QUARTER-LIFE | HS

MONDAY

It's not uncommon for Harry to have to wake Niall up on school days. He'll pass by on his way to shower, and return to see him still asleep by the time he's dressed and ready to go. How Niall makes it to work before the first bell rings is beyond him considering their morning commute involves a three-block walk and a bus.

It's slightly less, but still not uncommon for Harry to stumble into Niall's room on his way to the bathroom and see an always-topless, sometimes-completely-naked Daisy next to Niall in bed. If it weren't for her job as a cabaret dancer, and the fact that Harry and Niall sometimes attend her gigs, seeing his best mate's girlfriend's boobs would make him feel uncomfortable.

Her nude presence in the flat this morning is why Niall can't keep his eyes open in the terribly stiff and uncomfortable seats in the auditorium. He's on time today, at least, and snoring softly with his enormous head is on Harry's shoulder. His hair is poking Harry in the jaw, making him regret his decision to wear his hair in a bun.

On Harry's mind, somewhere amongst nostalgic feelings for girlfriends past like Jordan, Eliza, and Priya, are Ginny— specifically twenty-year-old Gwenyth Olsen (Ginny was her preferred name) in Harry's old Pink Floyd t-shirt, during a random weekend holiday to Amsterdam five years ago, arguing with him about ancient philosophers while they smoked a joint— and Anna.

Last night, her blue eyes were a peculiar green under the lamppost outside of his building while the two waited for her Uber. She asked if they could hang out without Daisy and Niall for a change, and Harry accepted her invitation to attend the upcoming jazz night at the bookstore on Friday.

She wasn't a philosophy geek like Ginny, not that he was comparing, but she was just as gorgeous and she did have a brain under her naiveté.

"I'd suggest, like, drinks or something, but I haven't decided if I stillwant to fuck you, you know? Don't want to get ahead of myself," she'd saidwith a fat, cheeky smirkthat has Harry hoping she'll fuck him anyway because he's sure it'll cure his irritating anxiety. The hole in his chest had become a wine-filled hum by the time her Uber arrived, and remained so until found himself spacing out in the shower this morning, forgetting to wash his hair but remembering the sound of Anna's chewing in his ear.

Harry's staring at the back of some bald coworker's head and idly biting the straw in his iced coffee, doing his best to listen to Principal Douglas finish item two of her "short and sweet" program for today's meeting. His palms keep clamming up the way they did last night at the park, a side effect of the 'weirdness' (as Niall dubbed it), and his mind is back to replaying his past to the tune of the bald man's recurring cough.

His phone buzzes with a Facebook friend request from Anna Blanco, which he quickly swipes up to dismiss, and a text from Stephanie Watkins, the Acting teacher. He's taking notes on his phone despite his inability to focus because if there's one thing his mind isn't tormenting him about, it's his job. Everything else has always lied on a bed of thoughtless impulse and self-gratification in comparison to his schoolteacher title.

Steph Watkins: Can someone catch me up? The little one had a rough morning so I'm not there yet :(

The only colleagues Harry talks to outside of work, Niall for obvious reasons excluded, are the other members of the "cool kids" group of teachers at school. Labeled so by the grouchy school secretary, Mrs. Tomkins, the six of them are the youngest faculty members and are favored by most students, which makes Amelia Tomkins' job a nightmare when schedule-change season comes around. Harry usually sends her flowers when it's all over.

He adjusts his arm to make himself comfortable under the weight of Niall's head, and pastes his notes into the group chat that Steph texted.

*New parking passes for the people that drive here. Pick them up in the main office. I don't drive so I don't care.