their intertwined fingers slipped away, but the accompanying laugh from Harry still sounded like music to Tilly.
Her short hair had fallen from behind her ears, but even through the curtain of waves she could feel his eyes on her when they came to the end. His hands pulled away first, reaching out to push back the hair that hid her from him. A full smile stretched across her features, the freckles on her cheeks seeming to come to life, like stars in the night sky. Harry knew if he could make a wish what he would ask for.
And while Harry saw the stars on her cheeks, Tilly saw the world in his eyes. So bright, and green, and true, she knew they held the answers to questions she hadn’t asked yet, that in times of darkness they’d be the only light she needed. That the green colour that had been etched on her mind, was the same colour green as the leaves that grew from the seed of hope he’d planted within her.
When he leaned towards her, his hand still delicately holding the side of her face, Tilly thought that perhaps the flowers that were sure to bloom from that seed, would be the same shade of pink as his lips.
The kiss was soft and gentle, like the way they had always been with each other, neither one brave enough to push too far, but still a sense of wanting more. Her captured lips were sweet like the pastry she’d snacked on earlier, and their mouths melted together like the icing that had been drizzled on top. Her hands found resting place on his chest, the warmth seeping through her fingertips and into her veins, encasing her in a feeling she’d never known before.
As they pulled apart his thumb grazed lightly over her freckled cheek, as if mapping out the stars, creating constellations he’d look for again and again. She watched as his eyes searched over her skin, and she took advantage of his slightly dazed state to drop a last peck to his lips.
“I think I should stick to the piano, and you should stick with singing.” She mused, nudging him further up the bench with her hip. Her hands automatically found their place on the keys, and the tune that was now so familiar to them both, began to flow between them.
He smiled down to her, completely overwhelmed and in awe, as the dainty fingers that had rested on his chest moments ago danced across the instrument so gracefully.
“What d’ya think?” She asked with a smile, just before the chorus hit.
Harry sang, and Tilly played. In perfect harmony the song was performed like never before, but in such a way that they both knew it was something special.
When the final notes faded out and Harry placed his lips to her hers once more, he knew next week, and the weeks after that, that he’d be arriving at the Red Brick Music Room even earlier again.
Harry and Nora were strangers, and sometimes Harry thinks it would have been better for everyone involved if they would have stayed that way.
A story about when two people are right, but the timing is wrong.
Micah is running late.
It isn’t that big of a deal, or at least it wouldn’t have been if Nora weren’t already running twenty minutes early. She bought herself a glass of wine to pass the time, but after forty-five minutes of sitting alone she’s finished two glasses and half an appetizer. She’s texted Micah twice, but he hasn’t replied.
The restaurant they’ve agreed to meet at was recently opened, one of those typical Los Angeles up-and-coming places with expensive dishes, organic produce, and twinkling lights. It had been practically impossible to get a reservation; Nora had put their names in three weeks ago, and this was the earliest slot they had open. She can’t believe Micah would bail on her tonight.
She is about to call him when somebody else slides into the booth across from her. He wears a confident smile, extending one of his long arms across the take to shake her hand.
“I’m Harry,” he says.
“Hi.” She blinks at him. “I’m Nora.”
“I like your headband. I noticed you instantly.” He nods at the green and gold scarf tied across her forehead. Nora sets her phone down on the table, feeling a little more comfortable in front of cute guy under the impression that he’s probably gay.
“Your date finally showed up,” the waitress says, pulling out her notebook and turning to Harry. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of whatever she’s drinking, that you,” he says before she can find a way to explain that he’s not her date, they aren’t sitting together. Nora picks up her phone again, noting that Micah is now over a half hour late. From previous experience she can assume he’s not coming, and so she decides not to tell Harry that she’s meeting someone.
“So what brings you here tonight?” She asks.
Harry grins boastfully. “My sister is dating the owner. She pulled a couple strings.”
“Impressive. I was on the waiting list for what felt like forever. Do you want some Avocado Bruschetta?” Nora pushes the plate towards the center of the table, and Harry gratefully takes up her offer. Nora notices a few tattoos on his fingers and up his forearms. He’s wearing long sleeves with the cuffs unbuttoned, draping over his wrists. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone as well, revealing even more ink and reinforcing the notion that he is definitely, totally gay.
