Fix You ✧ ((Harry Styles/Selena Gomez))

09. Hands of Fate

soooorrrrry this is so late! i've just been really busy and like overexhausted and sick. i've also felt a lot of pressure from my parents bc before we mutually agreed on where i would most likely end up at for college and then now they're disappointed in me bc im a failure. they want me to pick 'better' choices but those places don't have my desired major and it would be a lot of suffering for me which they don't get /: 

sorry for the rant and um i dont live in the uk (i wish though) so idk if this is accurate but i hope its not a stretch or anything LOL 

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Harry's POV: 

My fingers tug on the loops of my black jeans as I wait anxiously for the door open. I spent the whole week attempting to come up with ways to get Selena's attention, but I couldn't think of something that was effective. Everytime I just approached her at her locker, she'd walk away before I even get a chance to say anything. Sighing, I shake my head, running my hand through my messy curls, an unconscious habit. When I see a pair of feet appear in front of me, I tilt my head up to see my confused friend.

"What are you doing here?" Zayn clears his throat and I sigh heavily.

"I'm sorry about...whatever 'this' is," I gesture to the space in between us, attempting to apologize for the tension I may or may not have started, "I just get really protective over her and I hate not knowing something about her."

"I know," he smiles softly at me.

"We're good?" I glance up hopefully and to my relief, he nods, removing some of my worries. Grateful, I extend my arms widely, pulling my friend in an embrace.

"So...how do you reckon I impress her?" 

Selena's POV: 

"Thank you," I politely wave the customer who tipped me graciously out the door. 

"You're making bank here," Zedd teases and a light blush flushes my face. The amount of pay I receive is more than I could have dreamed of; I even have saved enough for some new art utensils, which I look forward to purchasing after work today. 

"What can I say? I'm a natural," I playfully reply and the three of us laugh when Ed joins our conversation. We lean against the desks with our arms casually folded as we simply recall how the day is going, telling stories about any peculiar customers. It was like gossipping with the girlfriends I never had but with a lot less drama and more chill, biting humor. 

"So, that guy really likes you, huh?" Ed nudges me as I raise an eyebrow, feigning confusion. I clearly know who he's referring to and I do not want the conversation to steer into that direction. 

"He's the son of the principal at my school," I blandly state as if that justified why we should not have this discussion. The red-head does not seem to get the hint as he's about to push for more information but Zedd notices the desire I have for the topic to be dropped.

"Hey, you've done enough for today. Why don't you go early? We don't seem to have many customers coming any later, anyway," he smiles warmly and nods towards the door. I sigh in relief and send him a grateful grin before thanking him endlessly. As I push the door open, I decide to go pick up the specialized colored pencils--I deserve it after surviving this hellish week. My mind allows my feet to direct themselves while my thoughts mentally run its course. As much as I want to not think about him, I don't have much choice when his name unconsciously seep into my train of thought. 

He's not ugly, I'll give you that.

But, it's more than that. Sure, he can be an obnoxious little shit at times, but he really does have a big heart. He just needs to realize that I'm a waste of his efforts and he deserves someone who can fully appreciate him and reciprocate. Sighing, I lift my head up and notice that I'm finally nearby the crafts store which just so happens to be next to the police station. An officer treads down the steps, causing the doors to swing open and allow some of the interior to be seen from the outside. Peeking through, my eyes quickly scan and make out the figure of Sheriff Linden Ashby rubbing his forehead at the front desk. He had helped us, risking listening and believing a bunch of young kids, to uncover the murderer of our families and even offer us a place to stay when Derek was new to the whole 'protecting his siblings and more' thing. I always believed and still do, that Mr. Ashby was a guardian angel sent by our parents to watch us and ensure our safety.