#afitzgeraldfic

If I hadn’t been so damn cold in my shorts and blazer, I might’ve been a good friend and shown at least a little bit more sympathy. But this was the third time this had happened since before we’d left and I wasn’t willing to stand here and freeze my tits off just because he couldn’t make up his mind.

“This was a terrible idea,” he suddenly decided, moving back towards the street. “I’m gonna get a cab back to the flat. Don’t wake me up if you bring some wanker home tonight.”

I lunged forward and gripped his forearm before he could turn all the way around.

“Oh no, you don’t! Let’s just go inside. It won’t be that bad.”

“That bad? Addi, this is Liam Payne’s party. There’s probably more alcohol up there than anyone knows what to do with.”

“All the more reason. Best way to get drunk is off someone else’s booze.”

Niall still didn’t seem convinced.

“Oh, come on!” I pouted, attempting to tug him further up the sidewalk, “You promised you’d come with me.”

“I didn’t promise you anything!” he protested, holding his ground, “You practically forced me to come and I’ve got three chapters of biochem to read by Monday!”

My expression flattened. “Niall, it’s Wednesday.”

“Exactly! Term started two days ago and Hudson’s already threatening to give us a test on Friday! I’m gonna fail if I don’t focus!”

“That’s exactly why we need to go!” I insisted. “This is our last year to be irresponsible young adults and we need to enjoy yourselves while we still can!”

Niall reached up to rub at his eyebrow like I was the one being difficult, “Why can’t we enjoy ourselves on the weekend when we don’t have class the next day?”

“Because this is the first major party of the year, our last start of term party ever, and I refuse to go without my best friend.” I straightened myself up to try and maintain a bit of dignity. It crumbled when Niall rolled his eyes and tried to pull away from me.

“Please!” I begged, using what little strength I had to keep my grip on him. “It’s one night and I promise no more parties during the week.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe that,” he mumbled under his breath before letting out a sigh a running a hand back through his pushed up hair. “Alright fine, but you’re doing the laundry from now on and I expect my golf trousers to be air dried and ironed.”

I grinned triumphantly, launching myself forward and wrapping my arms around his neck, “Ah, thank you, Niall! And I swear I’ll even press them if it makes you happy.”

Both of us knew I was lying but Niall patted my back anyway, letting me slid back onto the pavement before turning to fall into step beside me as we hurried up the street towards the entrance of the apartment complex.

There were already a few people milling about outside, most of them students I didn’t recognized but just the sight of them had me absolutely buzzing with excitement.

It wasn’t often I willingly submitted myself to laundry duty but for a chance to enjoy Liam Payne’s outrageously expensive booze, I figured I could make an exception.

Liam Payne was a fourth year med student, just like Niall, and was hands down the wealthiest student at University of Westminster. He had more money sitting in his wallet than I’d probably ever seen in my cash register at work and every single dime of it was his parents – who were not so coincidently surgeons. I’d only ever spoken to Liam maybe twice since we took classes on opposite ends of the campus but he’d always struck me as the sort of bloke who got along just by his money and his outrageously good looks. Niall insisted otherwise since he had quite a few classes with him but really, I didn’t care one way or the other as long as this year’s party was better than last years.

I’d ended up passed on Niall’s bed with no memory of how I’d gotten home or where Niall actually was, and somehow I’d gotten dried vomit stained on my dress. The only thing I remembered was the dark haired, rugged boy with the leather jacket I’d unsuccessfully tried to flirt with for most of the night and the tequila shots I’d drank to try and impress him.

But this year, walking through the lobby and towards the rows of elevators with Niall by my side, I was determined it would be different. I wasn’t going to drink tequila. I wasn’t wearing one of my favorite dresses just in case I ended up puking again – though I really hoped I didn’t. And I had absolutely no plans of becoming desperate enough to coerce a bloke into coming home with me tonight.

This night was about me reveling in my last bit of freedom before I had to pretend like I was an actual adult and go looking for a real full time job and absolutely nothing was going to spoil it for me.

Expect maybe my bloody roommate.

“Alright, you may have gotten me up here but I refuse to drink anything hard tonight,” he told me as he rode up in the elevator with two younger looking girls gossiping in the corner, “I actually need to be coherent for my afternoon class tomorrow.”

Rolling my eyes, I took a hold of his arm and dragged him out of the elevator once we’d gotten to the top floor, “You always say that but you always end up drinking more than me by the end of the night.”

The front door of the flat was already open, some people lingering out in the hallway with beers or cups in their hands, and I pulled Niall right through, completely ignoring his empty threats.

“That’s not always true and this time is gonna be different! I’m serious, Addi, don’t let me get too drunk tonight.”

I didn’t have the heart to remind him that I was the last person he should be trusting to keep him sober. So instead I maneuvered us both through the packed crowd in the living room and headed straight for the kitchen.

The center granite island was literally lined with booze, rum, coke, flavored vodkas, pink champagne, the dreaded tequila, anything anyone could find at a liquor store was there for the taking. And the first thing I reached for was the open bottle of vodka and the shot glasses sitting next to the sink.

Niall physically back away from me when he saw what I was doing, “Oh no. Addi, I just told you I’m not doing anything hard – Jesus, are you pouring that straight?!”

“No,” I smirked, reaching for the already prepared lime wedges on the corner of the island and squeezing a few drops in. “They’ve got lime. And yes, you are doing this with me. I’m not ironing your ugly golf trousers if you don’t at least take one shot with me.”

“First of all,” he narrowed his blue eyes at me, “they’re not ugly. You just don’t have good taste. And second, no, I’m not.”

I held up his shot, staring at him, “I could just forget to separate your whites from your darks and leave you with pink pants.”

My flat mate literally looked like he wanted to dump the entire bottle of vodka over my head but with a defeated sigh, he reached out and took the tiny little glass from me.

“God, why did I ever decide to live with you?”

“Because you had no choice and I was the only one who actually cleans up after you. Now come on,” I grinned, holding my glass up between us, “one of these and you’ll forget about all the shit waiting for you at home.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” he grumbled but clinked his shot with mine anyway before tossing it back all in one gulp.

I didn’t take mine any slower. It burned on the way down my throat, causing me to scrunch my nose and shake my head in disgust at the strong flavor.

I held up the half full vodka bottle to Niall, who wasn’t fairing much better, smacking his lips and scoffing from the back of his throat.

“Another?”

He didn’t even hesitate to give his empty glass over, “Please.”

I tried to not seem smug as I filled both ours back up.

“Straight, this time?”

“Fuck it, why not?” he snarled, wipping his mouth, “If I’m going to hell at least I’m gonna enjoy it.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I handed his shot back and within three seconds, we were toasting and downing them again. This time, it came a bit smoother, less of a shock and more a tickle trickling down the back of my throat.

I pursed my lips in acceptance, setting the glass back down on the counter.

“Christ,” Niall groaned, obviously not quite as thrilled with his own second shot, “I fucking hate vodka. They got a beer round here anywhere?”

I was about to tell him last time I’d been to Liam’s place, he’d kept most of the beer stacked up in the fridge but before I could so much as open my mouth, someone was shouting my name from the other side of the open kitchen.

“Addi! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you! What’d you do walk here?”

Tristan was the sort of girl nobody could help but notice. She was like a single ray of sunshine on an overcast day, bright, blonde and a little bit blinding if you looked directly at her for too long. I’d met her in my second year of uni when she’d taken the seat right next to me for English 201 and ever since then, I still didn’t think I’d found another person alive who could pull off a fluorescent shade of orange and still be so cheerful after five rounds of tequila shots.

Today she was almost toned down, just a simple pair of black leather pants and a red plunging tank top with her blond hair pulled up into a carefully styled bun. On any other occasion the amount of cleavage she had going for her probably would have made me self-conscious of my own lack thereof but with the mini shorts and heeled booties I’d put on before dashing out of the house, I didn’t blink twice before turning around to greet her.

“No,” I chortled, wrapping one arm briefly around her curvy waist, “Mr. I-Have-Homework over here kept changing his mind on whether he wanted to come.”

Niall rolled his eyes, bending down to rifle through the assortment of beers in the fridge.

“Oh yeah, blame it on me. You could have gone any time if you’d left me alone.”

Tristan raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, someone has an attitude this evening.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” I smirked over at him, “See, even Tristan thinks you need to lighten up.”

“Piss off,” he grumbled, popping the cap and taking a swig. “Have you seen Louis or anyone around this place, Tristan?”

“Oh yeah!” she perked up with a happy grin, pointing out towards the living room. “I think he was out there with Danielle and a few other people trying to start a beer pong game.”

Niall looked excited for the first time since I’d come home this afternoon, “Really? They need another person?”

Tristan shrugged. “Probably. Not sure how much he’s actually playing though. He’s been all over Danielle since they got here.”

That didn’t seem to bother Niall in the slightest. He headed towards the open end of the kitchen with a slight grin, only stopping to raise his eyebrows at me curiously.

“You wanna come, Addi?”

I shook my head and holding up a bottle of rum I’d plucked off the counter, “Nope, I’m all set.”

Niall shrugged his shoulders, “Suit yourself.” And without a look back, he turned the corner and disappeared.

It took all of maybe half a second for Tristan to make a comment.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never hooked up with him,” she sighed in exasperation, still looking back towards the living room, “I mean, he’s so fit and would probably do anything for you. Why haven’t you done anything with that?”

“Because he’s Niall,” I scoffed, mixing the rum with a bit of a can of coca cola. It was probably my safest bet if I didn’t want to start the night off tripping over my own two feet.

“Yeah, so? He’s got boyfriend material written all over him.”

“Then why don’t you date him?” I took a swig of my drink and leaned against the island, “If you think he’s gonna be such a great boyfriend.”

She scrunched her small little nose and turned back with a secret little smile, “Because I’ve got my eye on someone and since this is his party, it might not look good if I’m going after anyone else.”

“Right,” I deadpanned, going for another drink, “because obviously pining after Liam for the last two years has worked out so well for you.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly at me but let it go with a shrug, reaching for a drink of her own, “Maybe not but I actually plan on getting him to talk to me tonight so who knows. But anyway, it’s you I’m worried about. When was the last time you did anything more than just have sex with someone?”

“Since before uni,” I told her truthfully.

“Exactly!” she looked pointedly at me. “And you’re too pretty and smart to be wasting your time on guys your never going see again. You need someone who’s going appreciate you.”

“Thanks mum,” I snorted, taking another gulp.

“Addi, I’m serious!” she exclaimed, turning to face with me wide eyes, “It be good for you to have a relationship with something other than your notebook. What about Harry? The one who’s always hanging out with Niall and Louis that you – “

“Okay,” I pushed myself off the counter and put a hand on her shoulder, “I think I’ve had enough lecturing for one day. How about we go see if we can find Liam so you can chat him up, yeah? I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

I almost sighed in relief when the concerned pinched between her eyebrows was smoothed into a giddy smile.

“I wonder if he’s still wearing the hat I saw him in earlier today on campus. I mean, it was a nice fashion statement but I’m not sure if it does anything for his bone structure.”

I shrugged with feigned interested and a hint of a smile. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there? Maybe you can tell him what you think about it.”

Tristan didn’t need much more encouragement. She downed another gulp of her drink and squared off her shoulders in determination, “Alright let’s go, then.”

And just like I’d expected, she latched onto my arm and started dragging me out of the kitchen, in the opposite direction of the noisy, packed living room behind us.

~

After finishing off my cup of rum and coke and spending the last hour sitting in the back corner of the game room with Tristan, watching Liam completely dominate his mates in pool, I decided it was time to find Niall.

As much as I adored Tristan and her bubbly nature, there were only so many times I could hear the words Liam and wonderful in the same sentence before I needed a break. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s good looking and all, but fawning over the way his biceps bulged in his button up wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured enjoying my night.

I slipped out without Tristan really noticing and made a beeline back to the kitchen. There were a few students grabbing some beers from the fridge but I ignored them in favor of getting myself another drink. This time, I went for another shot of vodka and mixed it with a bit of Dr. Pepper to keep it toned down.

I was decently buzzed, just enough to put a bit of zing in my step and I wanted to keep it that way. It was still early, barely past eleven if the clock in Liam’s kitchen was right, and it needed to be at least past midnight before I really considered chucking back another couple shots.

With that in mind and a full in drink in hand, I wandered towards the living room, figuring it was the most likely place to find my flat mate. It was more crowded than the game room had been, people squished up together on couches and clustered up in corners with barely enough room to walk without worrying about bumping into someone.

It was in the thicket of the noise and the chaos that I found Niall. His blonde head was obvious on the far side of the beer pong table with a ball poised in his hand and a bloke with shoulder length brown hair I thought I recognized standing beside him conversing with someone else. I’d just shoved my way through the wall of students surrounding the table when he bounced the ball and it landed with a plunk in one of Louis’ beer cups. The cheers were almost as deafening as the music.

“Niall!” I shouted, once the noise had died down and Louis had finished chugging his cup of beer.

“Addi!” He beamed, arms wide open with hint of red coating his cheeks. “I was wondering where you got off to.”

At the sound of my name, the girl standing next to him flipped around to face the pair of us and it wasn’t until I looked up and a saw pair of green eyes staring back at me, that I realized, just who the bloke actually was.

I sucked in a sharp breath, averting my eyes immediately back to Niall, “Oh, I was just uh, in the game room with Tristan.”

“So she talked your ear off, then?” Niall asked, focusing across the table at Louis now taking his shot.

“Something like that,” I muttered, not able to help stealing another quick glance at the person standing a few feet from me.

Harry Styles looked much the same as I’d seen him at the end of last term. His shirt was still a ridiculous over the top pattern and half buttoned, exposing the tattoos at the top of his chest. He still wore the same pair of black skinny jeans, maybe just a size tighter, with a pair of suede heeled boots to match and his mouth was still set into a completive line that turned down at the corners. The only thing that was even remotely different was his hair. Instead of brushing the tops of his collarbones, his curls now feel loosely over his shoulders and framed his face.

It was the reason I hadn’t been able to recognize him with his back to me because I was sure if I’d had, I wouldn’t have come over here in the first place.

And he seemed almost as pleased as I was that I’d made that mistake.

His eyes darkened ever so slightly, offering me a kind but tense smile as he tapped his ringed finger rhythmically over his own cup. It was only after Louis had tossed his ball and completely missed, nearly nailing a poor girl in the head that either of us were able to look away.

“Yes!” Niall threw his arms up in exclamation. “I win again, Lou! You’re never gonna beat me!”

Louis flipped him the bird, “It’s not even fair! You play golf and know how to aim!”

“Golf is with a club, you knob.” Niall scoffed, “You’ve just got shit aim when you’re drunk.”

I couldn’t exactly deny that. I think the girl he’d almost hit was now cowering on one of the couches.

“Then why don’t you come play teams with me, then? Even it out a bit,” Louis bargained.

“And play against who?” Niall leaned forward to press his palms against the table. “I think Zayn’s more worried about how far he can get his tongue down his bird’s throat.”

For half a second Louis seemed like he was genuinely stumped. He glanced around the room, his brows furrowed in concentration trying to find anyone who might be up for a challenge and it wasn’t until he landed on me that they widened with obvious excitement.

“Oh no,” I protested before he could say anything, “Louis, no I’m not playing. You know I hate beer.”

“Oh come on!” he whined from across the table, “You can play with Harry! He’s just as shit as I am and you’re a bloody pro.”

I stole a glance sideways at Harry. He was staring down at his cup, his lips pursed and I figured I was only doing both of us a favor.

“Find someone else, Lou,” I insisted, “I don’t wanna play.”

“Jesus, come on, Addi,” Niall nudged my arm with a heavy frown, “You dragged me all the way here. The least you can do is play with us.”

“Okay, no,” I turned to point a finger at him, “that was not part of the deal. And stop trying to guilt me into this! Just because I’m good doesn’t mean I want – “

“I’ll do it.”

His deep voice had me stopping mid-sentence, snapping my head away from Niall to stare at him, “You will?”

Harry shrugged and set his cup down on the edge of the table, “I mean, only if you want to. I don’t wanna make you.”

Niall certainly didn’t need any more persuasion.

“Fantastic, it’s settled then.” He picked up his cup and started rounding the edge of the table while I stood there staring at Harry with my mouth still half open, “First one to drink all their cups loses and has to make a fry-up in the morning.”

“What, no!” I rounded on him, coming out of my daze, “It’s not settled! I never agreed to this! You know I’m rubbish at cooking.”

He shrugged, completely unaffected. “Guess you better win then, yeah?”

“Niall!” I groaned but he ignored me, practically skipping down the length of the table for a triumphant high five from Louis.

He was seriously making me regret the hour I’d spent begging him to come with me.

Flipping back around, I shoved a hand through my unruly mane of flaming hair and snarled, reaching for the pile of cups on the edge of the table.

“One of these days I’m going to take one of his precious medical textbooks and stick it up his ass.”

I heard Harry snort as I situated the red cups into a perfect triangle but he quickly caught himself and tried to cover it by clearing his throat.

“You didn’t have to do it, you know.”

I flickered my eyes up to find him holding the can of opened beer. He was staring at me, his eyes just as piercing and dark as before, and for a delusional second I wonder if he was still talking about the game.

“It’s fine.” I took the can from him and sloshed some in the bottoms of the cups. “I’d never hear the end of it anyway and then I’d definitely have to make his hungover ass breakfast in the morning.”

Harry nodded, pushing the front of his curls away from his face, “Alright, then. But if you really don’t wanna drink, I won’t make you.”

I was tempted to remind him of the actual rules of beer pong but the way he was still looking at me had me pausing the can over the last cup.

“Oh yeah and how I am gonna get it past those two?”

He jerked his head down toward something on the floor, a decent sized bin by the edge of the table. He nudged it with the side of his boot and drug it between the two of us.

“Just toss it when they’re not looking. S’what I’m gonna do.”

I rose an eyebrow, setting the empty can aside, “You’re not gonna drink?”

“Nope,” Harry shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”

My gaze switched back and forth between the drink still sitting on the edge of his side of the table and the unreadable, serious expression on his face.

I wondered why the guy I’d personally watched chuck back three separate shots of tequila a few months ago would suddenly think he was too good for a bit of piss poor beer but then I decided I didn’t care if it meant I  didn’t have to drink any of that piss poor beer.

“Alright.” I shrugged one shoulder to my ear. “But if we get caught I’m telling Niall it was all your idea.”

Harry managed to crack a faint smile, reaching for a drink of whatever was in that cup of his.

“Fair enough.”

“Hey, lovebirds! We gonna play or not?”

I should seriously reconsider messing with Niall’s textbooks. It might almost be worth it just to see the look on his face when he found them “accidently” chucked off the balcony of our flat.

“Yeah, we’re gonna play, you shit,” I rolled my eyes and turned to face Niall and Louis at the other end of the long dining table. “Who’s going first?”