“So tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” Harry asks after he’s finished chewing.
“I’m an aspiring actress in LA, the ultimate cliché,” Nora admits.
“Me too,” Harry says with a laugh. “But so far all I’ve been in is hair product commercials.”
“You do have lovely hair,” Nora compliments. He has dark curls that roll over his ears and down to his chin. He pushes them back with one hand, purposefully showing off.
“Thank you, it is quite literally my claim to fame.”
Nora laughs. “What’s your dream role?”
“War movie. Easy. I want to be the next Matt Damon.”
“Saving Private Ryan?”
Harry nods.
“I have to be honest, you don’t really look like you’ve been to war,” Nora says.
“That’s why they call it acting, Natalie.”
“Um, it’s Nora, actually.”
“Shit, sorry! ” Harry looks embarrassed, but Nora isn’t offended. She doesn’t actually remember giving him her name in the first place. “Okay Nora, what is your dream role?”
Nora has to think about her answer for a few moments. She’s been auditioning aimlessly for about a year now, trying to ignore Micah’s reminders about how unlikely it was she’d ever be successful, how she’d be better off going back to school. It came from a place of love and concern for her, it was always made Nora feel like a special kind of failure. At this point Nora would take any role she was given, at almost any cost.
“I guess I don’t really have a dream role as much as I do a couple directors I’d really like to work with. Ron Howard is at the top of the list. Frost/Nixon is my favorite movie.”
“Of all the movies to choose from, that one is your favorite?” Harry asks.
Nora shrugs. “I’m also a history buff.”
Harry and Nora enjoy an expensive, but exquisite dinner together, discussing their favorite movies and sharing audition horror stories. The food is delicious, living up to every review Nora had read. The company is even better, so much so that Nora doesn’t even bother to check her phone for Micah’s probably work-related excuse.
“I’m so full,” Harry complains when they finish, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stomach. “How would you feel about taking a nice walk around the block to help the digestive process?”
Nora agrees, and it’s during this walk that Harry tries to kiss her.
“What are you doing? I thought you were gay!” Nora blurts.
“Excuse me?” Harry scowls. “If I were gay, why would I go on a blind date with a girl?”
“Huh? This isn’t—I’m not---“ Nora sighs. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I have a boyfriend.”
“Then why did Niall set me up with you?”
“Who is Niall?”
Harry steps back, face red with realization. He runs another hand through his curls, this time pushing them forehead to cover more of his face. He eyes a homeless person across the street warily before saying, “Niall is my roommate. He set me up with one of his co-workers. I told her to meet me at La Verne’s wearing something green and gold.”
“The Packers are my favorite football team,” Nora says lamely.
Harry scoffs. “Mine too. Figures. I finally meet a girl I like and she’s taken.”
Nora’s cheeks turn a soft pink.
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Harry says with a sigh. “And don’t worry, there are other fish in the sea.”
“I did think it was weird when you, a total stranger, just sat right across from me. I should have said something. You’ve probably ruined some poor girl’s night now by standing her up.” Nora has been there enough time to not wish the same fate on even her worst enemy.
“What about you? Were you just out to dinner by yourself?” Harry asks.
Nora hesitates. “I was waiting for someone, but…he didn’t show up.”
“Your boyfriend?”
Nora’s silence answers his question.
Despite her relationship status, Harry has trouble not thinking about Nora for the next few weeks. He grows more and more annoyed as the days go by, wondering how it’s possible that a girl who seemed so confident would put up with getting stood up by a guy. If Nora had been single, and agreed to go out with him again, he would’ve never pulled a stunt like that.
It turned out that Niall had forgotten to pass along the message to meet Harry to his co-worker, which at least meant she didn’t think he was an asshole. They make plans to meet up next Friday, this time after exchanging numbers to ensure no more mishaps were had. Before the date Harry does his best to push Nora out of his mind.
Niall’s co-worker is named Natalie, which Harry makes an effort to cement in his brain. He lets her pick the restaurant, having previously used his one impressive first date idea. Instead of dinner she suggests they go ice-skating, which Harry agrees to even when Niall warns him he’s going to make himself look like a fool. Harry hasn’t skated since grade school, and even then he wasn’t very good.
