In which everyone has their own undeclared agenda and that is not all right with Fitz.
Chapter 22
I was going to throw up.
It wasn't just an uneasy flip in my stomach or a bundle of nerves gathered in my chest, either. No, there was actual bile rising in my throat, so very imminent and threatening that I turned on my heels on the porch and prepared to go home.
But the door flung open behind me, so I whirled back around to find myself face to face with Niall, standing in the doorway dressed in nothing but a loose, white sleeveless shirt, a pair of basketball shorts, and a green snapback.
"Where ya goin', Fitz?" he asked, his tone playful.
"Nowhere," I replied, pushing my hair over my shoulder. Wearing formfitting jeans, knee high boots and makeup, I was no match for Niall's very casual/barely dressed ensemble.
"Then why didn't you knock?"
His smug grin was both irritating and worrisome. Gulping down the bile, I asked, "How did you even know I was out here?"
"Saw you walk by five minutes ago. Figured you would have let yourself in, or at least knocked by now. You been standing out here in the cold?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Shut up."
"You're a bit early, too. We're not expecting anyone for another hour. Liam's not even home from campus yet."
For exacerbating my humiliation, Niall Horan was my least favourite person that evening.
While he waited for my rebuttal, I offered him only a fiery glare.
He shivered as a gust of wind passed us by. "Jesus, it's freezing out here. Are you coming in or spending the rest of the night on the porch?"
With a huff, I brushed past him as he held open the door for me, hissing under my breath as I passed, "Idiot."
I'd never admit it, but I was sort of glad Niall had found me lurking on the porch in front of his house – otherwise, I might never have bucked up the courage to knock. I'd spent the entire day in a state of bubbly excitement, knowing that I'd been personally requested to show up early by Zayn to spend a few extra moments alone with him. Nevertheless, when the time came, I found myself close to keeling over with paralyzing doubt.
I was single. He was single. He'd asked for me.
It was going to happen.
Niall closed the door behind him, passing me in the entrance and gesturing for me to follow him into the kitchen. Because Zayn was nowhere in sight, I obliged after removing my coat.
Their house was a boys' house, that much was certain. Flags of their favourite football teams adorned the walls of their common area, three different gaming consoles littered the floor in front of their television, and atop their kitchen cupboards were hundreds of empty cans of beer stacked to perfection.
"Now that you're here, you have the privilege of witnessing me tapping the first keg," Niall was saying. The boys had set up all three kegs on their wobbly wooden kitchen table, which seemed somewhat of a hazard to me. Niall noticed my apprehension and added, "The plan was to keep the kegs in the backyard, but after standing in the doorway for twenty seconds and feeling the chill, I've made the executive decision to keep them safe in here."
"I don't think so," came Zayn's voice as he stepped into the kitchen. I fought the urge to gasp in surprise as he entered. "They'll keep cold outside. Hi, June."
"Hi," I returned, expending all of my effort to rein in my ear to ear smile.
"Easy for you to say," Niall replied. "You're not the one who has to stand out there and dispense it."
"No, but I'm the one who has to drink it. Come on. Let's take 'em out."
I stood aside as Zayn and Niall picked up a keg off the counter and opened the sliding door to the back for them. With Niall squealing like a schoolgirl over the icy temperature in his no sleeves, no shoes ensemble, they managed to walk it to a patio table with only a few grunts. Niall insisted on putting on a few more layers of clothing before lugging out the other two kegs, and by the time he was changed into a more appropriate outfit, Liam was home.
Zayn took this as an opportunity to escape from the heavy lifting, but just before we left the kitchen together, Niall called him back. Together, all three boys got the remaining two kegs into the backyard. For the next twenty minutes, Niall agonized over the best way to tap the kegs and charge admission.
I started to suspect that he was being a prat on purpose, because just like that, the hour was up and guests started to arrive – and I'd spent no quality alone time with Zayn whatsoever.
*
I was rather pleased with myself for getting both Harry and Macy to show up to Niall's kegger. All they'd done so far was exchange polite greetings before moving on to socialize with others (Harry with Zayn, Macy with a friend of her roommate's), but Liam appeared uncomfortable enough simply being in the same room as Macy. I didn't yet see the need to introduce another man into the equation to really stir up his concealed emotions.
But there was someone else who made an appearance and paid her fee, and as soon as I realized it, it was my blood that was boiling. I would have recognized those long legs and that voluptuous ass anywhere. I didn't have to, however – they found me first.
Niall, bundled in a warm jumper and scarf, with the hood of his jumper pulled over top his snapback, had just topped up my red solo cup from the keg in the yard. After taking a gulp of cold beer and having him top me up once again, I spun around to retreat to the warmth of the house.
