Aesthetically Vintage |Punk!H.S|

The Together Again

Chapter 37

I was thanking the heavens that it's was a rather sunny day today, because again I'd left my jumper at home and my umbrella. Not that I actually had my own umbrella, whatever working ones we had at home were for first-in-first-serve, if you could get one working the right way. Still, I was thankful the skies were clear until later this evening when it's forecasted there's a strong chance rain.

Amelia offered to walk home with me, but I tell her she doesn't need to, thinking that I'm still in my self wallowing, though I can't admit that I'm not. I opted for a pit stop on the way from my lonely walk.

The mechanic garage looked empty, no one was outside as someone usually would be servicing on a bike or pick up truck. But the inside garage was quiet, no rowdy ruckus coming for the double door shed left ajar.

"He's in there."

I jump abruptly, making an unattractive squeal. Liam, I think he's name is, stands with a amused smile in a copy of Harrys navy jumpsuit, only more clean and ironed.

"Sorry 'bout that, wanted to let you know that Harrys in there working on a clients car."

"How did you know I was looking for him."

His smile never leaves his face, "your his girlfriend, all the boys know that."

Am I Harry's girlfriend? I was. But he changed his mind and now where does that leave us? Where does it leave me? Some naive broken hearted school girl that fell victim to the bad boys charm.

"Thank you, uh..." I briskly look down at his left breast pocket, glad to see a name tag that co firms my suspicion, "... Liam."

"It's no problem at all. He's the only one staying back today, usually on Wednesdays we take half the day off but Harry said he wanted to finish up. So no funny business." He mockingly shakes his finger at me with a cheeky smile.

I softly laugh though I find it hard to find it funny. I wasn't prepared for a sexual joke from happy-go-lucky Liam.

Liam and I wish each other good night before I step into the garage. It's completely empty, a low hum of Pumped Up Kicks from the radio urges me to the sound itself, where Harry, back faced to me, is fiddling with something in his hand at the rear of a pick up truck.

I slowly walk up behind him, he doesn't seem to notice because he is still fidgeting with whatever object is in his hand.

I am just a mere few centimetres away from him, I contemplate calling his name but instead I hesitantly wrap my arms around him, my face pressed to his back, I feel hime tense and I know he's stopped fidgeting with his hands.

I wasn't sure if my hands were a dead giveaway, but he knows it's me. "You should be getting home."

"Not until you talk to me."

He sighs, or huffs, either way he's not getting rid of me. His own hands carefully grasps my own, loosening himself from my hold, turning around and staring down at me. His face isn't tense, it's... sullen. He's sullen and holding my hands, his right index stroking along my wrist.

"Weather or politics?"

I furrowed my brows, feeling the very confusion on my face, "what?"

"You said you wanted me to talk to you, we gonna talk about the weather or politics?" He's bland stare doesn't shift. He's talking the micky out me.

I hastily pull my hands from his, "if your going to act stupid then there's no point," I say ready to walk away from him and pretend he ever existed. Although I don't get how I could ever forget him but it's what I would have to, need to do if he wasn't going to try.