Natalie turns out to be an extremely talented skater; she laps Harry twice before slowing down to his speed. She takes the time to correct his form, holding his hand to keep him from falling as they start going faster. He makes it around at least a dozen times before getting too ambitious, spraining his ankle after attempting a jump.
“I’m so sorry, this is the worst first date ever,” Harry gushes in the emergency room, thinking he should have listened to Niall until Natalie laughs and kisses him hard on the mouth.
They go on one more date to Catalina Island before Harry asks her to be his girlfriend. They’ve been together four months when Harry lands his first lead role. It’s a romantic comedy, which is exactly the opposite direction he wanted to go in as an actor, but he’ll take what he can get. If Ryan Gosling can star in romantic comedies and action films, so can he.
Harry is cast before the female lead, and so he spends much of his next few weeks reading lines with potentials, testing their chemistry. Harry is excited it’s all he can talk about, and he thought Natalie was excited too until she tries to pick a fight with him in the middle of his living room, during the Super bowl.
“You didn’t tell me there was a sex scene,” she snaps after walking back from the bathroom and into a conversation about it. Harry had neglected to mention this piece of information on purpose, just until he could find the right way to say it, but then Niall had brought it up after enjoying a particularly raunchy commercial.
“It’s just one. It’s not a big deal,” Harry says.
“It is to me! How could you accept a role like that without discussing it with me first?” Natalie stands in front of the television, blocking the two of them from seeing what is undoubtedly an unbelievable touchdown.
“Get out of the way, Nat. Go fight somewhere else,” Niall says.
“How naked do you have to be in front of her?” Natalie demands.
Harry prefers to plead the fifth.
They’re up until three in the morning arguing, and the next day at work Harry is exhausted. He has another chemistry test first thing, and before it begins he locks himself in the bathroom for ten minutes, trying to get himself into character. He can’t seem to get the dead expression out of his eyes, and he keeps fumbling over his lines like there’s taffy stuck to the top of his mouth.
Harry picks up coffee from the cart on the way to set, burns his tongue on the first sip, and receives a scolding from the director about being late. He keeps his eyes glued to the floor or his script as he sits in his designated chair, waiting for the cue to begin.
“Wow, Stephen, I-“ The girl opposite him clears her throat and Harry looks up into Nora’s sea foam green eyes. “For a second there even I believed you were in love with me.”
Harry swallows, his head swimming with last night’s accusations. He waits a beat longer than he’s supposed to recite his next lines, his voice cracking over the words, “Me too.”
Nora glances at the front of the room, bites her lip, and then turns back to him. “Harmony looks really jealous,” she says.
“I don’t care,” Harry says. “I’m not pretending anymore.”
“But Stephen, that’s not fair! I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to, and now that you finally have what you want you can’t hold up your end of the deal?”
Harry gets off his chair, which is something he hasn’t done before during this scene, and walks over to Nora’s chair. He touches her lips with his thumb, and then brushes a strand of sandy hair over her ear.
“I can’t pretend to be with you anymore, Lyla, because it isn’t pretending for me anymore. It’s real, more real than anything I ever had with Harmony.” He leans down to kiss her lips that taste a mixture of vanilla and mint, his eyes falling shut until he hears the words Cut.
He pulls away, blinking.
“We’ll be in touch,” the one of the casting directors says to Nora.
“Bye Harry,” she says to him quiet enough so that he’s the only one to hear.
Her stomach is a field of butterflies as she sits in her car, trying to replay every second of the audition. It was her second one; her agent told her they were between her and a handful of other girls, and that she shouldn’t get her hopes up, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d been so shocked to see Harry wander in from the hall, but the shock had given way to joy. It was fate that they’d met that first night at La Verne, and it could only be fate that now they’d show up at the same audition. She hoped that even though she’d turned him down, he would at least speak highly of her with the casting agents. She’d told him how important her career was to her. He understood how big of a break this movie could be for her. For both of them.
Harry doesn’t let her down. She gets the call two days later that she’s gotten the part. She had more chemistry with Harry than any of the other girls they’d tested. Nora has a dance party in the living room with Michelle, her best friend. She wishes she had Harry’s number so she could text him thank you.
