jealously, jealousy
a one shot from the Something Old universe (its 4k sooo can't quite call it a blurb can I)
lots of these glimpses from their relationship are lovely and bright and i wanted to explore the ugly.
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2013
You were frozen on your stairs, the speech you had just spent an hour rehearsing flying out of your brain as you stared down at him. The two of them, you should say, as they chatted with your parents. There he was, the love of your bloody life, wrapped around the world’s most famous pop star. And here she was, in your living room. In your hometown. With your Harry.
No - not your Harry. Clearly not your Harry if the way they were leaning into each other was any indication. He brought her home for the holidays. How could you be so stupid?! To think that he’d ever want to be with –
“You gonna keep standing there or you gonna say hi?”
His voice snaps you out of your mental spiral, still sending goosebumps down your arms after all this time. You lock eyes with him to see him and her and your parents, looking up at you. Oh god, mum’s got that look on her face. You were fine, this was fine. Legs shaking as you head down the stairs, hoping the smile you pasted on your face is somewhat convincing, hiding the way your heart is shattering in a million pieces each step you take.
You step into his open arms to give him half a hug, pulling away rather quickly, knowing you wouldn’t be able to handle feeling his arms tighten around you. Not when it doesn’t mean the same thing to him. Not when it never will. You ignore the look on his face, his slightly furrowed brow at how you’re acting, not looking at him, not clinging on for dear life like you usually do when you haven’t seen him in ages. You introduce yourself to his girlfriend, who looks ten times prettier in person than she does in photos, if that’s even possible. She grins widely, telling you it’s so nice to meet you, that she heard a lot about you.
You have to bite your lip from blurting out a “Hmm, wish I could say the same.” But instead, you smile and weakly joke, “All good things I hope.”
“Of course,” Harry says, eyes burning a hole in the side of your face, as she nods enthusiastically next to him, perfect hair shining in the living room light. You look at him briefly before looking down at your hands, your ever perceptive Dad picking up the conversation instantly, asking them how their flight was, how the weather’s been in LA, the two of them laughing as they begin to tell you all about the embarrassing flight attendant they had on the flight over. You watch as he tilts his head back in laughter, as she slaps his arm.
It makes your stomach turn, tears pricking your eyes though you quickly blink your eyes to hide them. You had to get out of here.
“I’m gonna, um, use the loo. Excuse me.” you say as you speed down the hallway, turning right into the washroom, not before you hear her say “oh my god the loo. How cute is that?!”
You close the door behind you and instantly turn the sink on. Grabbing a hand towel and burying your face in it as hot tears pour out of your eyes. You imagined this day going so differently. Walking down those stairs, jumping into his arms, pulling him outside at one point to confess your true feelings, praying his face would light up, that he would grab your face in his hands and kiss you.
White hot shame burns through your body, making you clench your eyes shut. You’re such an idiot. Why would you ever have expected that to happen?! He’s eons out of your league at this point, bringing pop stars home for the holidays. You can feel the negative thoughts whirling around in your brain, picking apart your body, personality and mind in comparison. Never anticipating this heaviness in your chest. It’s like someone stomped on your heart. He wasn’t yours, he was never going to be. Why are you so upset over something you never had?
All you wanted to do was go back to your room, bury yourself under the covers and never leave again. But you had to go back out there despite the tears streaming down your face, the way your heart physically aches.
Usually when he comes home for the holidays, you spend every second together, catching up on each other’s lives, making the other laugh until they cry, stuffing your faces with every holiday treat imaginable until he falls asleep mid conversation on the couch. But you can’t do that now. You can’t even look at him now. Not without tears filling your eyes, devastation sinking heavy into your bones.
You allowed yourself a few more minutes, just leaning your head against the wall, trying to regulate your breathing. Trying to ease the pain, trying to not feel stupid for even feeling the pain in the first place. So, this is what it feels like to break your own heart. To get your hopes so high only to absolutely crash and burn.
You had always wondered when this would happen. A when, not an if. When the difference in your lives would become too big a barrier to cross. You were just the small town friend, he was now a massive pop star traveling around the world. He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he ever choose you? He’s never going to love you like that. It’s not his fault, it’s just facts. He needs someone at his level, who is as stunning as he is, who can travel the world with him at the drop of a hat, who can keep up with his lifestyle. Not some friend from home who’s still doing revisions at uni.