Louis held up his hand in a fist, wiggling his eyebrows. “Winner chooses?”

“Yeah, alright,” I sighed and brought up my own right hand, “One, two, three, shoot!”

Louis first play was paper, not exactly the wisest choice considering I’d gone for scissors.

A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips, “Sorry, mate.”

Louis huffed and leaned back from the table, “Yeah, yeah just go so we can kick your arses already.”

I picked up one of the ping pong balls, weighing it carefully in my hand. It was a little heavier than I was used to but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make it work.

Eyeing the farthest cup on Niall’s right, I flicked my wrist and let it fly. It bounced hard off the middle of the table before plopping cleanly in the center of the cup. Niall’s groan of dismay when some of the liquid splattered on his jeans was immensely satisfying.

“Your side, Ny,” I grinned at him, “means you drink first.”

Niall frowned up at me, plucking out the ball from his drink, “I know the rules, Addi. Lucky first shot.”

“Whatever you say,” I shrugged, “Bottoms up.”

He drank the bit of it in one gulp, slamming the cup down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before picking up a ball of his own.

“Coming for you, Addi.”

I figured as much but I just waited with my eyebrows cocked as he took aim. It was hard not to pout when it landed two cups back from the middle.

“Ha!”

Niall reached up to slap hands with Louis and smirk across at me. “One for me, then. Go on.”

I glanced sideways at Harry as I wrapped my fingers around the cup. He just nodded once, keeping his eye forwards and toying with one of his balls.

“Just one shot, mate,” he called, though not loudly. “Doesn’t mean you’ve won the game yet.”

“Oh, yeah?” Niall taunted, both him and Louis switching their attention to my partner. “Last time you played this, Styles, you almost gave Zayn a black eye. Don’t think you’re gonna help her much.”

I took the opportunity to pretend to toss the beer back and dumped it quickly underneath my elbow before either of them could notice.

Harry seemed unbothered, “You never know, maybe I’ve practiced since then.”

If we had any chance of winning this game, I sure hoped he had, but I kept my expectations low and my mouth shut, considering he’d just kept me from drinking the alcoholic equivalent of piss.

“Yeah, right,” Louis huffed and waved his hand, “Take your shot, will ya?”

Whatever urgency our friends had, Harry didn’t seem to possess any of it. He took his sweet time, angling the ball in front of his face and switching back and forth between different cups while his fingers pinched at his bottom lip.

I couldn’t help but watch him, remembering the last time I’d been this close to him. How soft and pliable his curls had felt between my fingers and the taste of whiskey and mint that lingered on his lips. It had me chewing on the inside of my cheek and I was about ready to shout at him just to throw before he tossed the ball and it flew straight into the middle cup without hitting the table.

It took me a few seconds to register that’s what the cheering around us was for.

“What the hell, mate!” Louis shouted, throwing his hands up. “That’s not fair!”

Harry looked rather smug, taking another sip of his mysterious drink, “Told you I practiced.”

“That had to be luck!” Niall shot back as Louis chugged down his portion of beer. “No way, you can do that again.”

He didn’t dignify them with a real retort, just shrugging his shoulders past the ends of his hair and cocking his head over to glance at me. “You never know.”

“Yeah,” I trailed off, unable to look away. “Guess not.”

Expect that I did. Everyone did.

Harry was as shit at beer pong as he’d ever been, with a few rare exceptions where he repeated his miraculous no bounce shots that were – just like Niall had pointed out – clearly out of sheer luck. Balls flew everywhere, over our opponents heads, clear across the other side of the living room into someone else’s half-full vodka; one of them even ricocheted off the rim of one of Niall’s cups and ended up nailing Zayn’s bird in the back of the head just as he was going in for another kiss – I thought he deserved a point for that one but both Louis and Niall shot me down.

The only thing we had going for us was that Louis was just as terrible, if not more so. Between the two of them, the whole living room was set for their in house entertainment and it was down to Niall and I to give the game a bit of dignity.

I should have taken it seriously. The last thing I wanted to do was wake up tomorrow morning before my midmorning class and burn myself trying to fry Niall up some eggs and sausage with a hangover. But the longer the game went on, the more distracted I seemed to get.

I wanted to blame it on the vodka and the rum – because why else would I have tossed it off the side of the table three feet from any of the cups – but I knew, somewhere very far in the back of my head, that it had much more to do with standing shoulder to shoulder with Harry.

I’d been close to him dozens of times at different parties but I’d never noticed just how fidgety and awkward he could be. He never seemed to stop moving. His hand would run back through his hair if it flopped too far to one side. He’d always be tapping his fingers on the side of his cup and shifting from one foot to the other with his lip still between his fingers when it wasn’t his turn. He even aimed so far left during one of his turns that we ended up hip to hip and I could practically feel the heat radiating off his body as he threw and missed one of the cups by half an inch.

It got to point after Niall dunked one into one of our last two remaining cups and Harry dodged my way to avoid the splash that I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Harry,” I asked, watching him sneakily pour the remains of the beer into the bin like we’d been doing all game as the “dynamic duo” shared another victory dance. “Why aren’t you drinking?”

He looked down at me, surprised, discarding the cup, “Oh um, I’ve got a class tomorrow at nine and I didn’t really wanna miss anything because of a hangover.”

“So what’s that cup over there filled with?” I inclined my head to his side of the table, “Water?”

Harry chortled, uneasily. “No, uh, actually it’s coke.”

“Just coke?”

“Just coke,” he repeated.

We stared at each other for a long second, his tongue darting out between his lips as he messed with the cross hanging around his neck. He almost looked like he wanted to say something else, his mouth falling open ever so slightly but before he could get a word out, Niall was shouting back across the table.

“Harry! Harold Styles! Are you gonna take your fucking shot or what?”

If I wasn’t the one who’d have to deal with him in the morning, I would have gladly spiked one of the last cups of beer with another two shots of tequila.

Harry snapped out of his daze and shoved his hand back through his hair before turning towards the table.

“Yeah, mate. Didn’t know you were so eager to get beaten.”

“Fat chance!” Niall snorted. “You’re never gonna make either of these and you’ve only got one cup left!”

As much as I hated to admit it, Niall was right. Him and Louis still had two cups standing, both sitting in the middle of their side of the table, while Harry and I only had one between the both of us, thanks to his poor aim and my unfortunate distraction.

The only way we had a chance to win this game was if he made this shot, Louis missed and I pulled myself together and tossed it into the last one. Because if either Harry or I missed and it came back around to Niall, we were doomed and he would never let me live it down.

“Just keep your eye on the cup,” I muttered just loud enough under my breath to Harry.

His glanced sideways at me curiously, the ball already poised in his hand.

“You do better when you don’t watch the ball,” I clarified, “and if you make this we might be able to win.”

I wasn’t sure why I was so eager to try and help him because really this was just a bloody game but I felt an odd sense of anxiousness watching him nod and hold the ball up to shoot.

It didn’t take him as long this time around, just enough time to focus in on one of the remaining cups and position the ball before tossing it with enough force to get it across the table.

My chest nearly gave out when it plunked down into the right cup.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, staring wide eyed as the crowd erupted over the loud music.

Niall and Louis were almost too stunned to speak and Harry was so satisfied I thought his proud smirk might actually split his face.

“Jesus Christ,” I heard Niall swear, immediately rounding on Louis. “You’ve gotta get this mate. I’m not getting up to make no fucking breakfast. And I’m calling you at half six if I do.”

“Calm down,” Louis waved him off, suddenly much more confident than he’d been just a few moments ago, “Just let me do what I do best.”

Nailing poor innocent freshman in the head and nearly giving them a concussion at their first college party?

Okay, go for it, Tomlinson.

His last attempt wasn’t quite that extreme but it still ended up about a foot over Harry’s head after bouncing off the corner of the table and I couldn’t help the grin that curled at the corners of my lips.

“So, Niall, you know I like my English with extra sausage, right?”

Louis looked far too pleased for being about to lose a game, “Extra sausage? Is there something you wanna tell us – “

“Shut it,” Niall silenced him with a hand, narrowing his eyes at me. “You won’t make this, Addi. You crack under pressure.”

I shrugged, picking up a ball and rolling it around in my hand.

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

I could feel the eyes of almost everyone else in room as I leaned forward and gripped the edge of the table for my shot. The living room was almost absolutely silent apart from a few murmurs here and there, and the loud base techno music coming through the speakers. But for some reason, the only eyes I was really aware of were Harry’s.

He was pivoted around to face me, his hip squished against the edge of the table and his lip now back between his fingers. I was hyper aware of just how close he was and had to tear myself away before I could focus enough to make the shot.

I held my breath when I let it go, watching it hit off the wood and veer just enough to the left to land dead center in the cup.

My roommate’s jaw went slack as the entire room burst into an uproar and I was so elated and caught up in it all that, without thinking about what I was doing, I threw myself at Harry’s tall form and flung my arms around his neck.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed. “I can’t believe we actually did it!”

It took about three seconds of feeling Harry’s body stiffen under my touch for me to realize what was actually happening.

“Oh shit,” I breathed, pulling myself off of him and backing away three or four steps. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that…”

“No, uh,” Harry chuckled, shoving his hair away from his face, “it’s cool. We actually won. I didn’t think we would. You’re a really good shot.”

“Thanks.” I tried to cover the heat on my cheeks by nibbling on my bottom lip. “You’re not so bad yourself.

He raised both his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Okay, no,” I rolled my eyes with a sigh. “But you made that last shot and saved me from probably burning down my flat tomorrow, so thanks for that.”

Harry managed an amused smile. “You’re welcome, then. It was a good game.”

“Yeah,” I grinned back at him, “It was.”

~

Over the last three years, most of my terrible choices have been made under the influence of tequila.

Like the time I thought it would be a good idea to challenge Niall to a drink off and ended up puking in the back of the taxi on the way home. Or when I assumed the best way to deal with a piss pour grade on one my term papers was to take Jeremey Remes home with me and completely forgot my mum was driving down to see me the next morning.

Every time I told myself – or somebody else did - that it was safe enough to have more than a single shot of tequila, nine times out of ten it usually ended up spirally out of control and I was left to deal with the inevitable consequences the next morning.

But the worst had to have been at the beginning of the summer when Louis decided to throw a party at his parent’s house in Primrose Hill.

Really, I wasn’t supposed to go. I had to be up early the next morning for a two hour train ride to Manchester and showing up at my parent’s house tired and hungover from the night before when she’d already caught me with a stranger in my bed, probably wasn’t the ideal way to kick off my summer break. But after a month of basically drilling a hole in my own head to prepare for final exams and too many weekends spent holed up in our flat, it seemed like a complete and utter shame to waste the last one I’d have for the next three months.

That was my first mistake.

The second was letting Niall convince me to partner up with Harry for truth or dare.

At the start, it wasn’t that big of a deal. I didn’t know Harry all that well, considering he’d only just transferred from a school across London in the spring semester, but we were used to this already. Harry and I were the only two members of our friend group who weren’t either already attached or always in search of someone to warm our beds for the night, so, naturally, we usually got paired together for games during parties. And when I thought about it, he was probably the only person I trusted to be sane enough to help keep from embarrassing myself in front of a room full of people I’d have to face on campus the next morning. So really, I almost considered myself lucky.

That is until the same moronic idiot who put us together in the first place thought it would absolutely “crackin” – his word, not mine – to dare the two of us do a body shot off one another.

I was all for it, never one to turn down a challenge my roommate handed out to me even if it was fucking bonkers. But Harry was already reaching for his cup to drink and looked moderately horrified when I took it out of his hands and told him to go get some tequila from the kitchen.

My third mistake was not listening to him when he tried to reason with me. Because thirty minutes later, after letting him lick salt off my stomach and taking another three tequila shots, all I could think about while sitting next to him alone – or as alone as two people can be at a college party – was how soft his lips had been when they accidently brushed mine, taking the lime from my mouth.

I shouldn’t have done it. There were about a hundred different perfectly logical reasons why it was an absolutely terrible idea. But with that much tequila running through my veins, I didn’t remember any of them. All I cared about when I reached over to run a hand through his curls, was that maybe if I felt those pink, soft lips again, I might be able to forget that I only had a year left to figure out what to do with my life and no idea where to start.

I still can’t remember how long we were at it for, my body completely straddling Harry’s lap in the middle of that lounge room as he ran his hands up the tops of my thighs under my dress and kissed me until our lips were tender and swollen. At one point, I was almost positive I was going home with him, but when I suddenly remembered in the middle of listening to his raspy, low voice murmuring in my ear, that even a night of rolling around in the sheets couldn’t fix the mess I was sure I’d already made of my career, the guilt was almost too much to handle.

I wasn’t the type of person who used someone and Harry, the boy who just happened to be there, didn’t deserve to deal with me at my worst, just because I was too cowardly to sort my life out.

I used the excuse of getting us both more drinks to get away from him. But when I ducked into the kitchen and double checked that he couldn’t see me, I made a bee-line for the front without even thinking to look for any of my other friends.

Nobody had batted an eyelash when I called to apologize the next morning after getting on the train but it was the person I hadn’t bothered to ask that stayed with me for most of the ride back home.

I tried to tell myself maybe that was the reason I hadn’t gone to refill my drink after the beer pong game but I knew it wasn’t.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Louis swore, slapping his hand against his thigh. “I just drank! Why you making me do it again!?”

Niall smirked at him from across the table, setting the two of clubs down beside him. “Because if it wasn’t for you and your shitty aim, I’d be getting a full English tomorrow.”

“It’s not my fault Harry got in a lucky shot!” he protested.

“Doesn’t matter,” Niall shrugged, nodding towards his friend’s half full cup. “Drink.”

Louis rolled his eyes and tipped back his drink, wincing at the acrid taste before slamming it back down on the living room table.

“Alright, Zayn go,” he fell back into the couch cushions, “and if you get a fucking two I’m gonna dump this over our head if you even think about giving it to me.”

Zayn snickered from beside his girlfriend, reaching forward to grab a random face down card circling the giant glass in the middle.

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes when he grinned to himself and slowly pressed his thumb against the edge of the table. Harry and I were the first two to notice and place down our own and judging by the drunken and oblivious state of the mates around us, it was gonna be awhile before anyone else caught on.

I wasn’t sure why I’d even decided to play. King’s Cup was probably one of my least favorite drinking games – mostly because I somehow always ended up drawing that last king and had to poison myself with whatever concoction was in the middle cup, and without an actual drink to play with, technically I wasn’t even abiding by the rules. But when Niall suggested it and absolutely insisted I had to join for a rematch of the “unfair” beer pong game, I didn’t have much of choose other than to squish in next to Harry on the smaller sofa with my empty cup of Dr. Pepper and vodka.

We were so close that I could feel the muscles flexing in his thigh as he sighed and drummed his fingers over his knee cap, waiting for the rest of the group to put their thumbs on the table. He hadn’t said more than a few words since we’d sat down to play about half an hour ago but I could tell just by the way he kept pushing his curls away from his face and pulling at his lip, that he didn’t exactly have the patience for this either.

Good. At least then, I wasn’t suffering through this alone.

“Ha, Tristan!” Louis pointed across the table, once he’d quickly set his thumb down and looked around to see if anyone was still left. “Drink! You’re the last one!”

“Drink?” she scrunched her nose, “Why do I have to drink? Zayn hasn’t even told us what he got yet.”

Liam, who she’d somehow persuaded to join us, snorted from beside her. “That’s kind of the point, love. He drew a five. He’s not supposed to tell anyone, remember?”

“Oh,” Tristan’s face fell in comprehension before she shrugged and grabbed for her drink. “Whatever, then. I’ve always hated that card anyway. What’s the point of putting your thumb on the table?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Louis brushed off, “Just drink.”

Tristan stuck her tongue at him, sipping on what was left of her cranberry vodka.

Zayn’s girlfriend, Janell, who I’d only heard speak a handful of times, didn’t wait for Tristan to finish before picking up the next card. Her slender face went sour as she flipped it around for the group to see.

It was a four of spades.

“Sorry, girls. I’m kinda shit at this.”

“Aw, babe, no you’re not,” Zayn teased, nudging her side, “That was a great card.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, tipping her cup back as the rest of the girls followed suit and drank.

Well, I pretended to drink.

“Do me a favor and draw a six for me, will ya, Adriana? I think the boys deserve it.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” I smirked, bending forward to grab for a random card.

I plucked one up from the sparse side of the toxic cup, hoping for that six or maybe even a two just so I could make Niall suffer that much more, but was disappointed when I turned it over to find an eight of hearts.

I twisted my mouth into a slight purse.

Great.

“What’d ya get?” Niall probed directly across from me. “You girls gotta drink again?”

“No,” I flipped it around for everyone to see. “But someone’s gonna have to every time I do.”

“Oh, an eight!” Tristian clapped her hands together. “Who you gonna pick, Addi? Please don’t pick me. I don’t think I could handle drinking double.”

Louis smirked and threw an arm over the back of his girlfriend’s shoulders. “I think we all know who Addi’s gonna go for. Niall, I’d go get another drink if I were you. That might not be enough.”

“Oh piss off, Lou,” I shot him a dirty snarl. “I could pick you and make Danielle have to carry you back to the flat tonight.”

He didn’t seem phased, shrugging as he waited with the rest of them for me to make my decision.

As much as I despised Louis’ meddling in our friendship, Niall was a legitimate option. He’d made us an half an hour late trying to drag him here with me. He’d forced me into a beer pong game and a bet that I’d nearly almost lost and he wasn’t near sloshed enough yet to make up for any of it. In my perfectly sober opinion, it was my right to take a little bit of payback but the fact that my cup was completely empty had me drumming my fingers over my bare knee.

If I forced Niall to drink every time I “drank” there was a very high possibility he’d be paying too much attention and realize I wasn’t actually drinking at all. And the torment he’d put me through for the next month wasn’t worth it just to see Niall puking up his guts in the morning while trying to make me breakfast.

I needed someone who wouldn’t care one way or another and the only person in the entire room who fit that description was sitting right next to me.

I knew what it would look like, especially to Harry himself, but I really didn’t see any other choice. He already knew I wasn’t drinking, just by the curious raise of his eyebrows every time I lifted my cup, and it wasn’t like this coke was mixed with anything other than his own backwash. We both needed to stay under the radar of our friends and the best way I could think to do that was band together and keep them out of it all together.

I just hoped one victory at a measly beer pong game was enough to keep him getting up and leaving.

“Sorry, Harry.” I nudged his side with my elbow and tossed the card aside, “Looks you’re suffering with me.”

The stunned silence was almost laughable and I could’ve sworn I’d seen Niall looking practically wounded out of the corner of my eye.

“Wait, me?” Harry snapped his head around to stare at me. “You want me to drink with you?”

I snorted and reached for my empty cup. “Yeah, that’s kind of how an eight works. That alright with you?”

He paused for a second, looking at me curiously before shrugging his shoulders and pushing a hand back through his unruly, long hair. “Yeah, alright. Cheers, then.”

