"You're clearly growing up fast, you've changed all of your plans. But I'm still the same kid you fell in love with" - Mat Kerekes
• • • • •
He's sitting at the bar of the restaurant, slowly chugging the last of his drink and requesting another from the bartender. There's a few other people around him but he's isolated from them, like a lonely, drunk island.
I'm not entirely positive if it's really him. It may just be my mind playing tricks on me since I've just been thinking about him. I hope it's not him while at the same time, I hope it is. As I speculate this, he turns slightly to the left and his eye catches onto mine, the briefest glint of green that I recognize in an instant, just before I look away. An odd, fluttery sensation fills my stomach, but I can't tell what it is.
"Ready for dessert?" Stanford asks after the check arrives at our table.
"No thanks, I'm really full," I say.
Butterflies. That feeling. I hadn't felt in so long that I'd forgotten what it feels like. What am I, a twelve year old school girl? I need to get a handle on myself before---
In my peripheral, the guy at the bar emerges from his stool and heads straight in my direction.
Shit.
"Do you think we could leave, like, now?" I nervously say to Stanford, rising to my feet.
"Erm, sure, but why the ru---"
"Jules! What are you doin' here?" Harry slurs when he reaches our booth. His mouth slants in an amused, cocky smirk. "You been followin' me, haven't ya babe?"
At first he looks exactly the same as I remembered, but with another look, he's doesn't. His hair appears more poofy and disheveled than usual. Patches of stubby, brown hair pokes from random places above his lip and along his chin. The color and twinkle in his eyes have dulled and under them are baggy, dark circles.
"Do you know him?" Stanford asks.
"I used to," I mumble. Then turning to Harry, I say, "We were just leaving. Bye."
Harry appears disheartened for a split second. Then, after a quick glimpse at Stanford, his dark, amused expression returns, along with a cackling laugh. "Not with this bloke, right? Look at him, he's an absolute laugh!"
"What did you say, fucker?" Stanford says, his eyes igniting with fervent flames as he rises from his seat.
Stanford may not be NBA tall but he's got substantial height on Harry. But Harry doesn't even flinch. Even when Stanford closes in on him, he keeps his casual stance, leaning against the table for balance. His arms cross over his body while he quietly chuckles to himself like some sort of maniac who's escaped from the hospital for the mentally ill.
"I'm not having this conversation with you," I say in a lowered voice, stepping between them both. I know he's tipsy and obnoxious right now, but I don't want him to get his ass kicked. He already risked that for me when we first met.
YOU ARE READING
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Fanfiction"Hold on a second," Harry says, suddenly coming to a halt. I stop with him and glance down. Somehow his hand has found its way into mine. "What? What's wrong?" I ask, shivering. "How disgustingly cliche would it be if we kissed in the rain right now...