“I had nothing to do with it. They didn’t even ask for my opinion,” Harry confesses when she thanks him in person, after they’re first read-through of the full script. They’d both lingered in the conference room until everyone else had left, nervously approaching each other as if for the first time.
“Well, it’s really good to see you again,” Nora says, her skin warm.
“Do you want to go do something?” Harry asks despite himself.
Nora’s butterflies return.
Their first stop is the movie theatre, an activity they’d both discussed doing together back when Harry thought Nora was single and she thought he was gay. They share a large popcorn in the back of the theatre, gushing over particularly well-done scenes and impressive cinematography. It’s the first time Nora’s spent with a guy that wasn’t related to her since she and Micah broke up three weeks ago.
“He said he needed to focus on himself. He’s in med school, so he was always stressing about tests and his internship. He had to pick up an extra shift that night we met, that’s why he wasn’t there. I can’t really blame him for going after his dreams, can I?”
Nora shares this over ice cream on the beach. They’re walking barefoot in the sand, slowing inching towards the waves while the sun sets over the horizon. The sky is free of clouds, a true California sunset full of pinks, oranges, and reds. Filming hasn’t even started, and Nora already feels like she’s in a romance movie.
“How long had you been together?” Harry asks.
“Five and a half months,” Nora answers.
Harry kind of hates himself for thinking it, but no, she can’t blame him for going after his dreams. Harry is in the same situation with his own girlfriend, after all. She’s barely kissed him since she found out about the sex scene, and instead they spend all their time talking.
The weird thing is, Harry used to love spending all day talking to Natalie. He liked listening to her share stupid stories of stuff that happened at work (especially when it involved Niall). He liked that they could talk sports for hours, and that she made him laugh even when the serious stuff would come up.
Now they just bicker, and she nags, and Harry feels guilty every time he comes home from work, especially those times when he kisses Nora and likes it a little too much. He starts thinking maybe Nora’s ex did the right thing by breaking up with her, being honest instead of stringing her along. He doesn’t want to be too hasty, though, so first he asks Niall’s opinion.
“Aw, fuck man. You’re gonna make it awkward in the office again,” he says.
“Fucking hell, why’d you set me up with her then?” Harry asks.
“I thought you guys could at least last long enough for me to get promoted. Then I wouldn’t have to see her everyday. I hope she doesn’t cry at work.”
“Okay, but does that mean you think I should break up with her?”
“To be clear, you want to dump her for this Nora chick, right?”
Harry hesitates. “When you put it like that…”
“Dude, either Nora is the one or you’re getting caught up in the whole romance movie bullshit, in which case Natalie has a pretty good reason to be pissed at you all the time. I’d say either way you and Natalie are fucked.”
Harry goes to bed thinking it’s decided, and when he wakes up he sticks to his decision, texting Natalie to meet him for coffee after work. He arrives before she does at their favorite local place with the outdoor seating and mugs with quirky phrases on then. He orders her favorite, a vanilla latte, and sits in the same spot they always sit at, waiting.
Natalie shows up apologetically late, after her coffee has turned luke-warm. She kisses him before sitting down, looking flustered and stressed from her own workday (she’s the manager of an Urban Outfitters), and says, “God, this week has been terrible, I don’t know what it is about people…Anyway, I’ve missed you.”
And Harry can’t do it. He doesn’t know what he was thinking trying to break up with the best girl he’s ever had, for a girl he barely knows? He’s been with Natalie for almost half a year now, and this is the first they’ve fought. And it sort of made him freak out.
So Harry apologizes for not being honest about the sex scene, and Natalie for making it a big deal. He says he understands why she was upset (Niall had a point), and she says she understands why he can’t turn down the job. She says she’s really, really happy, and proud of him, and by the time he’s finishing reliving every detail of filming their coffees are cold.
“It sounds amazing, baby. When can I come visit?” Natalie asks, the wind blowing through her sun-kissed hair.
“Um. Yeah, maybe sometime after work next week. I’m sure everyone would love to meet you,” Harry says, but feels weird about doing so.
It’s just as weird when Natalie actually does show up, and he has to introduce her to Nora, who is hoping he doesn’t notice the expression on her face finding out Harry even has a girlfriend.