He picked up his cup and raised it slightly, tipping it back just enough to get a gulp. I followed suit, making a point to swallow as I sucked nothing but air through my lips and set it back down on the side table out of sight.

“Yeah, whatever then,” Niall tossed off rather impatiently. “Your turn, Harry, get on with it.”

I was confused by his sudden mood change. He’d been all about this all of two minute ago but I hardly had time to dwell on it, noticing the not so subtle smirk on Tristan’s face as Harry drew his card.

I didn’t even wanna know.

“A ten,” he switched it in his fingers around the circles. “Means I get pick to a category, yeah?”

“Yup,” Zayn nodded at him with a tiny grin. “Anything you want. Make it good, mate.”

Harry thought for a long moment, picking at his bottom lip before nodding once, “Rolling Stones songs.”

The groan from all the men was collective. Louis even went as far as to cover his face with both hands like he was in actual pain.

“Really!? You could’ve picked anything and you pick an old man band? What a waste of opportunity.”

Harry lifted one shoulder and curled up a corner of his mouth, “You didn’t draw it, mate. Go on, Liam.”

Surprisingly, Liam was ready with an answer – or more specifically my answer.

“Beast of Burden.”

It took Tristan just a bit longer, her lips twisting in thought.

“Satisfaction!”

God dammit.

“God fine, alright,” Louis sighed, dramatically, “Start Me Up.”

“Paint It Black.”

Mother fucker.

“Wild Horses.”

Niall looked particularly smug about his answer, probably because he knew it was one of my favorite Rolling Stones songs. Or maybe by the way he was side-eyeing Harry, it was something else. Who the hell knows.

All I knew was that I needed to come up with a song and fast.

“Brown Sugar is one of them, ain’t it?” Zayn glanced over at Harry, who nodded in approval.

If his girlfriend took my song and I was left with nothing, I swear to God.

She bit at her lip, looking around like she was in trouble.

“I know one. I just can’t remember exactly what the name is. You can’t always get things how you want or you can’t have things how you want…”

I slouched forward with an audible sigh of relief as Harry shook his head with a chuckle.

“Nope, sorry. It’s You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Nice try, though.”

She scrunched her nose and went for a long drink, slumping back against the small seat she and Zayn shared.

“Knew I should have listened when my dad forced me to listen to the oldies when I was little.”

Harry chortled and nodded, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees as he waited for Liam to draw.

He ended up with the six I’d so desperately wanted and Louis threatened to dump the rest of his beer over the head of whoever drew the next one. I had to fight an amused smirk as the rest of the boys, threw one back, apart from Harry: I was sure just by the eye roll his girlfriend was giving him that if Louis even tried to soak any of the girls in beer he’d be nursing his awful hangover in the morning alone.

Tristan was the last one left on our couch to go for this round. She took her sweet time, fixing a piece of hair that fell loose from her bun before inclining forward and running her fingers over the loop of cards.

I was about to flop into the couch cushions with a long sigh and take a nap when she suddenly burst into gleeful giggles and started stamping her heeled feet on the carpet.

“I’ve got a King! I knew I picked the best one!”

Oh, god.

“God, dammit!” Louis swore, slapping his knee. “I was literally just going to pick that fucking card.”

Tristan tittered triumphantly. “Too bad, Lou. You snooze, you loose.”

“And you’ve probably got some ridiculous fruity shit in that drink, don’t you? Like orange juice and champagne or some shit,” he complained as she poured the remainder of her cup into the bigger glass in the center of the table.

Actually, I knew for a fact it was cranberry juice and vodka but I was less concerned with what was going into the King’s Cup and more concerned with the obnoxiously large smile plastered on her face.

In the original rules of King’s Cup, the person who draws the king gets to set a rule for the entire group to follow for the rest of the game and whoever forgets or refuses the rule has to drink. But for our version of the game, or rather Niall’s – thanks for that - instead of choosing a collective rule, the player gets to make one request of someone else in the group. It can be absolutely anything but whoever they choose has to do it or they have to drink, just like the rest of the game.

Tristian by nature was not a cruel person, most of her requests or dares usually involved something silly and fun as opposed to anything embarrassing like hacking a twitter account. But something about the glint her eye as she tapped at her chin with her fingernails had me shrinking down in my seat, in an attempt to hide behind Harry’s tall body to keep her from seeing me.

It didn’t work.

“I know exactly what I want one you to do!” she sang, looking all the way around Liam to find me slouching back against the couch. She beamed brightly, like she was giving me a present. “Addi, I want you to kiss, Harry! And not just a little one either. It has to be for at least thirty seconds.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I groaned and shoved myself up. “Tristan, come on! That’s not fair!”

“Oh, yes it is!” she insisted, “I drew the king so I get to make a request. And it’s not like you haven’t done it before. I mean, last summer you had your tongue down his throat.”

Niall nearly fell out of his seat. “What?! Addi, when did you make out with Harry?!”

Oh, fuck me.

“Whoa, whoa!” Louis put his hand up to be heard. “Why did no one tell me about this?! Here I was thinking she was fucking around with – “

“Alright, fine!” I blurted, throwing my arms up “Yes, I made out with Harry at the end of last year. Can we all move on, please?”

“No!” Niall pinched his brows together. “You need to tell me these things! It’s flatmate rules!”

My expression fell flat as I turned to look at him.

“No, it’s not. And no, I don’t have to tell you about every person I decided to make out with. Just like I don’t wanna know the color of the knicker’s of the last girl you had in your room.”

A rush of red colored Niall’s pale cheeks, his lips smacking together in a hard line. “Whatever. You do what you want, then.”

I felt bad for using something we’d joked about privately against him, but if it’s what it took to get him off my back about this, then I wasn’t going to spend too much time dwelling on it, knowing he’d forgive me easily later.

Apparently, neither was Tristan.

“So,” she was bouncing in anticipation, “Are you gonna kiss him or are you gonna drink?”

Sighing, I turned to look at Harry. Almost his entire body seemed to have gone rigid, his thigh stiff against mine and hand frozen over his lip. The only part of him that was remotely expressive were his eyes. They were focused on me, a dark shade of green as they flickered back and forth over my face.

I knew what he was thinking, because it was exactly what I thinking.

The last time we’d done this, both of us were drunk enough to only remember bits and piece of it in the morning. It’d been a complete impulse and it ended with me leaving him high, dry and probably hard without any sort of explanation. This time we were sober, or at least he was and I was more sober than I’d been on six tequila shots, in front of our friends who would never let us forget and more likely to remember it in the morning.

I was about to just deal with it and take my fake drink. Really, it didn’t matter what our friends read into it or how much shit I’d get for it later from Niall. Neither of us were getting any drunker and I’d rather not screw up the little I’d managed to salvage from the summer before between Harry and I – if I had at all.

But when I caught Harry dropping his hand from his lip and shrugging his shoulders with an indifferent raise of his eyebrows, I decided if I was going to ruin everything I might as well do it in classic Adriana fashion and do it all at once.

“Fuck it.”

Without really thinking about what I was doing, I cupped my hand around the back of his head and pulled Harry into me for a kiss.

He seemed shocked at first, his lips hard and unresponsive but after a second of tangling my fingers through his long curls, his lips softened and started working gently against mine. They were just like I remembered them, full, pliable and with a hint of mint I’d never be able to get rid of, and for some reason I couldn’t fathom, just like before, I wanted more of them.

I had to make myself pull away, slipping my hand out of his hair and onto his shoulder, because I knew, for the sake of us both, I couldn’t let this go any farther. But when I tried to back off, I felt Harry’s hand slip around my waist, his fingers widening over the expanse of my lower back as he parted his lips and pressed me closer to him.

My hand stiffened over his shoulder, my breath getting caught in the back of my throat. I wasn’t sure what he was doing or if I even wanted him to do it, but just feeling his tongue dart out and run over my bottom lip had me sighing and wrapping my hand back around his neck.

He deepened the kiss once he felt me relax. His lips kneaded more urgently, getting me to open my mouth so he could nibble on my bottom lip and for a glorious thirty seconds that was the only thing I was aware of. The press of his fingers into the dips of my spine, the way his curls felt between my fingers and the needy softness of his lips.

It wasn’t until I heard the cheering that I remember exactly where we were.

I pulled back more forcefully this time, detaching us from the kiss and pushing myself off his chest to sit upright on the couch. I licked my lips, trying to rid myself of the taste of him and bring myself out the daze as I noticed the people grinning around us. But even after a few prolonged seconds, I couldn’t get rid of the mint still lingering on my tongue.

“I’m going to get another drink,” I suddenly announced, shoving off of the couch and to my feet.

“Wait!” Niall exclaimed, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. “Where are you going? The game’s not finished! We’ve still got another king left.”

I let my shoulders touch my ears and slipped out from between the couches. “I’ll be back in a minute. Can’t really play with an empty drink, can I?”

I tipped the top of my cup upside down but before anyone could say anything, I turned on my heel and headed back towards the kitchen.

I wasn’t lying when I said I needed a drink. My real intention was to actually find something strong enough to dose the poignant flavors in my mouth. I was even considering breaking my own rule and pouring myself a straight shot of tequila but when I rounded the corner and stepped into the empty kitchen, I heard boots clunking on the linoleum behind me.

With a hefty sigh, I avoided the heavily raided bar and veered off towards the fridge on the other side of the open room.

I caught Harry leaning up against the island with his arms crossed over his chest as I reached for one of the water bottles on a top shelf. He stayed silent, watching me twist the cap off and lift it to my lips before one side of his mouth quirked.

“You’re not going back out there, are you?”

I finished chugging around a quarter of the bottle and whipped my mouth before answering him.

“What gave it away?”

“Well, last time you kissed me, you said you were going for a drink and never came back. I assumed it was just a habit.”

Whipping around to face him, I had my mouth open to protest but when I saw a wide, amused smirk stretched across his face, my shoulders slumped and I gave another sigh.

“I guess I deserved that.” I raised the bottle for another drink.

“Maybe,” he conceded.

“I’m not usually like that, though,” I rushed out, glancing up at him.

Harry rose both of his eyebrows, his lips curling a little higher. “Yeah?”

“Oh shut it,” I narrowed my eyes at him and rested back against the door of the fridge. “I may not seem like it but I’m not the kind of bird who snogs someone and leaves. Most of the time I’m usually nice enough to let them come home with me.”

He chortled with a low bit of laughter, “Guess I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

I felt myself smile slightly, tucking my chin down to run my thumb over the label on the water bottle as a silence settled over us. It was broken by a loud, obnoxious burst of cheers and laughter. I could distinctly hear Niall’s Irish accent shouting over the commotion. Something told me he’d probably drawn that last king.

Snorting softly, I shook my head and looked back up across the kitchen to find Harry still standing next to the island observing me.

“God,” I huffed out, “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

“Don’t think I am either.”

I gave him an unimpressed look. “You’re not drunk at all.”

“Maybe not,” Harry shrugged with a small grin, “but if we’re being honest, I don’t think anyone here is drunk enough to deal with the two of them.”

“Probably not,” I agreed just as I heard Louis hollering at Niall to keep chugging. “But you don’t have to drag one of them home and deal with them puking all over your breakfast in the morning.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

I touched one shoulder to my ear, “Nothing new. He does it for me so I figure it’s only fair to return the favor, yeah?”

He nodded once, letting another half a second silence pass before bringing his hand up to his lip and staring over at me.

“Can I ask you something, Adriana?”

“Oh, um,” I mumbled, a bit taken back, “Sure, I guess.”

“Why did you stop drinking after the ping pong game?”

Averting my eyes down to the now wrinkled fabric of my skirt, I scuffed my heeled bootie over the tile and sucked my lip between my teeth.

I’d been expecting him to bring it up. It was obvious he’d noticed from sitting next to me on the couch, I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to answer him. Mostly because I wasn’t very proud of the answer myself. And whether that was because I was ashamed of what it meant or I was just annoyed that I’d let it get to me, I wasn’t sure. But I figured after sticking my tongue down his throat again, I owed him some sort of explanation.

I picked my head up and shoved a loose piece of hair out of my face, “I – “

But before I could even get a word out, a hoard of boys came trampling into the kitchen. I recognized most of them as some of Liam’s teammates from around campus but none of them even seemed to notice we were there. They went straight for what was left of the communal bar, grabbing the last unopened whiskey bottle and dispersing a few different shots glasses before popping off the top with a resounding cheer of what obviously called for celebration.

I raised my eyebrows across the kitchen at Harry, trying to ignore them completely.

“Do you wanna go somewhere else?”

I didn’t know what his reaction would be. I almost thought he might refuse, since the last time I asked him something similar, I ended up straddling his lap with my lips attached to his neck.

But I was surprised when I saw him nod, dropping his hand from his mouth.

“Yeah, alright.”

I allowed myself to glance back once as I lead him out of the kitchen away from the living room, by passing the game room to head farther into the flat. There was a lounge room I remembered stumbling into the year before when I was looking for the bathroom and it was almost deserted, just a pair of girls giggling with each other over a bottle of champagne in the corner.

Harry and I didn’t give them a second glance before I plopped down on the fancy white sofa facing the window.

“Why do I feel like we’re not supposed to be in here?” he asked, sitting a few feet away from me.

I shrugged and kicked off my boots, bring my feet up and tucking them carefully underneath my bum.

“Liam’s too busy trying to impress Tristan to worry about where anybody is and he’s probably had too many beers to care.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and relaxed back into the sofa, or as relaxed as anybody could get with his back still stiff.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Another silence took over, just the sound of the two girls across the room whispering to each other as I ran my fingers over back of the couch. Harry was looking at me expectantly, his mouth in a flat line and his body angled toward mine, waiting for me to say something.

I sighed and let my hand dropped to my lap.

“I have a class tomorrow,” I finally said. “That’s why I stopped drinking.”

He bobbed his head slowly, but stayed quiet like he knew there was more to do it than that.

Because, of course, there was.

“I didn’t want to,” I continued “If it were up to me I’d probably be about as sober as Niall right now. But when you told me you weren’t drinking because of your class in the morning, I felt guilty for not giving a shit about my own.”

Harry immediately sat up, “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

I shrugged and let a short dark, chortle bubble up from my chest.

“It’s fine. Not your fault I can’t be fucked to get my shit together. Should’ve done that a long time ago.”

“Better late than never, yeah?”

“I guess,” I shrugged one shoulder and kept my eyes on my hands. “I just feel like I’ve wasted time, you know? Been here for three years and what I have a got to show for it? A few decent grades and how to bullshit my way through an exam with a hangover?”

Harry bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees, cupping his chin as he turned to look at me.

“I don’t know. It seems like you’ve got more going for you than you think. I’ve read your articles in the school paper. I had no idea thirty five percent of the student body prefers skinny jeans over bootcut.”

“Shut it!” I reached forward to tap him on the shoulder. “Mrs. Perkins made me write that and I still regret even letting her publish it.”

“Still,” Harry grinned back at me, “It was really well written, even if it was about something as irrelevant as trouser preferences.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, sinking back into the throw pillows. “But what’s that gonna do for me later? It’s not like I’ve got any internships or jobs lined up for when we graduate. I’m probably going to end up shipping myself back to my mum.”

His smile softened sympathetically.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You seem like the kind of girl who goes after what she wants.”

“Oh, yeah?” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What about you, then? You got everything figured out?”

“No,” he insisted with a light chortle.

My expression flattened into a disbelieving stare.

“Alright,” he gave in, straighten himself back up again. “I mean, yeah, I’ve got a few options open for me and I know what I want to do. I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to get there, you know? Everyone keeps telling me different things and I don’t know whose advice to take.”

Nodding slowly, I bowed my head to pick at the seams of my skirt again.

If there was anything I could relate to it, it was being pulled in opposite directions. Mum wants me come back home and work at a dingy little news magazine in Manchester. Dad and Gran feel like I’m wasting my time trying to make a decent living off writing and insist I should go into something more useful and practical like nursing. While everybody else says fuck what anyone else wants because they’re not the ones who have to live with my life. The problem was I wasn’t even sure what I actually wanted to do with it.

But I’d already tormented Harry with enough of my issues for one night.

“What do you wanna do, then?” I asked, looking back up at him.

“Teaching, actually,” the corners of his mouth curved, “Primary school if I can manage it.”

“Really? Niall told me you were studying psychology.”

“I am,” he confirmed, “It’s just my minor, though. My counselor told me it’d help me get hired after I graduated, understanding human behavior and what not. He’s the reason I’ve put myself through Mr. Branson’s Studies in Consciousness course this semester.”

My head snapped up in surprise. “You’re joking.”

“No,” he scrunched his brows at my reaction. “I need it to graduate and he told me – “

“No, I mean,” I sat myself up on my knees, “You’re taking that course this semester? Because I am too. What day do you have him?”

“Oh. I’ve got him early on Friday morning at like eight. When have you got him?”

A satisfied smirk spread across my face. “Guess you’re gonna be suffering with me, then. And just so you know, I’m not a fully functioning human being until at least after ten.”

“Really?” Harry curled up one side of his mouth and angled himself to face me on the couch. “How did you get signed up for that one, then? Didn’t think you’d need any psychology for journalism.

I rested my elbow against the back of the couch with a small grimace.

“Technically, I don’t. But Mrs. Perkins suggested I take it so I could be a more “well rounded writer” and better empathize with the people I’m writing about – whatever that means. And the only class left by the time I signed up was either at seven on Friday night or eight Friday morning and I decided actually having a weekend was more important than my sleep.”

Harry laughed and reached up to tug at his bottom lip. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. Everyone tells me he lectures for most of the class but if you take decent notes and actually do the essays you can pass the class.”

“Does that mean I get to copy off yours so I can nap for the entire hour and half?”

“Only if you bring me a full English. I like extra sausage on mine too.”

I took one of the fancy decorative pillows and tossed it at him. It would have hit him in the groin if he hadn’t caught it.

“I won’t even make Niall a bloody fry-up and I’ve lived with him for two years. What makes you think you deserve it?”

Harry smirked and set the pillow carefully and neatly back into place. “Because if you don’t I’m gonna poke you every time you fall asleep in class.”

“God, no wonder you’re friends with Niall. You’re almost as infuriating as he is.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he chuckled in amusement. “But I guess you would know since you have to deal with him every day.”

I rolled my eyes, dramatically. “Don’t I know it. Worst decision I ever made when I agreed to move in with him.”

Okay, that was a lie but there were days I seriously considered moving out into a shitty studio flat of my own. Those days usually included Niall running around in briefs and refusing to put clothes on.

Harry diverted his eyes and cleared his throat awkwardly, “What’s going on with you guys, then? Is that like a thing or…”

“Oh god,” I threw my head back, “not you, too!”

“I was just curious!” Harry defended himself, “The way Louis talks about it and the way Niall acts around you… I thought…”

“Harry, I’m not interested in Niall.”