You buried your head in your hands, before pushing off the wall and staring at the mirror. Yikes. Tear tracks covered your cheeks, your eyes were bloodshot. You’ve been in here a while but couldn’t leave looking like this. That pop star was going to think you were absolutely shitting your brains out in here. What a first impression. You snort, starting to clean your face up. What a night this was turning out to be.
Once you deemed your appearance passable, you stepped out of the bathroom, feeling relieved when you heard your mom call out, “Dinner’s ready!” No small talk in the living room then.
You head into the dining room, opting for the seat next to Gemma and across from Archie, instead of your usual next to Harry. There’s someone else in that seat now. God, could you be more pathetic?!
You pour yourself a large glass of wine, willing yourself to get a grip. You muscle your way through, fake smiles and keeping quiet, something Gemma picks up on but never mentions, instead carrying the conversation for the table, her endless wit making the smiles less fake as time goes on. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare look over his way, any time you come close your eye catches on the way her chair is pulled close to his, on their hands linked on the table like they were 42 years old.
He keeps trying to draw you into the conversation, mentioning things that happened in your childhood, making jokes about himself that you typically would jump in on but you stay staring at your plate, clutching your glass of wine a bit tighter, your planned speech rattling around in your head, feeling seconds away from a mental breakdown. Fearing the words would spill out of your mouth the second you looked at him, “You’re my best friend but I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life.” You squeeze your eyes shut and take a long sip of wine. Not today. Not ever.
The rest of dinner passes in a wine soaked haze and later, you’re elbows deep in the sink, having shooed all parents out of the kitchen under the guise of being a helpful daughter. You can do this. You can clean the kitchen, watch a round of games and go to your room. Almost in the home stretch, almost –
“Hey, stranger.” he says softly, placing some empty glasses next to you, you nearly drop the dish in your hands. You hadn’t heard him come in.
“Hey,” you say, looking up at him before looking back down at the sink, suddenly very focused on a stuck speck of food.
“Missed you,” he says, lightly punching you on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” you say back, straining out a laugh that gets stuck in your throat. “Me too.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way he’s intently watching you, brow furrowed as he pinches at this lower lip before drumming his index fingers against the side of the counter. You stay silent, knowing you should speak up, try to make this less weird, try to make yourself appear okay but you just can’t seem to find the right words.
He sighs, running his hand through his hair, looking back through the kitchen entrance before taking a small step closer to you.
“Hey,” he says, waiting until you finally look over at him before speaking, voice low so only you can hear. “‘M sorry I didn’t tell you she was coming. Wasn’t meant to be a surprise.”
“Didn’t even know you were dating.” you say, cringing the second the words leave your mouth. So much for playing it cool, being the unaffected pal.
“Yeah,” he says, grimacing. “I’m sorry for that, too. It’s been –”
“Hey, no I get it.” You say quickly, shaking the excess water off the casserole dish before placing it on the drying rack, quickly grabbing a new dish to wash. Your hands are going to be dry as hell, but you need to keep doing something. “I’ve had lots of stuff going on with uni, you’ve had loads going on. ‘S what happens, right? We’re growing up, and we’re living in completely different worlds, right? You don’t have to worry about me. I get it, really.”
“But that’s not -,” he says, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t mean -”
“H?” And that’s her voice using the nickname you gave him. You quickly turn back to face the sink as he quickly turns to face her, taking a tiny step away from you in the process. It’s hardly noticeable but you notice it, because it’s him.
You begin to fiercely scrub again, dry hands be damned, as she walks into view, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her chin against his chest.
“Your family wants to get the games started. How long were you thinking of staying for? They wanna do charades but I, like, hate charades.” she says with a pout.
“But charades are the best part, babe.” he says, squeezing her close as she rolls her eyes.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” she says, kissing him on the cheek. “But can we leave after like, one round? I’m still, like, super jetlagged and want to be okay for our flight out.”
“Yeah, sure.” he says, before turning his attention towards you. “You coming?”
“I think I’m gonna stay here and clean up. You guys go ahead.” you say, glancing over at them quickly.
“But I can’t play without my rival team captain. Have to redeem myself from last year’s embarrassment.” he says, trying to goad you into your usual banter.
“It’s okay, really.” you say. “I’d just make the team numbers uneven. Seriously. Have fun. I’ll come in in a bit.”
“Ookay.” he says slowly, looking a bit lost and confused, frozen in place until she takes his hand and leads him out of the kitchen.