“I feel so pissed at myself. Harry and I, we really clicked, but I was so hung up over Micah and he treated me like shit…Harry is cute and nice and funny. Of course he has a girlfriend. Of course she’s also cute and nice and funny. I feel like an idiot,” Nora tells Michelle that night over Chinese take-out.
Michelle tugs at the ends of her dark hair, weaved together in a braid that falls at her shoulder. “The timing was off,” she says.
Nora nods. She resolves to forget there was anything more between them than friendship. It’s the truth, which she thinks should make it easier, but it doesn’t when they’re supposed to be pretending they’re in love all the time. Nora is starting to lose track of where she and Harry end and Lyla and Stephen begin.
After filming Harry still asks her on little dates, just the two of them, where they sit so close on a park bench that she can feel the heat off his body and he still smiles at her the same way he did the first night they met. He tells her all about his family-a mom who taught him everything he knows, two dads who don’t get along, and a sister he wishes he saw more. She tells him how being an only child always made her lonely, which is part of the reason she thinks she let her friends (and boyfriends) treat her badly.
“In high school I was asked to prom by a guy my best friend liked, and so she made hate accounts about me on Instragram and Twitter. She said all this stuff about me that wasn’t true, and got the rest of our friends to comment and say stuff too. I was so…” Nora shakes her head, averting her eyes. “And then when she took it I was so relieved to be her friend again. We just pretended it never happened and hated on the guy instead.”
“People are fucking assholes,” Harry says with a scowl.
They make a habit of never going to the same place twice, maybe to give off the impression that this is still a one-off, just two co-workers getting to know each other. Nora doesn’t mind at all, though. She’s from Colorado, born and raised in a town she knew like the back of her hand. Even after almost two years of living in LA she still feels like she’s exploring new territory, like the city is a giant playground.
The weather is warm, the beach is never more than a half an hour away, and Nora’s gained five pounds from all the specialty food, but it’s one of the best summers she can remember. She’s finally getting paid to do the thing she loves, and when she’s not doing that she exploring a city she loves, or spending time with people she loves—Harry included, maybe.
The last day of filming feels bittersweet, a mixture of accomplishment and disbelief. Nora walks outside into the sunlight, trying to wrap her head around maybe not ever going back in. She’s terrified of the movie flopping, of the bad reviews she’ll have to read if the critics think she’s a bad actress, or even worse if no critics have any opinions at all. What if no one sees it?
Harry doesn’t seem to care about any of this, of course. He’s excited about the cast party later that night, and for all the people he hopes to be interviewed by. Nora can’t bear to burden him with the anxiety.
They both have some time off before promo begins, which Nora uses to visit her mom. It too is a bittersweet experience, the joy of seeing each other clouded by the tension of her mother never wanting Nora to move away in the first place, and the guilt she feels for doing it anyway.
When Nora gets back to LA she and Harry have a meeting with Allie from marketing. We’re in one of the conference rooms without windows, seated at a round table with a phone in the middle. She goes over our schedules for the next couple of weeks, pointing out events of significance, of which there are few. The schedule is light, even for an indie romance with two completely fresh faces.
“I wanted to throw an idea out there,” Allie says in a voice that is misleadingly casual. “The promotional team thinks it would really benefit the film if the people could see you together in real life as much as possible.”
“When you say together…?” Harry says.
“Just let a photographer catch you holding hands every once in a while. If somebody asks you about it you don’t even have to say anything. It’s good to give the people a little mystery. We’ll go from there.”
The first thing Harry thinks is that Natalie is going to kill him.
Still, he doesn’t totally hate the idea.
He looks at Nora, a wary smile on his face. She hesitates before offering him a tiny nod. They agree to a date a few days after their first interview, during which they will be photographed for the tabloids.
Nora feels like she’s now fully transformed into a stereotype, but she doesn’t hate the idea either. Nor the execution.
Harry doesn’t make the same mistake twice, so he tells Natalie about the arrangement the day before the first photos will be released. She isn’t as mad as he expected.
“I kind of figured this would happen,” she admits.
“Am I that much of a cliché?” He asks.
Natalie laughs and Harry’s heart skips a beat.
But even though Natalie is totally cool with him pretending to date somebody else, Harry still feels guilty about being with Nora. He has a love-hate relationship with holding her hand, and when he’s not thinking about that he’s thinking about how easy it would be to kiss her. It’s not sustainable.