“Is he interested in you, then?” he asked apprehensively. “Because he didn’t look very happy when you kissed me.”

“I don’t know and it doesn’t matter,” I insisted with a huff, “because the last thing I want to do is date my flat mate who leaves cereal bowls in the sink for weeks at a time and thinks just picking his clothes up and moving them into the washing basket is an actual form of cleaning.”

Harry lifted his mouth into a slight smirk. “So, he’s not gonna come tear me one for being in here alone with you?”

“He better not,” I scoffed, “He’s got no room to talk with that bird he had on his arm.”

“Good,” he pressed his lips together, “because I actually kind of like this.”

“Like what? Being alone with me?”

“Talking with you, actually.” He glanced up with a small smile. “It’s nice to be around you without… uh…”

“Having my tongue down your throat?”

“Yeah, that,” he chuckled, running a hand back through his hair. “I mean, that’s good, too. I didn’t kiss you back just to be polite but I like getting to know you and stuff. You’re really quite funny.”

“Thanks,” I grinned back at him, feeling a bit of heat on my cheeks. “You’re not so bad yourself. Though I’m not really sure if you’re trying to tell me to kiss you again or you just wanna talk to me.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders rather smugly, dimples I’d never noticed he had indenting his cheeks.

“Maybe, both. But I’d really like to hang out with you again. You know, maybe when it’s actually light outside and there isn’t alcohol involved.”

I chewed on the edge of my lip, looking up at him. “My class ends at noon tomorrow. I could meet you for lunch at the pizza place just outside of campus. The one off of Langham?”

“I can do that,” he nodded, before his smirk widened even further. “You know, as long as Niall’s okay with it.”

“Urgh!” I leaned over to shove his shoulder with both hands, “I take it back. I’m not eating anywhere with you if you’re gonna keep bring him up.”

“I’m kidding, Adriana.”

“Good,” I grumbled, pulling back and crossing my arms over my chest.

We sat there in silence for a few seconds as Harry made a show of rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder. It was only then I noticed the two giggling girls were gone and the loud, thump of music still coming through the walls. It reminded me just how late it probably was.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” I offered, looking back over at him. “I should probably head back home now I have any hope of getting up for class tomorrow.”

“Oh, um yeah,” Harry shoved his hair away from his face, watching me slid my legs out from underneath me and reach down for my shoes. “I should probably go too. I need to be up at half seven.”

I snorted, leaning down to zip up my boots. “Forgive me if I don’t feel you. Knowing me, I’ll probably still be hungover.”

He chuckled low in his chest, watching me shove off the couch and onto my feet.

“I’ll meet you on the east end of campus, then?”

“Works for me,” I nodded. “Sorry, if I’m a little late. The Professor sometimes runs long if she’s not finished with her lectures.”

“That’s fine,” he craned his neck to look up at me with a small smile. “I can wait.”

A small grin broke out on my face as I started backing towards the door, “See you then, Harry.”

“See you then, Adriana.”

Still smiling to myself, I turned on my heel to leave but by the time I’d crossed the room and maneuvered through the furniture, I realized I still had something left to say to him.

“Hey, Harry,” I called, switching back around to linger in the doorway.

He looked up at me, his eyes wide and almost hopeful.

“Yeah?”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and jabs his thumb down on the screen, hanging up before he does something completely pathetic like sob down the phone for Zayn to just please come back, or tell him that he’s in love with him. Because he is, in love with him, that is and, yeah, telling him probably wouldn’t be the best idea.

But as Harry combs his fingers through his hair, grips onto his roots and tugs in frustration, he thinks about how he’s wanted to tell him for the past five years — nearly that, anyway. And it hurts to think about, feels like stab wounds to his chest, that it’s been that long since they’ve been a team and yet it didn’t feel like it took Zayn all that long to decide to walk out on all of them, leave them in the lurch, leave Harry’s heart in tatters.

Not that he knew, Harry tells himself. How could Zayn possibly know?

&&

Harry doesn’t know how him and the rest of the boys do it. But somehow, amongst the staggering amount of betrayal they feel, along with the fear of what comes next for this newly made four-piece, they do it. They smash Jakarta, they smash Johannesburg and they smash Cape Town. All whilst dealing with lead heavy hearts and the disorientating sensation that, as they manoeuvre themselves across the stage, there is a substantial amount of mass missing in the air beside them.

In particular, Harry misses the gentle hand to the small of his back as he and Zayn dart around each other, Harry always in the habit of bounding across the catwalk and smashing into Zayn. He pretends like it’s not on purpose, but part of him thinks it probably, almost certainly always, was.

He misses, too, the concerned pat on his shoulder and the bottle of water outstretched in offering towards him, Zayn’s thick, black eyebrows raised in a question. He, in that respect, always seemed like the big brother Harry didn’t want him to be. Because, whilst Zayn and Louis were losing their inhibitions in sweaty, grimy clubs in the Philippines with girls that surely weren’t their girlfriends, Harry was fisting the white sheets in his hotel room and touching himself. Sometimes he pretended Zayn was with him, that it was his hand curled around the base of his dick. Other times Harry just pictured him, thought of the sharp angles of his jaw and his cheeks sculpted out of marble; thought of his pink, pink tongue wrapped around him; thought of the brown pigment of his skin flushed red from exertion. Sometimes Harry came undone just like that.

But now Harry doesn’t even have that version of Zayn, the one that cares for him like family. He just has this empty feeling that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to deal with, that and the endless stream on his Twitter activity of people, their fans, asking how he’s coping and if they’re still friends.

Harry wonders if him and Zayn are still friends. He thinks back to the phone call, gripping onto his hair at the memory of Zayn not picking up. He didn’t answer and Harry doesn’t know if that means he’s screening calls, or if he just wasn’t near his phone at the time. But surely the latter would mean a call back, and Harry had never received one of those.

The thought hits Harry then that he needs to get away. Not out of the band ‘away’ though; he doesn’t mean it like that. Harry doesn’t think he could ever do to the others what Zayn had done, put them through the same pain and loss like one of their brothers had physically died. He’ll admit only to himself though that he had considered it, calling it all off, throwing in the towel before they’d even begun work on album number five.

The thought of that alone makes him sick — an album without Zayn.

What Harry means, though, is that he needs to get out of the confines of these four walls, painted magnolia of all colours. Get away, too, from the networks upon networks of people peering at him like he’s in a fish ball, jabbing their fingers against the glass and waiting to see if he quivers.

&&

Hi Zayn, just thought I’d drop you a text and tell you about what I did today. Not that I want to make you jealous or any

Delete. Delete. Delete.

Hi Zayn, how are you? I never heard back when I tried to call you. Maybe you’re busy

Delete. Delete. Delete.

I just climbed up Tabletop Mountain today in Cape Town. It’s pretty sick, can’t help thinking you would have loved it. The view is incredible. It feels good to be up so high. I wish I could get up even higher, above the clouds and all that. Everything is kind of suffocating at the moment. Guess it’s the same for you right now though, yeah? Everyone’s prodding and probing, trying to get some inside scoop about whether we argued, whether we hate each other. Sometimes I wish we had had a screaming match, Zayn. Screamed and screamed until our throats were raw, screamed until I fell into you and you held me whilst I cried on your shoulder. Cause I did cry, you know that right? And I wish you could have kissed it better, kissed me. I don’t even know why I’m typing this all out, there’s no way I’ll send it. Maybe it’s this view. It really is amazing, Zayn. You could’ve had this, could’ve had me. H .xx

---

He thinks about sending it. He really does. But he’s up so high and the signal is shit and when his thumb slips over the ‘send’ button, it pings back with a ‘failed to deliver’.

&&

Harry doesn’t think about the text again, not for a long time. He throws himself into his work, gets himself suitably hyped up before each show and gives the fans the time of their lives, fools them into thinking there’s absolutely nothing wrong, that no one is missing.

The reviews speak for themselves, describing the foursome as smooth and as strong as ever. Those words bring a pang of pride with them, hitting Harry right in the chest, because he is always afraid he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve onstage when he stumbles and finds himself seeking out Zayn, brow furrowing when he realises that, of course, he’s not there.

But he forgets about all that.

They start work on the album and he writes lyrics about girls he doesn’t really care about, writes about ones he makes up in his head. Never offers up ones about Zayn though, even if he has got a whole notebook jam-packed with songs just like that. Those ones are just for Harry; maybe just for Zayn too, not that he’ll ever know they exist.

Harry actually finds himself getting a bit excited for the band again with the music flowing out of them, realising that maybe they can do this as a four and not a five. All isn’t entirely lost.

Still, the announcement of their hiatus brings a sigh of relief, his lungs finally able to take in their full capacity at the thought that they might finally get a break. Because for the past five years Harry’s feet feel like they’ve barely touched the ground and it’s been amazing, sure, but it’s taken its toll.

He misses his family and, more than anything, he misses the possibility of a substantial relationship that doesn’t just stretch the month of December like a too-many-times-worn jumper.

Harry doesn’t acknowledge the fact that the one person he just might like that kind of connection with is long gone and, even if he were here, it’s an impossibility nonetheless.

---

Hey Angel. Do you look at us and laugh, when we hold onto the past?

&&

Harry’s pretty fucked to the point where he doesn’t know how many he’s had. He’s not sure how he makes it through the throng of paparazzi outside the bar, sees through their plethora of blinding flashes as he squints and tries to find a safe path to the car waiting for him. He sort of thinks he remembers a small, petite hand pressing into his back, but he doesn’t like it. It’s not rough and warm like Zayn’s, so the sensation in itself seems alien to him, even though Harry hasn’t experienced that man’s touch in so long — what feels like forever, actually.

And he knows what that girl’s hand means, anyway. They’re all the same in LA, the socialites.

To most, Harry isn’t really a person anymore. His name is an object, passed around to create a buzz, to somehow find some kind of common ground between two people, or even to instigate the upper hand. It’s a name to add on to a long, long list and, for this girl Harry thinks, it’s one to giggle and dissect over Sunday morning brunch.

Usually Harry would do the gentlemanly thing of at least letting her and her expectations of the night down once they’ve pulled up at her place, but he doesn’t even bother to extend that courtesy to her, muttering to the driver that’s come to collect his messy, drunk arse that she’s not with him.

The door gets slammed immediately behind him, and Harry doesn’t bother to lift his head, from where it finds itself securely wedged between his knees, to glance at her probably sullen expression through the tinted windows.

It probably would have been good for him, to lose himself in someone else, but he can’t trust that, nestled between that girls legs, he won’t be whispering the wrong name, a man’s name.

So Harry leaves it and drowns his sorrows with yet more drink, this time in the expensive liquor variety, when he gets back to his empty shell of a house. He’s not sure why it feels that way to him, though. He spends a lot of time here and it’s all nicely furnished. Something about this visit makes it seem hollow though. Perhaps it’s to do with the fact Harry knows he’s here too. Not just on the same continent or in the same time zone, but here in Los Angeles.

Harry throws himself down on the grey sofa, placing the tumbler glass and an expensive bottle of whiskey on the mirrored tabletop. The bottle was gifted from someone high up in their management, and Harry almost laughs, because he probably wouldn’t even be able to recognise whoever gave it to him in a crowded room. There are always so many people and Harry is selfish enough to always think that, at those events — at any point in his day really — he only wants to see one. The thought makes him feel guilty every time, because what about the other important people in his life — the other three boys, his family?

Harry leans back into the decorative cushions that take up ninety-nine percent of the sofa. He slips his arms out of the suit jacket, not bothering to hang it up straight away to avoid creases. No, he just pats around for his phone in the breast pocket and relaxes again, turning the half empty tumbler around in his palm. His other hand unlocks his phone, stumbling for a moment and having to retype in his pass code.

He can’t even see the screen at first, the world sort of spinning in his vision right now. He navigates his way to his contacts, though — eventually — even though a voice in his head is screaming at him that he’ll regret this moment of weakness later.

He’s not even sure he hears Zayn’s answer phone. He just starts speaking and then, somewhere along the telephone line that just barely connects them, crying.

---

“Zayn? God, Zayn, I wish you were here. It’s been nearly six months. Did you know that? Six months without you and I’m still not dealing with any of this. I miss your voice so much, Zayn. So so sooooo much. And not, like, your singing voice, although fuck. You know? Just fuck. I dunno how we’re doing any of this without you. Is it selfish t-to wish you’d come back? C-could you at least return my phone calls, or, or something? I need-need to hear from you, because… because. Fuck! I just do, okay? I can’t even say why, can I? I wrote it down…I was gunna send you this text, but I bottled it and there was no service anyway. I should’ve tried again or s-something. [Sigh] Zayn, I—”

&&

Harry wakes to a throbbing headache and a knock on his door. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa, because he wakes with a crook in his neck and an ache in his lower back. The tumbler glass is carelessly tipped over on its side on the couch and there’s a small damp patch.

He curses under his breath, but is ultimately pulled towards the incessant knocking of the door. He drags a hand through his greasy hair, curls turned straggly and frizzy in the night, then grasping on the latch of the door. He doesn’t register the fact that this person didn’t need to press the buzzer on the large gate at the end of the driveway, nor does Harry think to check the cameras before throwing the door open. He’s tired and hungover, maybe even still a little bit drunk.

When he lays eyes on who exactly it is, forest green falling on those pools of brown, he wonders if he really is still drunk. Because it’s Zayn, looking like he’s had about as much sleep as Harry has. Except, in typical Zayn fashion, he still looks remarkably cool and put together in a black leather jacket and a head of silvery highlighted hair.

For someone who had so much to say through texts and voicemails — even lyrics — Harry doesn’t find it in him to speak. His mouth has gone completely dry.

“So I got your calls,” Zayn says, pushing one hand into the tight confines of his skinny black jean’s pockets, the other’s thumb tracing along his bottom lip. “And your text.”

Harry’s eyebrows instantly pull together. It clicks immediately in his head — which is surprising really considering his current state — that he’d only ever sent one text across the expanse of the last nearly six months, and he hadn’t thought it had sent.

“What were you going to say at the end of that voicemail last night, Harry?”

His eyes quickly snap back up to Zayn’s, brought back to the present by the way the darker haired boys lips form around his name. He blushes at the acknowledgment in his head that he has always kind of wanted to know what that sounded like in a moment of raw passion.

“I-” Harry’s eyes dance over Zayn’s face, tongue heavy, brain unable to commute words to the useless muscle.

Zayn takes a step closer, although Harry hasn’t exactly invited him in, standing lamely in the doorway. “I need to hear it, Harry. I can’t- I can’t do this without your reassurance.”

“I-I’ve missed you?” Harry tilts his head to the side, scrunching his face up, because he knows just as well as Zayn that that isn’t what he wanted to hear.

Zayn shakes his head, tongue licking over his bottom lip as he thinks for a bit. “Nah, Harreh, that’s not it.”

She wasn’t destined for success as a barista, that much was certain. No amount of training and retraining could drill into her mind what button she was meant to press on the large, shiny coffee machine. Not to mention her wrist had the habit of making jerky movements rather than the delicate swoops and swishes necessary for flawless latte art.

The reasoning behind why she was hired then was pretty inexplicable. It wasn’t as if Willow even had good people skills; she could barely muster service with a smile on a good day and her verbal exchanges always seemed to have that slight sarcastic edge. But Maggie — the fifty-seven year old widower who had initially hired Willow when she was sixteen and on the sniff about for extra cash — took a liking to the spirited girl and had crossed her fingers that she’d grow into both her smile and her ability to multi-task. Neither hopes (or, really, miracles at this point) seemed to have come true, but, with each summer that brought the sun’s glittery reflection across the weir, Maggie would once again take Willow under her wing upon her arrival home from studying in London.

&&

Early mornings and having to interact with actual human beings was never going to be a good mix for Willow, no matter how many of her mornings throughout the summer break started out this way. She was adamant she would never get used to it. The only silver lining was that her uniform merely required an all black ensemble, and therefore she could trust that her fuzzy, barely functioning brain could handle slipping into a pair of tapered trousers and a short sleeved crop top with little to no hiccups.

Having to think about piecing together anything more extravagant would have been the ultimate struggle; enough of one that she’d probably end up packing it all in and flopping back, face down, into bed, anyway.

Maggie made things easy for her, which meant Willow could wrangle her fingers through her choppy, shoulder length, dirty blonde hair and toe her socked feet into the pair of scuffed up ankle boots, and trust that she would be out of the house in thirty.

Still, there was no way she could avoid the feeling of dread settling in her stomach as her feet stomped in the puddles forming between the cobbles, walking under the arch; the abbey’s green coming into view.

There was almost always a small congregation of people at the front of the shop, antsy to get their mitts on some coffee — sometimes tea. The sight did nothing to lift Willow’s spirits as she weaved through the queue and slipped into the back room. She begrudgingly hung up her fleece lined denim jacket and pried the curled up paperback from where it had been unceremoniously shoved into the pocket, before heading back out front and grabbing an embroidered navy apron.

Niall shot her a funny smile, scrunching up his brow and poking his pink tongue out between his lips. A smile niggled at one corner of Willow’s mouth, but she was resistant to let it fully take over her face, instead throwing herself down on the stool directly behind the glass case of pastries and cakes and cracking open her book.

“Another day of sifting out the goods, is it, Willy?”

Willow barely lifted her murky green eyes from the text on the page to deliver the dry look Niall clearly deserved, muttering under her breath how she’d told him at least a hundred times this summer it was either Willow or Will.

“Sorry, Willy, I’m already having a hard time separating you from one of the lads as it is.”

This time Willow did look up, curling her lip and snarling at the blonde haired arsehole who clearly thought his stupid jokes were something to be marvelled at.

“Still,” he continued, walking away from the steaming coffee maker he’d been labouring over for the past few minutes, putting together a rather complicated order for a wiry haired woman — Willow thought it looked complicated, anyway. “You do do the whole ‘sit there and look pretty’ thing rather well.”

“You fu-”

“Will, didn’t fancy giving another hack at the early morning rush?”

Willow glanced over her shoulder at Maggie who had just appeared in the doorway to the back room, hands on her hips, having caught Willow just about to pounce at Niall who was bearing to-go cups in either hand.

“If it’s all the same to you, Maggie, I could do with one morning where I’m not scared out of my wits that I’m going to suffer third degree burns.” Niall didn’t even hide his evident glee in poking fun at Willow’s inability to flourish under the daily pressures of being a barista. He grinned, wide and taunting, at her and then turned back to the woman awaiting her order. He wished her a lovely day as he handed her the two cups of decaf, swiftly moving onto the next customer with an easy smile and a “What can I get for you today, me lovely?”

Willow rolled her eyes, shrugging at Maggie and settling herself back on the stool, trying to ignore how obviously amused her boss was by Niall’s idiotic jibes. Instead she smoothed her hand over the pages of her book and reacquainted herself with Hogwarts.