You shut your eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath before turning off the sink, hearing the sounds of team selections happening in the living room. Knowing you’ve got no one to blame but yourself for this one. You hear footsteps and turn to face them, bracing yourself to have to face him again, breathing a sigh of relief when you see your dad, walking in and leaning against the kitchen island, eyeing you carefully.
“Hear you’re not playing.”
“Just wanted to help clean.”
“That’s a first.”
“Dad…”
He squints at you, mouth open to say something else before seeming to decide better of it, taking a step forward to wrap his arms around you and you sink into it, letting yourself be held.
“Can clean the bathrooms next if you want.” he mumbles against your head, chuckling at his own joke when you groan.
“Teenage boys are idiots, love.” he whispers. “It’ll be alright.”
You take a deep breath in, tempted to correct him, to say it’s not that, it’s uni or the holidays or seasonal depression. Instead, you nod once before squeezing him back. He plants a kiss on your head and takes a step back, nudging you under the chin.
“Come in when you’re ready, yeah? We’d love to have you out there.”
You nod, blinking rapidly as he squeezes your shoulder once before grabbing another bottle of wine off the counter and heading back into the living room.
What a right mess you’ve made. You stop thinking and just start cleaning, staying away long enough to get all the dishes sorted, all the excess food put away. You slowly make your way into the living room, heart dropping when you see Archie holding court in the center of the room, unable to hold in his giggles as Harry screams out the wrong guesses at him. It really is your favorite part of the holidays but you can’t bring yourself to revel in it, feeling utterly sorry for yourself.
You last about half a round before mumbling apologies to everyone, blaming a headache and heading upstairs to your room, ignoring all lingering eyes. You shut off your light and lock the door, collapsing into tears on your bed.
The rest of the holidays pass by in a blur. You’ve got one goal in mind: Don’t think about Harry.
Which is why later in the week, when you lock eyes with Conor Williams at the pub, something you would typically brush off, you lean in. Harry’s never liked him, you’re not sure why, and you can’t deny that that isn’t a motivating factor as you make your way over to him. You flirt, you forget. You don’t think about Harry. You can’t.
2017
Harry’s hands were clenching the glass in his hands so tight, his knuckles were turning white, watching that bloke Kyle or Tyler or whatever the hell order you another Pimms. You don’t drink Pimms. Everyone knows this. Everyone, except this bloody idiot who thinks he’s worth your time. Tosser.
Johnny kicks him under the table. Must not be doing a great job of hiding his emotions, then.
“Ease up, mate.” he mutters, raising his eyebrows when Harry looks over at him. “Glaring daggers at the poor guy.”
Harry scoffs, adjusting the newsboy cap on his head, if only for an excuse to do something with his hands.
“Am not. ‘S just. She doesn’t drink that. She used to go on rants every night when we were young about how much she hates that drink.”
“Yeah but ‘s just a drink. People can change their mind on things.”
“Not her. Not on that.” Harry grumbles, eyes drawn back to you at the bar, at the way that bloke is running a finger down your arm.
It makes his stomach turn and he’s not sure why. He’s always felt protective of you but in the way he’s protective of Gemma. He never feels like this when he sees Gemma with a bloke he doesn’t like. Maybe he’s just not used to seeing you out with guys, he thinks, jaw clenching when that guy leans in to kiss you, eyes quickly averting to the table in front of him, fingers toying with the drink rings on the surface.
“And you wonder why she never lets you meet the blokes she’s seeing.” Johnny snorts.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you ever think -” Johnny’s eyes catch on movement at the bar and shakes his head, seemingly changing his mind about what he was going to say. “Right. They’re coming back. Just, go easy on him, yeah? He’s nice enough. She must really like him if she’s letting him meet you.”
Harry opens his mouth, ready to ask him what the hell he means by that, when the two of you slide into the chairs across from them, that bloody drink still in your hands.
Conversation picks up once again amongst the group and Johnny’s right, this guy is nice enough. He’s an attentive listener, looking at you like the sun shines out of your ass. As he should, you’re way out of his league. Dude should be thanking his lucky stars every day that you even look in his direction.
Harry shakes his head at himself, unable to pinpoint where exactly this vitriol for this guy is coming from. He’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with fine except you deserve more than fine.
Harry’s eyes latch onto the drink in your hand, the way you’ve been fiddling with the straw but never taking more than one actual sip and it makes his blood boil all over again. He fucking knew it. He leans back in his chair a bit, unable to hide the cocky smirk that blooms across his face.