He’s got to pull himself together. It isn’t fair to Natalie. Maybe not to Nora either.
Harry swings in limo until opening night, the accumulation of all their hard work finally coming together in one two hour experience. Nora wears a simple, slinky little thing that matches the color of her eyes, her hair pulled up in an up do looks to Harry like a maze. Their fingers are laced together while they walk the red carpet, smiling blindly at the cameras.
Nora’s stomach is in butterflies, the way it has been for weeks now it seems. She’s let the pretending go to her head a bit, which she tells herself is fine for now, at least through tonight. She’s acutely aware of Harry’s actual girlfriend coming in somewhere behind them, under the premise of Niall’s date.
They sit in the best seats in the house, and Nora loves seeing them on camera together. The chemistry they had at that first audition is magnified on the big screen, and Nora feels herself fall for Harry all over again when she gets to really see the way he looks at her. It’s not just the lights or the background music; you can’t fake or fabricate a look like that. Nora knows because he’s giving her that same look in real life when the movie is over.
There is a lot of schmoozing to be done after the film finishes, and Nora momentary forgets about Harry in the mist of exchanging compliments with the other guests. Aside from what she’s developed with him, she’s also riding the high of starring in her first film. She tries her best to dazzle the critics and interviewers, reciting all the lines her agent had told her to say.
It isn’t until the middle of the after-party that Nora finally gets the chance to ask Harry for a moment alone. She makes sure Natalie is nowhere in sight, finds him chatting up one of the musicians, and steals him out the back door, where a couple of kitchen staff are taking their breaks. Thankfully they don’t seem too interested in eavesdropping.
“I just needed a moment, you know. It’s a little overwhelming,” Nora says, wiping the under of her eyes from the eyeliner that’s certainly smudged there.
“Very surreal,” Harry agrees, all dimples.
“I’m sort of sad it’s over, though.”
“It’s not over yet. We still have to read reviews and get the box office numbers. And I think there are a few more interviews too.” Harry pulls out his phone to check.
Nora swallows the lump in her throat. “Yeah, but it won’t be the same. I won’t get to see you everyday like we used to.”
Harry looks up, a strange expression coming over his face.
“Harry, I have to ask...if I don’t I’m afraid I’m going to regret it later. Filming this movie with you has been one of the best things to ever happen to me, and it’s not just because of the movie. It’s because of you, and I just wanted to know if there was any possibility-I know you have a girlfriend, but-“ Nora sighs, her words getting all tangled.
Harry steps back, unreadable “Nora.” It sounds like an apology.
“Oh,” Nora breathes. “Okay.”
“Wait—“ Harry panics, grabbing her hand. “I wasn’t ready to have this conversation tonight.”
It’s the moment of the truth, the decision he’s been putting off ever since Nora walked into the audition room. And even when she lays it all on the table for him, deciding still feels impossible.
“Nora, I’m sorry. We’re friends. And it’s not that I haven’t felt...things for you. But it’s not the same as what I feel for Natalie, and I can’t do this to her. I’m sorry. I like you, I do, but…the timing is off.”
“Okay,” Nora says. She doesn’t think she has a right to be mad.
“Let’s go back inside?” Harry suggests, and so they do. And in the moment, Nora feels like it’s one of the worst things to ever happen to her. It makes her feel sick inside the rest of the night, so much that she and Michelle leave the party early without telling anyone goodbye.
Three months later she and Harry officially break up, and it is apparently very messy. (It isn’t actually anything, just a string of unconfirmed rumors). It’s for the best that Harry and Nora lose tough as well after that, and eventually Nora breaks her phone and really does lose his number.
She starts dating around again, but none of them really stick, and so when Nora does meet Harry again she’s been happily single for about a year. They run into each other in the grocery store of all places, which feels like an even more specular meeting place than La Verne. He’s cut his hair since she’s seen him last, and so she almost doesn’t recognize him at first.
Nora doesn’t ask if he’s still with Natalie. Instead they talk about their recent projects and the weather, almost as if strangers again. They exchange numbers for the second time, but Nora doesn’t hear from him for another three weeks. He asks her to meet him at the Santa Monica pier.
And then, finally, with salt in their hair and sand in their toes, the timing is right.