&&

It wasn’t that Willow was actually wholly awful at being a barista, otherwise there really would be a lot of confusion as to why she was there and what she actually…did. She could do the straightforward orders when there wasn’t a heavily implied time limit by the way the scary man, in his scarily official looking suit, tapped his foot, and she avoided customers with their preppy glasses and tousled quiffs like they were carriers of the plague. (She could sniff out an avid Instagram user from a mile off.) But, asides from that, Willow could just about navigate the shiny coffee maker and she made a mean hot chocolate, if she did say so herself. And of course you’d never catch her ‘fessing up to it, but she also quite enjoyed the afternoons and super duper early shifts when Maggie would ask her to knock together a batch of brownies, or try her hand at some red velvet cupcakes.

After her near spat with Niall, Maggie had practically exiled Willow to the kitchen. Of course, she didn’t say it like that. She made Willow feel like she was needed, a vital cog to the inner workings of ‘The Grind’.

So Willow set to work on a batch of brownies that would be ready in time for the afterschool crowd and would, no doubt, sell like hotcakes (pun probably intended).

She wasn’t a culinary genius by any means. In fact, nine times out of ten the edges of the brownies were a little burnt (but she could just pick that off, right?) and the icing sometimes curdled on the cupcakes. Willow liked the process, though, even if she wasn’t the best at it. It meant being alone and if there was something Willow loved most in the world it was that.

To say she wasn’t a fan of people would be an understatement. She practically navigated day to day life huffing ‘I hate people, I hate people’ under her breath and, if she wasn’t physically uttering the mantra, there was no doubt those three words were whizzing around her head in an endless circuit.

There were few exceptions to the rule. Willow was obligated not to include family members, although her eight year old brother, Archie, was so fucking annoying that he may as well of been on the hypothetical list in her head. Her nutty mother, the brains behind their slightly abnormal, airy-fairy names, also seemed to enjoy testing the waters where Willow’s patience was concerned.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have friends, though. Somehow at university she’d managed to attract the low maintenance bunch that didn’t require near constant interaction for their friendship to thrive. She had friends she could sit with in her lectures if she so desired the company and, in turn, friends she could borrow notes off of if she ever fell ill or had to miss a class. Willow also had friends to go drinking with, to dance with, to smoke with, even.

It was just those intense relationships she liked to avoid, because girls in particular were so complicated and things always managed to get hysterical and confrontational fast, and Willow didn’t have time for that. Sure, it sounded nice sometimes; having someone to confide in, to giggle with over cute boys or freak out over album releases with. But Willow wasn’t really a people person and she’d seen the cat fights transpire, and it all just seemed a little bit, well, exhausting.

Plus, there was that whole thing of hating people. They always managed to irritate her, no matter who they were and she was the type of person that found it difficult to bite her tongue, so it was probably better for everyone if she just stuck to her gut and chose books over people. The people in books were generally far less annoying anyway, and if they did happen to piss her off she could always just slam it shut and cart it off in a bin liner to the charity shop with the rest of them. Or hold out hope that she could trust the author to carry said annoying character through a tremendously rewarding development arc. Those were usually the best ones, in Willow’s opinion — the ones that could change her mind.

“Aren’t you a little behind?”

Willow had been in her own world, transporting the brownies from the cooling rack into the glass display case.

She made sure to put the set of tongs down before looking up, not wanting to carelessly throw the utensil down and spoil the not too shabby baked goods she’d just about got done with.

The boy on the other side of the counter straightened up, having been peering at her through the glass. He didn’t seem at all uneasy about the half glowering half confused look Willow was giving him, slipping his hands into the pockets of his too-tight, skinny black jeans and rocking back onto the heels of his feet; a cool smile across his lips. His eyes darted down to the little bit of space on the counter beside the till where ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ lay, pages spread.

When she didn’t respond straight away, the boy conveyed the slightest inkling that he was uncomfortable. He pried one of his hands from the tight confines of his jean pocket to pull at the olive green beanie slouched on the back of his head. It appeared to be containing unruly curls if the ones sticking out behind his ears were anything to go by, but Willow couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by those details because she was struck by how oh so familiar he was. And yet she was having a hard time placing exactly why he was so familiar. What’s more, she couldn’t decide whether or not he recognised her too.

After an awkward second of staring at him with narrowed eyes, Willow folded her arms across her chest and said, “What?”

He seemed stunned to hear her speak; probably assuming his initial question had been long forgotten. “You’re, uh” — he cleared his throat into the side of his fist and then scratched the hairs at the nape of his neck — “You’re reading Harry Potter. Aren’t you a bit late to that party?”

The boy then pushed a smile onto his lips, though Willow could tell it was a little less genuine than the first. She was used to that kind of reception though. She made people feel awkward because of her blunt approach to just about any conversation.

Willow glanced back down at the book and then switched her eyes back to the beanie-clad boy, shrugging her shoulders as she said, “I’m reading them all again.”

His mouth twisted into an ‘O’ of understanding, nodding his head and then casting his eyes around the café.

“Can I get you something?” Willow asked a little brazenly. Her eyebrows shot up to match his when he whipped his head back in her direction. For a moment his eyes seemed to linger on her face, studying it closely before giving an answer.

“Uh, could I get a cappuccino, please?”

“Small, medium or large?”

“Just a small,” he said with a smile, the skin by his eyes crinkling.

“That’ll be two fifty then. Thanks.”

Willow was aware as she spun away, knocking the till shut with her hip and setting to work making up his drink, that he was watching her the entire time. His stare bore holes into her left cheek and if she was anyone else she probably would of gone red (although maybe that was speaking too soon), but instead she just found it pretty annoying. In fact, she probably would of snapped at him to cut it out if she wasn’t so focused on trying not to fuck up his order. Any attention not closely kept on the matter at hand would equal a little too much steamed milk resulting in a mini-sized latte rather than the cappuccino he had asked for. That much Willow was certain of; it had happened before.

When she turned around, not so briskly that the hot liquid slopped out of the small porcelain cup, the boy had his phone out, one of those new, gigantic iPhones that he somehow managed to dwarf in his hand. A smug sort of smile had wrangled its way onto his lips and she would later learn it was actually a victorious one.

“Willow Reid! I thought I recognised you.”

Willow almost dropped the drink, her eyes darting down to the name badge pinned onto her apron to check if it had somehow miraculously earned her surname too. It still read WILLOW though, just like it always had.

When she looked back up, she realised he had his wrist at such an angle so that she could better see his screen. She felt herself cringe at the sight of the Sixth Form leavers picture, her moody persona unceremoniously shoved into the far right of the group of otherwise smiling faces.

“We went to school together for the best part of seven years,” he said, a grin parting his lips.

Willow wasn’t sure she’d agree with the use of the word ‘best’. Still, she allowed her eyes to waver back to the curly haired boy and internally concur with her thoughts that he was indeed familiar. Actually his name, Harry Styles, had practically been on the tip of her tongue the entire time.

She’d left school two summers ago, so it was a little surprising that she would remember him; she hadn’t kept in touch with anyone apart from her best friend Hollis — a ginger haired girl who she somehow managed to tolerate (or maybe it was the other way around).

Then again, what was more surprising was that he, Harry Styles, remembered her. Willow wasn’t one to paint impressions, let alone good ones. Her hatred of people hadn’t exactly been a thing she’d developed when she’d become an adult; it didn’t fester from a cruel realisation that, actually, people sucked and that half the time they were only in it for themselves. No, it had always been ingrained in her, this strange sort of pessimism. So the fact that Mr. Popular Harry Styles not only recognised her, but also knew her name was kind of insane.

“Ah,” Willow said with a dumb nod of her head, as if she found any part of this a pleasant surprise. “It’s, uh, Harry, right?”

“Right!” Harry grinned wider still, apparently not detecting Willow’s clear disinterest — perhaps her near monotonous voice wasn’t enough of a clue.

“You were friends with that redhead, yeah? God, what was her name again?” He was biting down on his lip as he fell into deep thought and, for no justified reason really, Willow wanted to roll her eyes. She didn’t think she’d ever spoken a word to him during their time at River Avon Secondary School and the adjoining Sixth Form, which was probably a good thing because she was already finding him irritating and she didn’t think she could handle sticking out those years of education had they had some sort of weird acquaintance. Now he would just be a minor nuisance in her day; she had to believe he would be gone in no time and that would be the end of it.

So Willow decided to at least comply in their rather mundane conversation, forcing a very strained smile and offering up Hollis’ name in a clipped tone in the hope that Harry would stop thinking so hard — honestly, she thought he might crack open his skull trying.

“Yeah, that’s it! She came to some of my parties, actually. Was a riot, had a great sense of humour.”

“Sounds like Hollis,” Willow said, sitting herself down on the stool and reaching tentatively for her book, adding, “Your drink is probably getting cold.”

“Right, yeah! Of course.” He smoothed his thumbs over the cup’s saucer and picked it up, taking a step away from the counter in the direction of one of the tables; each adorned with its own low hanging light with pastel coloured, metal lampshades that Willow had learnt the hard way you could easily knock yourself out on if you weren’t careful.

Unfortunately for Willow, though, he stuttered, turning back towards her in such a juddering movement that his cappuccino sloshed over the rim and created a small brown pool in its saucer. Harry didn’t seem too concerned though, too focused on whatever thought had had him spilling it in the first place.

“How come you never came? To any of my parties, I mean?”

Willow’s eyes widened, not at all expecting the question from Harry. For one thing, she knew those type of parties were kind of an open thing, but she’d still never felt truly invited. What’s more, she hadn’t imagined her presence, or lack thereof, would have been something anyone bothered to notice. Yet, by the way Harry’s brow was twisted, and the glint in his eye that let Willow know he was genuinely interested to hear her answer, she was beginning to think that perhaps he did, for whatever reason.

With an unaffected shrug she said, “People aren’t really my thing.”

Harry made a face like he understood. “Yeah, parties aren’t for everyone, I guess.”

Willow flinched. She thought about not correcting him; it would make things a lot easier if she didn’t have to explain to him that actually she loved a good party like the next person; that wasn’t the problem, it was zero patience for the attendees at said event that left her conflicted about going half the time.

“What?” Harry asked with a frown, clearly detecting the battle going on inside Willow’s head.

She shook it with a fake smile, bringing her book closer to her eyes to begin reading.

“You misheard me. I said people. I don’t like people.”

Willow hoped maybe he’d find her answer too puzzling and just downright strange to bother continuing the conversation. She would welcome that view of her if it meant she could settle back into whatever the golden trio were getting up to now and not have to pretend like she was actually enjoying conversing with an old peer of hers; an old peer that, up until now, she hadn’t even thought knew she’d existed.

“Right… Fair enough.” Harry nodded once and then, much to Willow’s delight, went and sat down at a table, notably one that wasn’t super close to the counter and her.

She allowed a small smile to spread across her lips, stuffing her nose back in her book. She became so consumed in the world that she didn’t even notice Harry leave, didn’t hear the softly uttered ‘see you around’ that slipped from his pillowy soft looking lips.

&&

“Wait, hold up. Harry Styles?” Hollis only just managed to get her words out around the hiccups that were making her whole body jump.

Willow didn’t make a habit of day drinking, but when the sun was out and the temperature was hitting the high twenties the fruity cider managed to trickle very easily down their throats. Hence the fact Hollis couldn’t keep still for longer than a couple of seconds before a gigantic hiccup escaped from her.

“Yeah,” Willow said with a shrug, because really it was no big deal, she just knew that Hollis would never forgive her if she found out her best mate had failed to mention it.

“Is he as cute as I remember him being? Or did he get better with age?” Hollis leant forward with an eager grin, resting her elbows on her knees and pressing the rim of her bottle to her lips.

“I couldn’t tell you.”

Willow wished she hadn’t brought it up. Hollis could go on for days talking about boys and, sure, of course Willow could appreciate a good looking guy when she saw one, but it wasn’t something that genuinely interested her. People were just kind of disposable no matter how attractive they were. That’s how Willow had felt about people practically all of her life and it was pretty unlikely that that outlook would change anytime soon.

“C’mon, Will, even you’ve gotta admit you’d let that boy take a hack at your cherry.” Hollis let out a horrendous snorting sound that had Willow cringing, wrapping her arms a little tighter around her knees and turning away to hide her reddening cheeks.

Willow wasn’t prudish by any means, but the lax way in which her friend was broadcasting the matter of her virginity made her feel uncomfortable. She was sure she could practically hear the echo of Hollis’ insinuation bounding off the walls of the long, curved building known as the Royal Crescent.

She tried to focus on the other people congregating onto the stretch of green in front of the crescent, her eyebrows pinching together as she questioned whether she was too old for this. It had always been a prime spot for underage drinking when they’d been fifteen or sixteen. Now herself and Hollis were bordering on twenty-one; they should probably be rubbing shoulders with trendy people at trendy bars or something, yet here they were sipping from their bottles of cider, which tasted more like juice, and discussing the hairy details of boys that should have long been left behind.

“All I’m saying is, maybe it’s time to finally put yourself out there.” Willow had drowned out Hollis’ rambles for a good minute and, now that she was tuning back in, she was slightly disorientated as to what her friend was jabbering on about. “Maybe Mr. Styles would be the perfect choice.”

Willow frowned at Hollis and shook her head, a roll of her eyes accompanying the gesture. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Will, sex is great. It would probably loosen you up, to be honest.” She gave another choked snort after that and Willow was unable to fight the slight smile tickling at the corners of her mouth.

“You’re vile, you know that?” she said through a laugh, downing the last small sip of her cider and plonking herself back onto the grass, staring up at the sky.

“If vile means I know how to have fun then” — Hollis hovered over Willow, a very large bottle of tequila winking forebodingly in her hand — “girl, you’ve seen nothing yet!”

&&

In hindsight, going along with anything Hollis suggested was probably never a good idea. Willow didn’t even like tequila; it tasted like what she imagined bathroom cleaner tasted like, or something else her mother insisted on pouring down the drain of their kitchen sink. And now they were shit-faced on a Thursday evening and it was barely past eight pm.

Willow didn’t know it yet, but that was a very bad thing. Not only because it was sort of frowned upon, but also because Thursday was late night shopping and that meant there was still a good forty minutes before everything closed.

“I dare you tooooo…” Hollis hummed to herself, only breaking it off when she took a tentative swig of the bottle of water they had yet to actually pay for.

They were waltzing up and down the aisles in ‘Boots’ pharmacy and Willow was having trouble remembering why they’d come in in the first place, because she was almost certain it hadn’t been with the intention of playing truth or dare amongst the breast pumps and formula milk. Actually, now she thought about it, it had been because Hollis wanted food and ‘Boots’ did a meal deal. But at 8.23pm it wasn’t exactly surprising that there wasn’t much of a selection. Even so, they were still roaming the shop, probably out of boredom and due to lacking decision skills in their drunken stupor.

As they rounded a corner after pacing yet another aisle, Hollis’ eyes widened and Willow thought she’d been distracted from the matter at hand: thinking of a good dare for her that wouldn’t ultimately end in her arrest (because, lord knows, all Hollis’ suggestions seemed to lead in that fashion).

But, with the next words that came out of her friend’s mouth, Willow realised Hollis hadn’t actually forgotten at all.

“I dare you to buy two packs of ten extra large condoms!”

Willow frowned, her green eyes trailing from the excited expression on Hollis’ face to the sale end where, low and behold, rows of various condoms from a wide range of brands were stood, glinting at her almost as cheekily as that bottle of tequila.

“How old are you? Twelve?” Willow asked dryly, folding her arms across her chest and arching an unamused eyebrow at her friend.

“Nah, at least twelve and a half.” Hollis snorted, but Willow barely bat an eyelid, not that she thought the joke was remotely funny anyway. If she had, though, she most definitely wouldn’t show it. Her friend didn’t need any extra encouragement.

With a shrug, Hollis said, “What’s the harm? Plenty of adults buy condoms.”

“I’m going to go bright red,” Willow hissed as Hollis shoved the required amount of boxes for the dare into her hands.

“Look who’s being immature now,” she said with a triumphant grin. “Chill, it’s not like he’ll be able to smell a virgin coming or anything.”

“He?”

But there wasn’t time for Hollis to answer her question before she was giving Willow a somewhat violent shove in the direction of the tills. At which point, Willow came to realise exactly what Hollis meant by the use of that pronoun and, regrettably, she felt her cheeks warm almost instantly.

Before she could back away, she heard the familiarly cheery voice and she knew she’d been spotted.

“Will! Hi!”

She felt herself cringe as she slowly turned on her heel back towards him, pushing a ridiculously false smile onto her lips. “Heeeey, Harry.”

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” he said from behind the counter, his index fingers drumming against the surface as he eyed her from across the room.

“Yeah, heh, me neither.” Willow felt yet more blood rush to her cheeks, and she assumed at this point that she was probably functioning as a lighthouse.

“Do you want me to ring those things up for you?” he asked, albeit awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

Willow glanced over her shoulder at Hollis, who had sneakily tucked herself more or less out of sight, only peeping out long enough to usher with her hands for Willow to get on with it.

She let out an aggravated sigh, muttering under her breath as she stormed forward, squeaking out a small “sure” once she was standing right in front of the counter.

Unsurprisingly, Willow could barely look Harry in the eye as he scanned her items and popped them into a plastic bag. If the somewhat uncomfortable clearing of his throat was anything to go by though, she imagined his eyes had practically bugged out of their sockets at the sight of the condoms.

“Uh, that’ll be nineteen ninety-five then, please.”

She swore under her breath, incredulous that her dare should be so goddamn expensive.

Her eyes danced over Harry’s rosier than usual cheeks as she reluctantly handed over a twenty pound note, her tongue pressing against the inside of her mouth.

“Isn’t it gentlemanly of the fella to sort these out?” he asked bravely as he jabbed the buttons on the till and tucked Willow’s money into the draw when it bounced open.

“W-What?”

“Your, uh, fun-filled night that you seem to have planned. Shouldn’t he of, you know, bought the condoms? Isn’t that kind of a job the guy does?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t- I don’t-.” Willow gave a flustered shake of her head and grabbed onto the handles of the white plastic bag with the blue ‘Boots’ logo adorned in its centre, knowing she needed to make herself scarce pronto.

Still, she didn’t miss how Harry’s eyes widened, and then how his eyebrows pulled together as he tried to make sense of her erratic babbling. Willow thought that she had never wanted more for the ground beneath her to break apart and swallow her whole in its hellish crevices.

“Well,” Harry probed, “I personally take responsibility for that, anyway.”

Willow didn’t think it was possible to feel warmer, but now he was putting thoughts in her head she thought maybe she’d taken going red to all new levels. It wasn’t as if he’d even implied anything remotely explicit, but confirming that he indeed did the leg work of buying condoms had managed to put very not okay mental images at the forefront of her mind of Harry peeling one of the latex contraceptives onto…himself.