“Looks like darts freed up, if anyone’s up for it.” Kyle or Sammy or Tyler says. Harry’s never been this rude in his life but he can’t help it. Something about this guy just brings it out of him.
“Why don’t we take a crack at it, Tom?” Johnny says, already standing up. Tom. Right, that’s his name. Couldn’t have paid Harry to remember that. Maybe he should slow down on the tequila. “Let these two catch up.”
“Talk shit about me, you mean?” Tom says, cracking a smile Harry’s way, which he weakly returns. You and Johnny laugh, which makes Harry want to punch a wall. It wasn’t even that funny. Besides, making you laugh was his job. Oookay. Definitely need to slow down on the tequila.
“Oh!” Tom says, quickly turning to you. “When you want another one, my tab’s still open at the bar.”
Harry snorts at that, instantly trying to cover it with a cough when all eyes fall on him. Tom can’t be serious. You’ve barely taken a sip.
He waits until they walk away before sliding his drink over to where you moved seats, right across from him. Watching you watch him before you set aside the drink Tom got you and pick up Harry's glass with a soft “thanks” and a small smile, and take a long sip, his eyes catching on the length of your neck, the way your throat moves before he quickly looks down again, a blush coloring his cheeks. He feels all out of sorts, on unsteady land.
“You gonna tell him you don’t drink Pimms?”
“It’s not my favorite drink but it’s alright,” you say with a shrug, and he’s suddenly angry all over again.
Memories of sitting at house parties with you, you ranting about how much you detest the drink after a boy from a rival school tried to bring one over to you in hopes of getting closer to you. You shut that down right quick, launching into a diatribe about how not all girls drink Pimms to anyone who would listen, which ended up just being Harry on the couch, watching and giggling as you got more passionate with every sentence, hands gesturing in the air. He sat there, content to just watch and listen to you until the world stopped spinning.
It became a running joke over the years, every time he would get a round he would ask you what you would like before saying “Pimms?” before you could say anything, to which you would roll your eyes and flip him off. And here you were, pretending to drink the bloody thing. He wants to scream.
“What are you doing?” he asks, he has to ask, the question burning him alive. He’s never seen you like this. He’s aware he’s overreacting - drinking a drink you hate isn’t necessarily a cause for concern but if you’re letting this prick walk all over your choice of drink, what else are you letting him do? He can’t even think like that - his imagination already prone to running wild, the thought of anything happening to you making the back of his neck burn up. “You hate those.”
“It’s just a drink, H.”
“‘S not like you to settle for something y’ don’t like.” he shoots back, watching as you stiffen at his words, your eyes suddenly intensely focused on the drink in your hands.
He feels erratic, teetering on the wrong side of tipsy. He’s never felt like this about you before and he’s not sure what to do about it, not even sure to articulate how he’s feeling. All he knows is that seeing you with this guy feels wrong. He’s wrong.
“It's not about the drink, H. It’s -” you sigh, clutching his glass tighter, a frown on your face as you look up at him. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“I get you.” he says. “Get you enough to know better than to order you that drink –”
“Okay, but you don’t -” you say, clenching your eyes shut as you let out a huff of frustration. You take a breath and open your eyes, looking right back at him, eyes blazing. “I mean this with respect and love but you don’t get what it’s like. Dating when you’re not like a model or a celebrity. It’s not easy.”
“‘M not an idiot,” he huffs, a frown lining his face. Wishing he ordered another tequila. “I’m aware –”
“You’re not though. The apps are utter shit and they’re all we have and finding a good guy on there is so rare.” you say, on a roll with no signs of stopping, anger lacing your tone. “So he gets my drink order wrong but he’s nice to me, shows up when he says he will, we have decent conversations and he doesn’t insult my intelligence like some of the other guys I’ve matched with. I can handle that”
“That’s shit. Think you need higher standards,” he says, knowing the words came out wrong the second he says them.
He meant it differently, meant to say you deserve more than this, but by the look on your face he knows he fucked up, by the way you gape at him. “I didn’t -”
“No, you did.”
“If you just -”
“Like sorry, are you suggesting you have higher standards than me? The millionaire that fucks anything that moves?”
It’s a low blow, intended to hurt and it works. By the look on your face he knows you know it, face dropping almost immediately after the words come out of your mouth, bringing your hands up to cover your face.