She was suddenly very wary of the fact people could potentially have secret mind reading skills, slapping a palm to her forehead to function as some kind of lame barrier from him getting inside her head. She took an abrupt step back and somehow managed to trip up on her own feet. Harry caught her, miraculously springing to action so he leant his tummy on the counter, arm stretching out so his hand could curve around her elbow and steady her.

“Thanks,” Willow said through an exhale, quickly making sure to brush him off and minimise the amount of time their bodies were in contact.

“You’re welcome.” Harry straightened up, smoothing his hands over his slightly crumpled white work shirt, a sincere smile pulling up both corners of his mouth. “Have a great, safe night,” he added with a weak chuckle and a wink.

The confession burst from Willow before she could stop it, her delayed reaction of smacking her palm over her mouth not fast enough to catch the words.

“I don’t do the sex! It was for a dare!”

Harry blinked back at her and then a horrible smirk replaced the smile that had been there before, a smile that Willow had admittedly quite liked. Well, actually, it wasn’t horrible — the smirk that is. It was just that Willow couldn’t help but see the worst in it and read it as condescending, or like Harry was relishing in her embarrassment and lack of a sex life. Really, he just found her oddly endearing.

Then a beautiful little chuckle came from him that made his shoulders shake a bit. “Don’t do the sex?”

Willow cringed, tightening her fist around the handles of her shopping bag so that the plastic cut into her skin. “You know what I mean,” she said furiously through gritted teeth, keeping her eyes trained on the surface of the counter between them, unable to meet his eyes. “I-I have to go.”

“Okay, well it was nice seeing you!” Harry said in that same chipper tone, which he had used previously to greet her.

Willow was too embarrassed to throw him a dark look, under the impression he was probably mocking her and the circumstances in which they were seeing each other again in such a short space of time. Instead she grumbled a “Yeah, totally, great seeing you too” under her breath and went to turn away.

“Oh, and Will? It’s not, like, related to the condom thing or anything. I don’t have some weird virgin kink, dudes like that are just gross” — he was doing that nervous neck scratching thing again — “But I’d love to take you out sometime, maybe this weekend?”

She was still so flustered that she barely registered the “sure, fine, whatever” that slipped from her lips until it was out there in the open, lingering between them like something that was actually tangible. And then she snapped her head up when she realised what she’d just agreed to, saw the look on his face, this big proud grin stretching apart his lips, one of the ceiling lights shining behind him like a halo.

Everything in her was telling her to quickly take it back, say she’d misheard him or some rubbish excuse like that. But that look in his eyes managed to some how get into her head and so she just backed up, stumbling uselessly away from him and trying to wrangle her head around how buying two boxes of ten large condoms had ended with her bagging a date with Harry Styles.

When she found Hollis, thrusting the bag of goods at her, her friend stared, completely shocked, at her.

“I-I don’t know if that dare just completely backfired on me, or worked out perfectly.”

“Don’t talk to me.” Willow shot Hollis a dark look before heading towards the escalator. In actual fact, she herself wasn’t sure where she stood on that predicament. She sure hadn’t expected to be happy about a potential date with Harry; she didn’t think she was happy about it. But she wasn’t entirely dreading it either, so she wasn’t sure where that left her.

Hollis let out a pitchy laugh as she raced after her, slapping her arms down on her shoulder as they descended the escalator. “Girls got herself a date with Styles!”

&&

When Willow opened the door to Harry on Saturday night, she immediately closed it behind her. If she had to go through with an actual date with the popular kid from her secondary school years, she could at least avoid letting him get a look in on her nutty family.

“Got any condoms in there?” he said before he’d even said hello, his eyes drifting to the rucksack she was hauling onto her shoulders.

Willow narrowed her eyes at him, which instantly caused his stupid grin to falter. “Obviously not,” she spat. “Thought you said that was your job anyway.”

Harry chuckled, setting his stride to match hers. “Touché. Anyway, how ya’ doing?”

Willow glanced up at him as they walked, her thumbs tucked under either strap on her shoulders. It was early in the evening and the summer months meant it stayed light out for longer. The sunlight danced off the curls swept back from Harry’s face, and Willow watched, a little mesmerised, as he swooped his fingers up through it, the top shorter and more fluffy than the sides that liked to ping out both behind and in front of his little ears.

“Can’t complain,” she said, flicking her eyes away so that she didn’t get caught doing something stupid like gazing at him.

“Well, I’m fantastic,” he said through another of his light laughs, shoving his hands into the pockets of the light blue, jean shorts he was wearing.

She didn’t know why she bothered asking, because he always seemed to be in such a good mood that it must of just been his disposition. But she didn’t think it was possible that one singular person could be in such bright spirits all of the time. It seemed to her to be a pretty ingenuine trait. Still, even with all that in mind, she posed the question to him: “Why?”

“Uh, I mean aside from the fact the weather is great, life can never be bad when you’re taking a pretty girl out.”

Willow had to use everything in her not to make unattractive vomiting noises. Instead she gave Harry an incredulous look, lifting her brows before giving a roll of her eyes.

“Does that honestly work on people?”

“What?” Harry quirked an eyebrow, glancing down at Willow. “That wasn’t a line! I’ve already gotten you to agree to a date, haven’t I? No need to waste gold dust.”

Willow snorted; quickening her pace even though she had no idea where this so called ‘date’ of theirs was supposed to be taking place.

“Hey, wait up!” he yelled after her, taking a couple of long strides to catch up with her, smoothly pressing their palms together and slinking his fingers through her.

“What are you doing?” Willow lifted their linked hands up to inspect, giving him a disgusted look.

A hearty laugh ripped out of Harry. It seemed to surprise even him, because he very nearly fell backwards, his free hand pressed to his diaphragm.

“I’m holding your hand, idiot. So people don’t think I’m taking my sister to some forest orientation thing.”

Willow was too focused trying to scrape her jaw off the floor to think about detaching their hands. There was nothing wrong with transporting all your necessities in a rucksack; every girl in the world didn’t need a handbag, and anyway her rucksack was still cool in its own right, made of black pleather material and rose gold accents. Willow loved it and it had cost her ten quid.

“It’s only, like, one date. Isn’t hand holding relationship territory?”

“You sound like you’ve had lots of experience,” Harry said, turning his face in her direction and lifting both his eyebrows, willing Willow to prove him right.

Once again, her jaw seemed to hit the floor. “You’re a bloody knob,” she said sulkily, yanking her hand from out of his and storming ahead.

“Sorry, sorry!” Harry ran to catch up, swivelling around so he was in front of Willow, haphazardly walking backwards and glancing every so often over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t slam into anything in his path. “I didn’t mean it like that, there’s nothing wrong with never having been in a relationship, or doing any of that…stuff.”

“Oh wow, thank you so much. You validating the fact that I don’t live up to some social construct has been totally reassuring, you are a real gem, Harry,” Willow said dryly, stopping so suddenly that Harry almost tripped when he realised he should probably stop walking backwards.

“You know what, this was a bad idea. I didn’t even want to come. I should- I should go home.” Willow turned back towards the way they’d come, muttering under her breath about the curly haired arsehole.

“Wait!”

Willow kept moving, pulling her phone out from her jean pocket and unlocking it. Quickly, though, she thought better of telling Hollis about any of what had happened in the past ten minutes and decidedly put it away, letting out a small huff.

“Will! Will, please.”

She stopped. She didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the way her name, shortened down, still seemed to take about approximately three seconds to get its way out of Harry’s mouth; more likely because of how desperate he sounded to not have this be a very premature, very disastrous ending to their attempt at a date.

With an over the top sigh, Willow spun on the heel of her boot and shot Harry an expectant glare. Maybe getting down on his knees and begging for forgiveness would do? Was asking him to kiss her feet taking it too far?

To her surprise he strolled up to her, came up real close so she had to tilt her chin up so as not to have a staring competition with his chest. She felt her breath escape her as he cupped her face in his hands, the pads of his thumbs absently tracing the line of her cheekbones.

“I’m sorry, Will. I promise to try and be less of a bellend from now on. You just kinda make me nervous.”

He stared, wide eyed, down at her, and Willow could see the yellowy, hazel flecks fragmented in the green of his eyes and she wished, oh heavens she wished, she hadn’t seen the way his tongue licked nervously at his top lip as he waited for her to say something.

“Fine,” she said, a little breathless. “But I’m going to break your heart if you’re not careful.”

He chuckled, barely registering the conviction in which she said it. He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her along with him, guiding her through the back allies of cobbled Bath.

&&

“What did you mean back there anyway?”

“About what?”

Willow lifted her chin from where it lay on top of her knees, her arms hugging her legs to her chest. Harry was sat beside her on the grassy bank by the weir, his long legs stretched out, and his hands behind him supporting his weight.

It was after nine and the sun was setting, the orangey sky reflecting in the ripples of the River Avon. Harry had surprised her by collecting a wicker basket from a café filled to the brim with picnic food and all the cutlery and crockery necessary for an outdoor feast. A bottle of red wine had been included in the basket, although Harry was quick to apologise in advance in case it tasted like shit; he’d had to go for one of the cheaper options, for he was merely a lowly student with a part time job in a drugstore after all.

Willow had giggled at that, a girlish sort of giggle that she hadn’t known she was capable of. But hey, she hadn’t seen herself going on a date anytime soon either, especially not on a date with one of the school’s so called finest.

“You said to watch out, that you were going to break my heart.”

Willow turned to look at Harry to find that he was already staring intently at her, one of his curls, that was usually brushed up vertically into a quiff, hanging over, pushed down by the wind, into his eyes. Still, Willow could make out the slight furrow pulling his eyebrows together and the curious smile that was just barely ghosting his lips.

“Back at ‘The Grind’, I told you,” she said with a shrug, “I don’t like people.”

Harry spluttered, rocking forward and leaning his elbow on his right knee that was now bent up. “You were joking though, right?”

“Uh, no…”

“But didn’t we just clarify you’re an anthropology student,” Harry said with a slight edge of disbelief. “At UCL.”  Even though he couldn’t quite get his head around her, he was still grinning widely from ear to ear, the way in which he watched her with a glint in his eye something that Willow too found herself puzzling over.

She shrugged again and threw him a small smile. “I’m a walking contradiction, Styles.” She meant it mostly as a joke. He seemed to find it funny though, doing another of those deep belly laughs that made him clutch his little belly. Willow couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sight of it, because his happiness was sort of contagious. Plus, his laugh was fucking ridiculous.

When his fit of giggles had subsided, Willow peered at him as he picked at the grass between them. He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, the tip of his tongue swiping across every so often.

“So why then?”

Willow was silent, lifting her eyebrows quizzically at him when he perked his head up to meet her eyes. She didn’t know why, but his lips shifted into another smile then.

“Why don’t you like people?” Harry clarified after a few seconds of confused silence.

Willow breathed out deeply through her nose, turning her head and casting her eyes over the river and the buildings between the bars of the railing that skirted around the bank. She contemplated his question whilst looking at a city that, for some reason unbeknownst to her, Jane Austen had hated.

“It’ll probably sound stupid,” she finally said with the slightest ounce of defeat, her shoulders caving forward in on her.

“Nah, I doubt it,” he said, then pausing for a moments thought. “You haven’t got daddy issues, have you?”

She snorted, shooting him a glare and then, unable to hold it back, bursting into laughter and shaking her head. “No, he’s probably the only sane person I know. He travels a lot. Alone, just seeing the world, you know?”

Willow sought out Harry’s eyes for some sort of confirmation that he was listening. She wanted to know that she wasn’t just spouting off about things that she really cared about only to have them fall on deaf ears. For some reason, she wanted to share this with him and she’d be damned if the first person she bothered to explain herself to didn’t even listen. Really, Willow wasn’t surprised to find that Harry was completely focused on her, giving a small encouraging nod for her to go on.

Her heart beat a little faster then and she knew she’d have to ignore it if she was going to get through her explanation, but it was kind of hard with him looking at her like that. She wasn’t used to it and that, ironically, was her reasoning for not being a fan of people.

“Um, so I guess he’s kind of cemented this idea in my head that we don’t really need other people to be happy or to feel like our lives are fulfilled. Like…” She paused, her face scrunching up as she tried to think how to put it without simply sounding like some pretentious loner. “People are fucking idiots and they’re judgemental and sometimes they treat you bad when you thought you meant something to them, if that makes any kind of sense.”

“So you got your heart broken?”

“What? No!” Willow snapped her head in Harry’s direction, internally kicking herself for sounding so defensive. But that was just so cliché and she hated that assumption that she’d be this bitter, twisted girl because some wanker crushed her heart. She wasn’t that easily broken, thanks.

Harry looked like he didn’t believe her, though, his eyebrows slightly lifted, the corners of his lips pulled down, desperately trying to conceal an arrogant smile.

She sighed, blowing up and stirring the strands of hair that liked to linger in eyes. “I just mean that this isn’t some thing that has come from being screwed over. I’ve never been a massive people person and the fact that my dad does his own thing has kind of stuck with me. Like, it’s okay to be alone if you’re happy and, most of the time, people make me feel the exact opposite.”

“But why?” Harry’s eyes were wide with curiosity, never straying from her as he leaned more into his side so he was closer to Willow. She imagined that, if he were sat down on a seat, he’d be right on the very edge of it.

“They’re fickle and I want no part in any of that,” she said, rolling her lips and offering him a smile that said it really was that simple.

“But what about Hollis? Your family? Don’t you have friends at uni?” The way he asked it made it sound like it pained him to think about, as if he didn’t enjoy the idea of her being alone, even though it seemingly kept her happy.

“Hollis and most people from uni are fairly low maintenance,” Willow said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And, well, you can’t pick your family can you?”

Harry smiled at that, just a small one, followed by one of those oddly melodic chuckles of his. “Right, yeah. I guess not.” He tilted his head back to look up at the sky, dragging a hand through his hair and mussing up his quiff. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth, biting off the skin around his nail beds. “What about love though? Relationships?”

Willow chewed on the inside of her cheek, shrugging and delivering the blow: “I don’t really believe in love in the romantic sense.” At Harry’s shocked expression, she continued, “The idea that we’re actually drawn to anyone for anything more than gratification and the innate need to reproduce doesn’t really sit with me.”

Harry blinked at Willow, his jaw slack. He rubbed his fingers along it, slowly nodding his head as if the gesture would somehow make this new perception sink in more easily.

When his eyes landed back on Willow, he couldn’t hold back the, “Fuck. That’s so depressing.”

Willow hummed thoughtfully, then brought her shoulders up to her ears. She didn’t know what to say to that, because she guessed it kind of was, but also so was the idea that people got so hell bent on finding love that they didn’t take the time to appreciate what was already readily available to them: the world.

“So is that why you’re a…virgin?”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, because wasn’t this what she was trying to say? People were obsessed. They tore themselves apart over it.

“If I’m gunna do it, it’s going to be easy. I’m not going to be one of those people that gets messed around, and guys seem to like playing games.”

“What about with a girl?” Harry said with a shrug. Willow smiled at that, because it meant he’d really been listening.

“I don’t really know where I stand on any of that. It could easily be just as complicated, because, whilst most boys are emotionally inept, girls generally care quite a lot and I don’t want to fuck anyone over because I don’t feel the same connection.”

“Okay, okay.” Harry proceeded to do his nodding thing, his eyes wavering away from her for the slightest second. “Plenty of people have one night stands though? Or, or friends with benefits?”

Willow sighed. “Harry, how many times have you seen that actually working out the way it’s designed to?”

“True,” he said with a snort. “But it would for you, if you really don’t believe in love, that is.”

She opened her mouth to counteract him in some way, but she realised he was right and her jaw immediately snapped shut. Instantly he grinned proudly back at her, one side of his mouth turned up just that little bit more that it caused a niggling sensation in the pit of Willow’s stomach.

“And are you completely unwavering in this…lifestyle of yours?” Harry’s eyes travelled over her face, studying her closely as he awaited her response, his tongue swiping across his lips and wetting them.

“Everything seems less complicated this way, but I guess something could happen to change my mind.” Willow brought her knees down from where they’d been tucked under her chin, crossing them and focusing on her hands that lay in her lap. “I’m not going to close myself off to things taking its natural course, you know?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Silence fell between them and Willow found herself glancing cautiously at Harry, the quietness seeming dangerous to her when, before, the air between them had been so full of him.

“So, you and me? We could casually hook up every once in a while?”

Willow was about to utter his name, bring him back to her, but then he’d asked her that and it had left her a little stunned to say the least. When her murky green eyes snapped up to his far clearer ones, she found that he was smirking at her, but it wasn’t the type of smirk that told her he was having her on; he was deadly serious about this, obvious in the way she caught his eyes hungrily roaming over her. It didn’t feel gross to her, though, not like the way a middle aged man, who really ought to have known better, liked to look at her on nights out, or the way boys her own age leered closer like she was a prize they thought they were entitled to. No, the way Harry watched her now could only be described as sheer wonder. It was a rich mix of intrigue and awe. And he’d already made it abundantly clear that he found her attractive, but that didn’t seem to cater all that much into why he was suggesting this. Her spirit enchanted him and, somehow, Willow sort of felt that same pull right back towards this cheeky boy with his curly, overgrown hair that really wasn’t in the habit of remaining sculpted up in a quiff anymore.

“Harry,” she said, already regretting what she was about to say. “I don’t want to hurt you. We can’t.”

“Oh c’mon.” He rolled his eyes, giving her a disbelieving look. “I’m not going to topple over if you so much as blow- I mean, breathe on me.”

Willow snorted and shook her head disapprovingly at him. But he had a point; she was being more than a little bit conceited if she thought her heart could handle a bit of fooling around whereas he — the so called emotionally inept boy — couldn’t. And besides all that, she kind of wanted to, even if the idea of doing it for the first time put a flare of nervous jitters in her she wasn’t prepared to fully acknowledge. Doing that made it seem like a big deal, and it wasn’t. She was meant to be of the belief that virginity didn’t exist after all.

“Fine,” she said, not being able to fight back her bubbling nerves as she visibly gulped. “But why me? Surely you could have anyone?”

She should of known by the smirk on his face that the next thing to come out of mouth would be dripping with arrogance. Sometimes he actually managed to surprise her with how well he concealed his gigantic ego, and perhaps that meant he wasn’t actually all that bad, but when he said, “Because I want your first time to be the best sex you’ll ever have,” she nearly — nearly — called it all off before it had even truly begun.

Instead of doing that, though, Willow gave Harry a hard smack to his bicep, enough that it made him forget it was the very arm holding him up and toppled to the side when he went to clutch at it. Willow let out an obnoxious laugh in response, wanting him to know just how hilarious she found his suffering.

“Ah, fuck! I was joking,” he said with ridiculously pouty lips, curving his hand around his assaulted elbow. Willow failed to stifle another giggle, although admittedly she felt a bit guilty when she saw the slight trickle of blood where he seemed to have managed to catch it on a fallen twig.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” She stumbled into action, scrambling to her feet only to fall down onto her knees beside him to take a look at his scratched up arm, trailing her thumb down the little cut.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Harry said, as if he hadn’t been whimpering like a small child seconds before, taking in a sharp intake of breath when her thumb grazed the wound. Still, he didn’t push her away and she could feel his eyes boring into her cheek much like they had that day in the café. Willow didn’t lift her eyes to meet his gaze though, looking with a perhaps odd amount of curiosity at the cut before sticking her bloodied thumb between her lips.

She heard the little gasp from Harry before she brought her eyes back to his face. When she finally looked up, his brow was crumpled, eyes zeroed in on the way her mouth sucked his blood off of her skin. When his eyes flitted back to hers, he blushed — actually blushed — and looked away immediately, sitting up and cupping his hand over the cut.

“What?” Willow smirked at him, straightening up and sitting her bum on the back of her calves.

“The cuts not that deep, I’ll survive,” Harry said, trying to divert attention away from whatever had just transpired between them.

But Willow wasn’t having any of it, pressing her hands down onto the earthy ground between them and leaning forward. “What’s got you all hot under the collar, Styles?”

He glanced over at her, his expression practically alight with the way he glowered at her. “Nothing. Shut up.”

“Styles.” This time she whispered it directly in his ear, crawling towards him on all fours to where he was sulking and nursing his tiny little scratch.

“Fine, that was hot, okay?! That thing you did with your thumb.”

Willow snorted and rolled her eyes. “You are unbelievably weak.”

“You have a very nice mouth, Will. Give me a fucking break.”

“You don’t see me pouring one out over your lips though, do you?” she said haughtily, going so far as to wink at him, which only made the tension in his jaw double tenfold.

“That’s because I haven’t sucked anyth- Oh for Christ’s sake, come here!”

Harry cupped at the back of Willow’s neck, slowly guiding his face closer to hers. There was a moment where their mouths were in touching distance in which Harry regarded her with that same level of intrigue and awe that he had before, wonder filled eyes pools that Willow thought she might like to bathe in. And then he caught her mouth in his, wrapping his bubblegum lips around her bottom one and drawing out little sips that made her stomach do flips and her heart beat irrevocably fast, faster than it ever had through any of the other kisses she had had in her short lifetime.

She made a little squeak at the back of her throat, and Harry chuckled, trailing his fingers along her jaw and coaxing her lips apart. He slipped his tongue in and she tasted the cheap red wine as their tongues moved with each other, and all she could think was that it was a lot nicer consumed like this, her hands smoothing up his biceps and ruffling up the short sleeves of his white t-shirt, immediately slipping to meet against the firmness of his chest.

“God,” she said against his mouth, pushing her chest up so they were flush together, Harry’s hands coming to the base of her spine to secure her in place. And then her hands were in his hair, tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck and, of all the things he could do, Harry started laughing. His stupid, ridiculous, belly clutching cackles.

Willow blinked when he broke away, her lips fuzzy and bruised.

“And you have the audacity to talk to me about pouring one out when you were fully about to lady-gasm in a public place. You have no shame, babe.” Harry grinned at her, his fingers coming up to comb back his hair that had been more than a little bit messed up by Willow’s wandering hands.

The gesture alone had Willow wanting to let out a pathetic whine.

“Yeah, well it had nothing to do with your lips,” she said, lifting her eyebrows triumphantly at him. Then she bit her lip, unable to stop her eyes from dropping and pouring over his chest. “But fuck me, Harry, you’re ripped!”

Harry’s lips spread apart into a wide, toothy grin, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her. She couldn’t even tell him off for being cocky though; he had every damn right to be.

“Why thank you, Will. I’m sure in due course you’ll come to realise my lips are equally as magic.”

“Fucking hell.” Willow shook her head at Harry, clambering to her feet and swooping her rucksack up and hauling it onto her shoulders.

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

“Yeah, it’s getting kind of late and I’ve got a shift at ‘The Grind’ in the morning,” Willow said, pushing her hair back off her face as she turned to look at Harry. His facial expression relaxed from something that might have been worry, and Willow wondered whether he’d thought she’s grown tired of him again. Oddly enough, she couldn’t foresee herself losing patience him anytime soon, not like she’d felt she might beforehand. He looked at her like she was this puzzle he couldn’t quite crack and, if Willow was being entirely honest with herself, she thought maybe she found him equally as fascinating. Put simply, so far Harry Styles hadn’t turned out to be who she’d thought he was; he’d completely obliterated her expectations. And maybe she’d find that, in time, she wasn’t who she thought she was either.

&&

Harry walked her home that night, his cheeks flushed a full blown, rosy red by the time they’d got to her door from all the teasing he had endured from Willow. Still, even after that, it hadn’t seemed to scare him away and Willow found that he still managed to grin down at her, hands clasped behind his back.

When it came to their goodbyes, Willow realised she’d never truly gotten to the bottom of his interest in her when he could just as easily bed anyone else. More to the point, she’d sort of pegged him as the relationship type.

Harry merely shrugged in response, rocking onto his tiptoes. “Maybe I think I’m going to be the one to change you.” He said it like he was joking, but Willow just rolled her eyes.

“Please don’t. My way is simpler.”

“And lonelier,” he added, giving her a cheeky wink.

“Can you be lonely if you like to be alone?” she asked, batting her eyelashes up at him.

“It’s too late for riddles, Will,” Harry said, leaning himself against the exterior of her house, his face a little closer to her like that.

As if in response to his own words, Willow noticed that his eyelids drooped, a silly, tired sort of smile coiling its way onto his lips with minimal effort.

“Mmkay, Styles. I’ll see ya around.”

Harry caught her wrist before she’d barely gotten her key in the lock, pulling on it so that she twisted back around to face him. He instantly swooped her into his arms, wrapping them around her waist and tightening them so she was pushed up against him.

She was a little more used to the way their bodies fit together now, so she didn’t waste time in curling her arms around his neck and indulging in the feel of his soft — and, okay, rather lovely — lips moulding against hers.

He smacked one last kiss to her mouth after they broke apart and then said, “Tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before Willow could object or anything else Harry was gone, his lanky frame slowly disappearing into the dark of the night. Willow let out a small sigh, turning back towards the door and letting herself in, unable to drag her fingers away from where they traced over the curve of her lips.

&&

Willow hadn’t actually expected to see Harry the next day. If she had she might have bothered to wash her hair. As it happened, her dirty blonde mop was a grease ball, thrown up on top of her head in a rather sad excuse for a bun. To add to that, he walked into ‘The Grind’ at a rather opportune moment. Niall and herself were mid flour fight, smatters of the white stuff across practically every inch of their exposed skin.

Niall’s complexion wasn’t looking too great, if it was any consolation to the fact Willow looked like she’d stepped into the afterlife.

“Hey, hard at work I see!”

Willow didn’t realise how hard she was grinning at Harry as he ducked under the threshold of the café, his much too long quiff swooping over slightly, until Niall made a thing of shifting his eyes exaggeratedly between Willow and Harry and then back again. Then he purposefully laid a hand on her forehead, a furrow plucking at the skin between his brows, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Hm, well you don’t have a temperature. How odd.”

“Shove off, Niall,” Willow said, giving him a not so friendly push.

“What? I’m just concerned for me friend’s mental health.” Niall shrugged, the picture of innocence. “God forbid she act genuinely happy and ruin her reputation as t’ ice queen.”

A high-pitched yelp echoed off the walls of the café. In the second that followed Niall was hopping on one foot, clutching the shin of his other leg. Willow now adopted the innocent smile, slipping out from behind the counter to greet Harry, although as soon as she didn’t have the wooden barrier between him and her she felt suddenly awkward and nervous.

“Hi,” she said, hesitating beside the counter, resting her elbow there and reaching for the paperback she’d brought with her that day.

“Hey, what book did you bring with you today?” Harry asked brightly, taking the initiative to minimise what seemed like an endless stretch of space between them, leaning his hip against the counter as he stopped directly in front of her.

“Uh, Emma. By Jane Austen.” She lost herself in mindlessly fiddling with the edges of the pages, the book old and a little battered; one from her mum’s collection.

Internally she was kicking herself for acting so odd, not her usually sarcastic and biting self. The thing was, their sort-of-deal was hanging in the air like rotting meat. Actually, it probably wasn’t nearly as horrible and funky smelling as that, but she couldn’t deny she felt odd, even if she’d told herself practically all her life that first times were nothing special or the sort of thing to stress out over.

The thing was though, she was afraid. It didn’t matter if Willow believed it wasn’t a big deal; the very stripped back, basic version was that something was going to go inside of her that her body may not exactly be accustomed to it. She also knew, from perhaps too many very detailed conversations with Hollis, that she could make it a hell of a lot more comfortable for herself if she wasn’t so uptight about the whole thing. But that was more easily said than done, and Willow was very much on her way to freaking out.

She didn’t want to back out, though. Willow had told Harry that sex was about either quenching your desires or reproducing and she still very much believed that. She wanted to show Harry love didn’t play any part in sex or a humans need to seek out a partner. And, if she was going to be completely honest with herself, she also just really wanted to have sex with Harry.

“Cool, any good?” His eyes lingered over the book’s cover, but Willow thought that maybe he was really just watching the way her fingers shook over it, his tongue pressed against his cheek.

She also didn’t think he was really interested in hearing her answer, so she took his hand from where it hung at his side and said, “C’mon,” guiding him into the backroom, ignoring the kissy faces Niall threw at them. She locked the door behind them and when she turned around to face Harry, he had an amused, give or take slightly alarmed, facial expression across his features.

“What- what are you doing?”

“Didn’t we talk about this yesterday?” Willow asked, walking towards him and placing her hands against his chest, gaining small tingles of gratification purely from the hard sculpted flesh of Harry’s chest beneath her palms.

“Wait” — Harry took a hold of her wrists before she could somehow distract him from his blaring concerns — “you want to have sex here? In this…storeroom? “ His eyes darted around the place, taking in the slightly dingy lighting and the narrow spaces between the rows of wooden shelving that held ingredients and pots and pans and utensils.

“I don’t care, Harry. It’s just sex!”

“Well, I care, Will. I care. And I refuse to do it in here with you.”

She pouted her lips, but resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a scalded child not getting her way.

Harry’s fingers found their way to her hair, his fingernails scratching at her scalp and causing a few more strands of hair to fall from the messy bun. When she lifted her eyes, she found that he was already staring back at her.

“Let me make this a good summer for you,” Harry said, rolling his lips as his eyes danced between both of hers. “I know what you said about not liking people or seeing things as these, like, important milestones. I hear you. But just let me do something nice for you, even if it does turn out to be more for my peace of mind than you having something to remember it by.”

Willow wasn’t sure she entirely understood what he meant by that — his peace of mind. Did it really irk on him that much that she might not experience things in the same way he did, the way that opened yourself up to pain and disappointment and a life of loneliness you hadn’t asked for?

She didn’t get it, why he couldn’t just let her be content in her solitude, though she supposed she’d let him in, so perhaps Willow had no one else to blame but herself.

&&

University students had ridiculously long stretches of summer that they barely knew what to do with. It was the end of July now though and the other schools had broken up, and Harry and Willow had to do more things in the evenings to try and avoid the waves of people pushing prams and hoarding their whole entourage of screaming kids. It was Willow’s worst nightmare and she had to wonder why she’d been brought up in such a touristy city? What’s more, why had she decided to spend the other eight months of the year in the country’s capital city? The words she’d uttered to Harry, about being one gigantic contradiction, seemed to echo in her head days, weeks, months even, after.

“So just because you do a sports degree doesn’t, in actual fact, mean you’re good at every sport?” Willow said through a giggle, bringing her hand up to her mouth to try and muffle it.

She was sat at the top of a skateboarding ramp in Victoria Park and Harry was trying — and failing — to find his balance on a rogue skateboard they’d found.

“Shut up.” Harry snarled at her and, although it was dark, Willow could see him trying to find her eyes amongst her dark silhouette.

“It’s true, you’re awful. You can’t go in a straight line for more than a second before tripping up.” Willow stood up, feeling her legs shake a little at the sight of the drop. She brushed her hands over her backside to get rid of the dust that had stuck to her skin from the surface, trying to gage how to get down.

“I’d like to see you try,” Harry grumbled. “C’mon.”

Willow rolled her eyes, but managed to slip her way down the curve of the metal and meet Harry in the middle where his futile attempt to skate was coming to an end.

“Fine,” she said, slamming her foot down in the centre of the board and, albeit shakily, managing to manoeuvre the thing for a metre or two and even turn a little.

“You could of at least pretended to be awful so some of my masculinity remained in tact.

Willow laughed, hopping off and bending down to turn it so she could come back the other way. She held her hands out as she came to a slow stop in front of Harry, and he carefully took her hands in his, slotting his fingers in the spaces between hers.

“You’re still pretty hench looking, don’t worry,” she said with a grin, allowing Harry to pull her gently along.

“Mm, thank you.” Harry’s eyes were trained on the ground between his feet and the tip of the skateboard, and the care he was taking to make sure there wasn’t anything in her path made Willow’s heart flutter, just a little.

“Harry,” she said softly.

He drew them to a smooth stop, only then looking up to meet her eyes when they were stationary.

A goofy smile coiled its way onto her lips and she gave his hands a little pull. As their lips moulded together, Harry’s hands came to hold either side of her waist, whilst Willow looped her arms around his neck. She had the edge of being just a tad taller on the skateboard, so she brushed her fingers through the curls at the side of Harry’s head, now a lot longer than they’d been when they’d first met, and tilted his head back, kissing into his mouth with her tongue.

Harry’s hands gripped tighter at her sides, bunching his fingers around the plaid shirt that hung open over her frame — something she’d stolen when he’d removed it earlier. He tried and failed — much like with the skateboarding — to fight back a groan, her fingers doing this tantalising thing of scratching through the curls at the nape of his neck at the same time that she took his bottom lip between her teeth. He was putty in her hands, whimpering as she soothed the sharp bite with the wet warmth of her tongue.

They were all sighs and little gasps of pleasure until, inevitably, Harry got too handsy and the skateboard slipped out from beneath Willow. Harry desperately grappled for her to try and break her fall, but she still earned a hard bang to her tailbone, the breath — that had already been in short supply — whipping right out of her.

“Fuck!” Her hand was instantly at the base of her spine.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. Are you okay?” Harry pressed his hands to the ground and manoeuvred himself off of where he’d practically fallen on her, patting down her body to check for bleeding or broken bones.

“This is why I don’t like people; they inflict pain on others!” Willow said, wincing as Harry’s hands found the, probably developing, bruise at the bottom of her spine.

“It wasn’t on purpose, I was trying to inflict something nice on you.”

Willow gave him a pointed look and rolled her eyes. She then looked around and decidedly scooted herself over to where the skate ramp began its gradual ascent, letting out a relieved sigh when she relaxed against it. Harry sat next to her, being sure to give a suitable kick to the skateboard so it skirted off into some nearby trees.

He also planted a feather soft kiss to her cheek, one that made a small smile creep onto Willow’s lips, turning her face into the loveliness of Harry’s mouth touching her skin. His eyes were so close and wide, sparkling in the light of the half moon and Willow found herself just gazing back at him, the throb in her lower back reducing to a dull ache.

Harry’s lips quirked at one corner, flashing a crooked grin that caused another one of those godforsaken stomach flips. Then he lifted his chin, just enough that he could trap her lips in another kiss, this time filled with more tenderness than the ferocity of the last.

Willow found herself losing something within her as they kissed, opening up at the seams for Harry as he stroked his fingers up and down her sides, her own hand holding against his cheek.

They still hadn’t had sex yet and they’d known each other — or, at least, been hanging out — for a month. It seemed strange to Willow, but she hadn’t pushed it at any chance she got because of what Harry had said about making it special. The thing was, though, she had thought they both wanted that physicality; that that was the only reason Harry was hanging around.

But he wasn’t rushing it, and instead they ended up spending the days they weren’t working their part time jobs together, and it shocked Willow, because she hadn’t expected to come to know someone so well. Up until Harry, that had always been reserved exclusively for her family and Hollis. She’d not been known to give anyone else the time of day. And she wasn’t sure what made Harry different. Perhaps it was because she’d been under the impression they were on the same wavelength, but she was getting that niggling feeling that maybe, actually she’d read him completely wrong.

And usually Willow thought she would of minded that things were exceeding far beyond what rules she had laid down by telling him about her views on love and her dislike of people. She thought that was enough to save both him and her the grief. She hadn’t known that for her, though, that grief wouldn’t be so much having to try and tolerate Harry, but what came after the unexpected fondness that was growing inside of her.

Willow felt that fondness bubble when their lips broke apart, feeling herself frown up at him. His swollen lips were parted, green eyes jumping from her mouth to her eyes as his hand slowly skirted down to the waistband of her jeans. Her stomach tensed and Willow couldn’t help but gulp. All the while, though, her eyes didn’t trail away from his face, shadowy but highlighted at the jaw and in his tightest curls by the moonlight.

His fingers popped the button of her jeans undone and slipped the zip easily down and Willow wanted to ask why he thought here, out in the open, was any better, any less disgusting, than the storeroom at ‘The Grind’, but her mouth was dry like sandpaper and, honestly, she didn’t want him to stop, not when she could feel his fingertips grazing over the sheer, pink material of her knickers. They went over the slight bump of the bow adorning the centre of the waistband, and Willow felt a sharp shiver run up her spine as he slipped his hand underneath.

“Is this okay?” he asked, and Willow saw the bob of his Adam’s apple. She nodded, giving him permission to continue, thinking he was a complete idiot if he thought she wouldn’t of stopped him dead in his tracks if it hadn’t been cool with her.

For the faintest moment she wondered if she should have been embarrassed about how warm and wet she already was for him, but then his fingers slid down her folds and she found herself gripping onto Harry’s forearm, impatiently urging him to give her more.

“Just a touch,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke. And then, like he knew it was coming, he kissed her hard, swallowing the small cry that was about to escape Willow as his fingers glazed over her clit, circling it in an anti-clockwise motion.

She tried to kiss him back, but her mouth hung open with each panty breath and mewling noise as his hand worked expertly within the confines of her knickers. It wasn’t long before she was bucking her hips, trying to grind into his palm to build up more friction. Harry took it as an incentive to press a finger into her, slowly thrusting it in and out of her until she commanded a “faster” through bated breath. He obliged, not yet in the habit of leaving her high and dry. No, Willow could tell that he was entirely focused on making her feel good, piercing green eyes steady on her reactions as he slipped in a second digit.

Willow bit down on her lip, anchoring her hands to his shoulders as she grew accustomed to the slight stretch, a deep furrow between her brow as another whimper sounded from the back of her throat.

“Okay?” Harry looked down with concern at her, stilling his pumping fingers inside of her. She nodded profusely though, wanting desperately for him to continue. He did, pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw, sponging more down to the base of her neck.