It’s something he’s used to by now, comments like that, something he has learned to ignore, numb himself to. A comment that comes from strangers on the internet and plastered all over headlines. Not something anyone that knows him would say. To hear it from you strikes differently and strikes deep. He feels like he’s 16 again, scrolling through twitter to find mean things people said about him, desperate for people to understand that’s not who he is.
The two of you sit there in silence, the hurt feelings that hurled insults giving way to regret, remorse, guilt. The noise from the pub roars around you as the two of you sit there, both a bit in shock at how off the rails this conversation has gone. How did you end up here? He was meant to tell you what he thinks, meant to be nice. And now here you were, hurling insults at each other, hitting each other where it hurts the most.
You’re muttering apologies under your hands and you pull them down from your face, clasping onto his forearm.
“That was awful. I didn’t mean to -”
“No I was pushing - “
“No.” you say firmly, “I don’t say that shit to you. I know it’s not true. I knew it would hurt you and get you to lay off me, so I said it. It wasn’t okay. And I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t being very fair -”
“You were pissing me off but that’s no excuse.” you say, eyes never wavering from his, utter sincerity in your tone. “I hate that I said it, regretted it the second it left my mouth. I didn’t mean it. At all.”
“I know,” he says. And he does. Knows that's not how you see him, that it’s never been how you see him, the sincere look in your eyes quieting the ever present voice in his head from wondering if there’s not a small part of you that thinks it. That thinks he’s become everything they say he is.
He knows you only said it because he was really giving you a hard time, though you didn’t give him any answers to his questions, which are still gnawing at him. He forces himself to drop it, the questions dissolving on his tongue. There’s another place for this conversation. Not in the middle of the pub with the guy you’re seeing just a few paces away.
He’s desperate to ease you both back into familiar territory, this fun catch up night taking on a much heavier tone than either of you anticipated.
“Y’ meant it a little bit,” he says, small smile on his face .
“Given your track record, I’m not sure you can blame me,” you say, smirking as you take another sip.
“Oiii.” he says, laughing when you do. There you are. This is more like it.
“‘M sorry for being a dickhead,” he says, once your laughter has subsided. “He seems like a nice enough guy, ‘m just protective of you. Want to make sure he’s treating you right.”
“Okay, Dad.” you say with a roll of your eyes.
“‘M being serious,” he says with huff. “Just think you’re …you’re a really incredible person. And you deserve to be with someone who knows that. And celebrates that.”
Your face is unreadable, blinking rapidly before looking back down at your, well his, glass.
“Thanks, H.” you say softly.
“And you should be with someone who knows your drink order.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, laying your head on your arm that’s resting on the table. “You are insufferable.”
He giggles as you shake your head, taking another sip of his drink. He knows he promised to drop it but there is something really weighing on him.
“Can I ask y’ something?” he asks, waiting until you nod before continuing. “Johnny had said that y’ don’t really let me meet the guys you’re seeing. Or like let them meet me.”
“You really haven’t been missing out on much.” you say, ruefully.
“Okay,” he says, huffing a laugh. “But I - I don’t like missing out on parts of your life. Or meeting people that are important to you. ‘S not - it’s not because of me, like… being me?”
“Oh no. It’s not that at all. ” you say quickly, with a firm shake of your head before averting your eyes from him once again. “It’s… um, it’s complicated.”
“I can understand complicated.”
“H.” you say, cringing. “I-”
“Please. I -”
He’s cut off by his phone vibrating on the table. The contact “E” lighting up his screen, a photo of a candle from their first date filling the screen. You lean back in your chair, wiping at your eyes quickly.
“Shit. I should -”
“No, go ahead.” you say, pushing his drink back towards him, picking up your own and taking a sip, the move making his brows furrow in confusion.
“There’s just a whole time difference thing.” he says with a frown. “But I really want -”
“H. Go.”
“Right,” he says, getting up to step outside to take the call, feeling better when he sees Johnny and Tom return to your table. He hears Tom ask if you’re alright, if you’d like another round. He’s almost out of earshot before he hears your reply:
“Yeah, thanks. Seems this is just what I need.”
Huh.
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a/n: part 5 is coming but i really wanted to explore some lows of their relationship / dig deeper into moments mentioned in the story. she talks about this moment in part one, he talks about his moment in part 3. i was editing and editing this and cant keep looking at it so am kinda posting blindly. if you made it this far pls let me know what you think!
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