“God, Harry,” she moaned, her muscles tensing around his fingers as she felt something build in her centre.

His thumb began to work against her clit again, smoothing over it diagonally, whilst his fingers curled a little inside her. Willow’s thighs tried to clamp together of their own accord and Harry mumbled encouraging words into her neck, urging her to come for him.

She did a few seconds later and Harry was sure to catch her burst of expletives and sighs with his lips, stealing from her one last kiss before removing his hand from her knickers.

Willow’s eyes fluttered open, looking up with hooded eyelids as he sucked on his fingers, feeling faint at the sight of the tip of his tongue licking away her arousal from his skin.

“For fuck sake, Harry,” she said, unable to fight back the grin as she covered her eyes with her forearm, her body still coming down from her orgasm, every muscle in her body tingling with fatigue.

Harry chuckled, doing up the zipper of her jeans and curling his arm around the front of her waist. He slotted her body into his side, bringing his other arm around to support her head.

“See what I mean about you sucking that blood off your thumb? Hot!”

Willow buried her face into his chest, mustering up just enough energy to wrap one of her arms across his narrow hips and snuggle into him. She hummed her reluctant agreement and welcomed the vibration that thrummed through Harry’s body as he chuckled.

She wouldn’t realise she’d fallen asleep until Harry woke her with a press of his lips to her forehead, telling her it was getting late and that he’d drop her home. For now, she was lulled to sleep by the motion of Harry’s chest rising and falling and the suddenly sky rocketing expectations of actually sleeping with him. They were the sort of dreams she didn’t usually allow herself to have.

&&

When they did finally have sex, Harry rented a canal boat and decked it out in candles. Well, they were the sort of candles that had battery powered bulbs and a switch, because he didn’t want to risk setting the whole place on fire. There were fairylights too, and lots of plush pillows and blankets, because the bed that came with the boat was narrow and bit gross looking.

He was careful with her, asking her periodically if what he was doing was okay, whether it hurt or if she was uncomfortable. There were awkward moments by the abundance too, and they were left practically battered and bruised from head to toe from the amount of times they’d banged their heads on the low ceilings and knocked elbows against the counter and bed on either side of the narrow walkway passage.

But it was good; painful as Willow had suspected in places, but Harry had been attentive, going slow at first no matter how much it pained him to do so, allowing her to feel in control of the situation so she was more relaxed. He surprised her sometimes though, wiggling his hips a certain way when he thrust into her so he hit a new, sweeter spot that had the air completely vacating her lungs.

Sometimes he managed to take her mind off the slight discomfort too, planting his mouth all over her naked body in ways he hadn’t been able to before when they’d been fully clothed. She liked how his tongue darted from his mouth to lap against her breast, particularly liked the way his lips wrapped around one of her nipples so that she moaned and her walls tightened around his length.

She liked the noises he made too. She was able to focus on them a little more the second and third time in that boat, his moans and groans music to her ears, especially when her full first name slipped from his mouth, the two syllables staggered.

The “oh God, Will” that he came into the habit of saying was equally as lovely. Willow liked to reward him by grinding her hipbones against his when they met and tugging at his hair, knotting her fingers into the mane of curls that were getting more and more wild as the days went on.

They spent most of that weekend on the canal boat with barely any clothes on, wrapped up in their toe curling activities and going beyond the getting to know each other they’d been doing beforehand.

Harry also talked animatedly about a party he was thinking of throwing at the end of summer, getting all their (read: his) school chums together for one last gathering before they went their separate ways back to uni. He’d even managed to rope Willow into agreeing to come, even though it was basically everything she attested to in life. For Harry, though, she thought she might be able to and she tried not to think too much about what that might mean.

Ignorance, after all, was bliss and everything was perfect.

Until it apparently wasn’t.

&&

I love you.

Not two weeks later, when August was all but a thing of the past, Harry uttered those three words, followed by the two syllables of her name.

And suddenly, just like that, things were the kind of complicated Willow liked to avoid.

He was too close; it was going to hurt.

&&

“I don’t get it, what’s the problem?”

Hollis was sat opposite Willow in a café that was very obviously not ‘the Grind’. Willow had got into the habit of not being there any longer than her working hours required, afraid she’d be caught out by a stupid, curly haired boy with his loose lips.

“He said he loved me, Hollis,” Willow said, curling her fingers around a mug of steaming hot tea.

In typical English summer fashion it was lashing down with rain outside and, although it wasn’t exactly cold, it was cool enough that Willow felt the need to anchor herself to her mug and let it warm through her bones.

“Right, and?” Hollis lifted her eyebrows, giving Willow a look like she thought she was completely barking mad.

“I- I don’t love him. I’m not a people person, you know that.” Her eyes dropped to the brown liquid in her cup, feeling suddenly embarrassed discussing this even though she didn’t quite know why.

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Hollis said, the harshness of her tone making Willow jump up in her seat.

“It’s not-”

“Willow, it’s complete horseshit and you know it.” Hollis was clearly not in the mood to deal with her friend, who she thought was being a complete idiot, by the way. “Fair enough you thought maybe you’d be like your dad and go diddy-daddling across the world, being all content in your soul or whatever, but clearly that’s not the case. Because you met someone who’s fucking mad about you, Willow, and you might not want to admit it yet, but I think you’re pretty bloody mad about him too. That, or just mad all on its own.”

“Love though?” Willow sighed, her eyes scanning around the room and landing on the girl behind the counter, who couldn’t be much younger than her, just so happening to be serving a boy with blonde ringlets. She immediately snapped her head back down to her tea, blinking back the wetness forming in her eyes. “I’m not sure I can get my head around that.”

“Fine, maybe not love. But a connection. You have a connection with him, Willow. Surely that’s obvious to you. I’ve barely seen you since you two started hanging out, and Niall said you’ve been taking on less overtime at ‘The Grind’.”

Willow flitted her eyes up to meet Hollis’, shooting her a glare. “You’ve talked to Niall of all people about this?”

Hollis rolled her eyes, clearly not intimidated by her friend’s dangerous glower. “Not in so many words. I went in for coffee a couple weeks ago and was surprised to see that, for once in your life, you weren’t there spilling shit everywhere and burning things!”

Willow scoffed, but didn’t deny that that was a very accurate image of her work ethic at Maggie’s café.

“So what are you going to do?”

Willow glanced back up at her and shrugged.

“He’s got that party the first weekend of September. You could go, talk to him, apologise. Make sweet, sweet love.” Willow frowned at that and Hollis blinked innocently back. “Or connect. I don’t fucking know what you kids do these days.”

They both snorted at that and Hollis may or may not of made a comment about how long it had been since her last.

“Maybe I should do myself a favour and fuck Niall.”

“Ugh, no. He probably has sex like he makes coffee,” Willow said, lips forming into a grim line as she shuddered.

“How does he make coffee?”

“Quickly.”

The two of them burst into a chorus of cackles, causing a few people nearby to turn their heads and stare.

“Maybe not then,” Hollis said, tears of laughter spilling down her cheeks, her hands holding at her stomach. Both hands, Willow noticed; not just the one like Harry.

&&

Willow wasn’t at the party long. She left quickly when she caught sight of Harry trapped by the fridge in his kitchen with a girl, one of those pretty ones that everyone had known in their school years.

She left Hollis there, reassuring her that she’d be fine walking home and that she should stay and enjoy herself. They parted with the promise that Willow would come by later with her car and pick her up if she needed a ride.

It turned out that Hollis would sadly be leaving the party alone, sending a slightly frustrated text that, aside from Harry Styles, everyone who had been someone at school had clearly peaked far too early. So Willow pulled up outside Harry’s house, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel and keeping her eyes peeled on the front door that periodically opened and closed as people left in dribs and drabs.

At one point, when Willow had been looking down at her phone and composing a ‘Where are you?’ message to Hollis, a throng of boys had emerged from the house and one knocked their knuckles against the driver’s side window.

Willow startled in her seat, phone nearly slipping out of her hands. When she shot her head up to see who had scared the living daylights out of her, she saw Harry’s curly head of hair, lips formed into a neutral line.

She quickly wound the window down, rolling her lips in anticipation for what he’d say.

“Hey,” she said, her voice coming out a little croaky.

For a moment Harry just blinked back at her, his hand curved against the roof of her car. She realised then that that was probably all that was keeping him vertical, his eyes glazed over and his breath smelling distinctly of alcohol.

Willow sighed. “Harry, you’re drunk. You should probably go ins-”

“Why’di’n’t you come?”

“What?”

Harry tried to straighten up a bit, but ended up pushing his other hand against the side of her car too to keep his balance, making the whole thing jerk. “Why…didn’t you come? To my party?”

“I- I di-”

“And don’t say ‘cause ya don’t like peeople, ‘cause y-ya liked me, I know it.”

Willow sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed. The frankness with which Harry spoke scared her. Perhaps this was one of the reasons she didn’t really like big parties, with people she barely knew; couldn’t even really tolerate. Alcohol made people honest and abrasive and right now she was a little afraid of what this drunk, slightly vulnerable Harry would say.

Thankfully Hollis interrupted them before she had to muster up something of worth to say.

“Wassup, hooligans!” She slid into the passenger seat beside Willow, fluffing her hair and then tilting her head to the side to wave, albeit a little flamboyantly, at Harry. “Hey Harry! Great party, mate!”

“Thanks, Hol. At least one of you could make it,” Harry said, flicking his gaze back to Willow and giving her a purposeful look. She cringed away from him, turning her head to focus on the road straight ahead.

Her mind was a bit of a mess and she didn’t think she could sort this out, not right now, not when Harry was in this state. So she turned the key in the ignition, letting the engine hum to life.

“What’re you on about, Harold?” Hollis slurred. “Our girl was here and you were too busy wasting your time with some other chick. Sure she’s a beaut and all, but I have to stand by the fact Willow is number one in all circumstances.”

“Hollis,” Willow hissed under her breath.

“Apart from if we were ever to go head to head for man, in which case I am definitely my own number one! But hoes before bros and all that.”

Willow exhaled out through her nose, putting her foot down on the pedal. Harry bounced back onto the pavement as the car came to life, zipping down the country lanes away from what probably could have been the scariest conversation Willow had ever had in her life.

&&

She had about half an hour before her train left and Willow was in desperate need of tampons. It definitely wasn’t something she could manage without on the hour and a half to two-hour train journey back to London Paddington. She rushed, suitcase in tow, towards the ‘Boots’ in South Gate, her hair whipping off her face as she stepped through the door and the air conditioning hit her.

It was clear when she got to the counter — spluttering out a “hi’” and depositing the box on the counter whilst also trying to twist her rucksack around to locate her purse — that she obviously hadn’t thought to look out for him.

“Will.”

Her head snapped up, the strap of her bag sagging down her arm so the whole thing fell from her back, wrenching her down.

“Harry. Hi.” The words came out breathless as Willow tried to quickly right her bag, purse now open and ready in her hand.

Harry swallowed, taking a hold of the box of tampons, eyes dropping down to it as he went to scan it through. He found himself blushing, rolling his eyes and smirking at Willow. Why this always seemed to happen to the two of them she didn’t know.

Although he seemed amused, Willow found it difficult to actually muster up light laughter, hyperaware of the fact they hadn’t spoken since his party — if that could even be considered as a real conversation.

“Look,” Harry said, lifting his eyes to meet Willow’s. She couldn’t pinpoint that same curiosity anymore and she didn’t want to acknowledge how that made her feel like her stomach was bottoming out. “I just wanted you to know there no girl. I mean, what you saw, we were just talking.”

“Harry, it’s fine. It doesn’t even matter, really. You shouldn’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Harry shook his head at her. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t go back in there and find someone who was willing to...to…”

She flinched at his admission, her heart aching in her chest. Because she cared, oh god she cared, whether he wanted to be intimate with someone else that wasn’t her or not. Her head was stuck on him and she was just as fucked up as the rest of them over whether he liked her anymore or whether she’d screwed it up for good. And it was just as painful as Willow had always imagined it would be, but she’d also never felt so attuned to life and the world than she did now — now that she was experiencing these intense set of emotions.

She had missed Harry and she would probably keep missing him for a while after. She would miss him when she was tucked away in the corner of a busy café on rainy London days with her pumpkin spiced late, thinking about that moment with Hollis, back in Bath, when she’d reconsidered the concept of love. She would miss him when her steps stuttered to a stop walking along the Thames on Southbank, watching as a couple of tourists cuddled closer to get the perfect snap of Big Ben behind them. And she would miss him when some nosey sod asked her, right before a lecture, why she was only just now reading Harry Potter.

Harry — Styles, that is — looked back at her now with shame in his eyes and he held on a little too long to the plastic bag with her shopping, not allowing her to take it straight away.

“I’ve got a train to catch, Harry. Please.”

Completed

Boys Don’t Cry by Oxygenstyles (Art Harry/OFC) Where to even begin on Boys Don’t Cry. It has everything our young hearts crave. The story involves a lot of laughter, a lot of tears, a lot of love and a lot of character development. Boys Don’t cry is a story that means a lot to me because I’ve never related to any character more than I related to Harry. Since the story is completely written in Isabel’s POV readers often found themselves misunderstanding Harry, which seemed ridiculous to me because I felt like I knew him better than I knew my back pocket in my favourite pair of jeans. I’ve never seen an ending as planned out as this one and that’s why Boys Don’t cry is at the top of this list. (I also wrote a 17k drabble which can be found here on Harry’s brother’s life, but don’t worry about it unless you read bdc.)

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Sugar on The Asphalt by justanchorandhope (famous-grumpy Harry/OFC) Sugar on the Asphalt is one of these stories I’ve read over and over and over again and still can’t get enough of. Grace is the kind of person you’d either hate or absolutely adore. From the second Grace made her grand entrance in Harry’s life, I fell in love with her. I remember being in class last year and thinking “I wish I was more like Grace” and you know they say “be the change you want to see.” And so I started to take small steps to eventually become more like Grace and I can promise you I’ve become happier. I’ve gone through a lot of smiles and a lot of heartaches while reading this store. Ashley is an incredible writer and I can’t wait for her to get published, even when we’re old and grey, I will scream when I see one of her books in a Belgian bookshop.

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Salute by bioluminescentwriting (Spy Harry/OFC) Salute is just purely based on angst but so!! Well!! Thought!! Of!! I couldn’t even think of an idea like Salute but Kath is so incredibly creative she’s unbelievable??!! Every chapter she just blew me away and I didn’t know what to expect to happen next. Every chapter again EVERYONE was in danger, from the main character like the 5 boys and Piper to the dog Piper was looking after. At one point during the story I really felt like TRUST NO ONE (and nearing the end that really lived up to my expectations). Anyway Kath always knew to get me at the edge of my seat and just read and take it all in in awe.

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Just Anchor & Hope by justanchorandhope (famous Harry/FC) This story is so so special because for once there is a true curvy girl and yes of course she’s insecure but she isn’t complaining about it 24/7 and never doing something about is. Also, she doesn’t let her body define her. Eliza is a true independent strong woman and if that didn’t make me fall in love with her, then the way how Harry absolutely adored her definitely did. Anchor is such an innocent yet angsty chapter and it’s so beautifully written by again the amazing Ashley.

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 When we sink, we float (sequel to Anchor) WELL this one is completely different to its prequel isn’t it. Sink has emotionally wrecked me two years ago when I started reading it and I am still very unable to recover. Just even thinking about it makes my heart ache ARE YOU HAPPY ASHLEY. I won’t speak too much about it or I’ll probably end up in tears. Sink is beautiful and an emotional roller coaster. If you’re not ready for a lot of heart ache then just don’t even get started because this one is the worst.

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Lessons Learned by 1-directionforeveryoungfanfic (Angel/Famous Niall/OFC) Look, this one is so old and I swear to god no one even knows this story but it is so incredible. Lessons Learned was the first ever fanfiction I ever read and until this day it’s still in my absolute favourites. It’s based around the book The Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom so if any of you know and have loved the book than definitely give this fanfiction a read. It’s all based around 2010/2011 One Direction and has quite a deep meaning. 13year old me really really enjoyed this story and to be honest 18year old me still kinda does.

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Dark by Han-rawr  (Dark Harry/OFC) Again, one of the first stories I’ve ever read which actually made me fall head over heels over Harry. A few months ago I read it again and I’m not particularly happy with how Harry and Bo kicked off because Harry’s quite… scary? Harry pretty much forced Bo in a relationship which isn’t healthy at all but eventually their relationship isn’t abusive at all and is quite cute and still makes me heart eyes over them. Also, Hannah acknowledges the fact that the beginning of her story isn’t okay at all and that’s important.

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Uncompleted

Disconnected by afitzgeraldfic (Famous Harry/OFC) I recently got dragged into the mess that is disconnected and I have absolutely loved it. I relate to the relationship Harry and Charlie have so badly, the entire “you never forget your first love” really fits with me and somehow reading disconnected felt like a relief that I wasn’t the only one that carried the weight of an old love life with her, both Charlie and Harry did too. There were points while reading through the chapters that my eyes were leaking and I felt like screaming. (I read the entire story in one go from 10pm until 8am and if that doesn’t say enough about how addicting disconnected is then I don’t know what does.)

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Satellite Call by bioluminescentwriting (Pediatrician Harry/OFC) One chapter in and I already felt myself swooning over Harry, I think that’s what we call love at first sight. Liv and Harry are just the perfect team and they know it, add tiny Willa along and they are ready to conquer the universe. It’s painfully cute and I can’t wait to get more into these three cuties their lives.

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Res Ipsa Loquitur by bioluminescentwriting (Lawyer Liam/OFC) Let’s just say that imagining one direction minus Niall constantly in suits + snappy Cecily is what I live for. (Also Liam might as well be the best person in the world but tell me something I don’t know.)

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Tennessee Teacakes by justanchorandhope (sequel to Sugar) Tennessee Teacakes involves a lot more tears than Sugar did but I guess Ashley is known for her emotional sequels, cruel as she is, she craves for our tears. She’s amazing. I’ve found myself struggling what to say about this particular story because she just left me speechless. She creates one story with a million tiny little stories within without getting off track with the main one. She gives us the hope that (real) Harry will once find his one and only like Sugar Harry found his Grace. Harry would truly be blessed with someone like her, I think any person to find someone like Grace is.

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One Shot

In the Wee Small Hours by bioluminescentwriting (baker Harry/OFC) I’ve read this incredible story right before my final exams started and let me tell you it captivated my attention so bad I nearly forgot about my exams and felt so relaxed. It’s such a simple yet beautiful and sad story but that’s exactly what we should expect from our wonderful Kath who’s just the greatest person after all (alongside Liam, obviously.)

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I’m confident that this is it!!! All the stories I’ve read for the past years that really left their mark in my life! I am currently busy trying to figure out what to do with my own story and finishing the stories I’m currently reading while Nom de Plum, Forever Hold Your Peace & Vo’ke are at the top of my TO READ list!

Love,