I did not anticipate coming face to face with Lola.
"June!" she exclaimed, gracing me with a broad smile. "I thought it was you, but couldn't be sure from the back. How are you?"
Baffled, it took me a moment to snap to my senses. "I... fine," I breathed, entirely bewildered.
Hadn't she and Zayn split up? Hadn't Zayn personally invited me to this gathering? More importantly, had he invited her? And if so, why? Did he want to get back together? Was he trying to make me jealous?
"It's good to see you," she continued. "How was your Christmas?"
"Fine," I repeated absently, standing motionless as she handed her cup to Niall to be refilled.
"Thanks for the invite, Niall," she said, cheery beyond comprehension. "It's nice to come around again."
A quiet, but shocked gasp flew from my mouth. Teeth grinding, I slowly turned my head to Niall, widening my eyes in fury as I plotted his gruesome death. Niall invited her?! Whatever string of patience I'd had for his games had snapped like a twig.
Purposely ignoring me, he shrugged as he returned the refilled cup to Lola. "No worries.
How are your classes this term?"
I could have killed him. As Lola responded with an indepth summary of each course she was taking, I knew that I could have reached out and strangled Niall Horan with my bare hands. I knew then, beyond a doubt, that he was up to something. Whatever it was, it was obvious that we had conflicting interests.
After one last searing glare in Niall's direction, I stalked toward the sliding door of the house with my plastic cup. As soon as I pulled the door open, Lola was beside me again, slipping through ahead of me.
Long legged bitch.
"Sorry, didn't mean for you to get away," she apologized with a smile as I stepped into the warmth of the house and closed the door. "I wanted to ask you how that film shoot went before Christmas. The one you acted in for Niall. He said it went well, but I wanted to hear your perspective. Have you acted before?"
I act like I don't want to rip out your hair and shove it down your throat all the time, was my preferred reply.
"Not unless you count the role of Innkeeper Number Two in my Sunday school's nativity play when I was seven," I replied with a slight arch of my brows.
"Wow," Lola replied, for some reason impressed. "Niall told me the concept for his film and... wow. I can't believe you and Harry did all that, having never acted before. I would have been so squeamish."
"Well, we were piss drunk," I answered, boredom in my tone.
"Ha!" she cried, placing a hand on my upper arm for support. "Oh, that would have been hilarious."
She seemed to think I was joking. I said nothing.
"At least Harry was your partner, though, right? If he wasn't your boyfriend, I can't imagine how awkward it would have been."
"Hmm... yes," I droned, taking a large gulp of beer. "Well, not anymore. We broke up."
"What?" she asked, tightening her grip on my arm. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. When?
Why?"
Discussing my fake relationship with Lola was quite literally the last thing I wanted to do, but when I craned my neck to peer down the hallway and learned that Zayn was deeply engaged in beer pong with other friends, I took another swig and settled in.
"After the holidays. It was nothing dramatic. We're better as friends, that's all."
"I don't believe that for a second," Lola said. My eyes darted this way and that. She, out of all people, could see straight through the scheme? "You and Harry were fantastic together.
Absolutely perfect. It was so natural for you two. I would tell Zayn so all the time."
Or maybe she was just as blind as everyone else.
"Mm hmm, mm hmm," I hummed while nodding, not really listening yet never more convinced that Lola's purpose on Earth was to sabotage my relationship with Zayn. "Now, speaking of Zayn..."
Lola shrugged. "It's the season of breakups, I guess."
"And are you hoping to..." I trailed off mid sentence to take another sip of beer, "... patch things up tonight?"
"Oh, no," Lola said, fervently shaking her head. "I mean, I like him very much, and it was sweet of Niall to introduce us last term... and talk about fit, right?"
"Hmm? Yes." I forced a chuckle, subsequently downing the remainder of my cup. "Yes, I know all about that..."
My eyes scanned the perimeter and landed on Zayn once again. I watched as he lined up a shot, let the ping pong ball release, and shook his head dejectedly when it bounced off the rim of a cup. Even when he was a disappointed failure, he was beautiful to me.
"To be honest, I'm sort of hoping we don't run into one another tonight," Lola continued, leaning in as if this was our little secret. "I know it's not entirely realistic, and it's not like there was a blowout at the end, but it's awkward, you know? To run into someone you used to shag only a few weeks later..."
"Right," I said in a clipped tone, tilting my head back and patting on my cup to encourage the last droplets of beer to drain into my mouth. I'd need much more where that was concerned if I was to be forced to visualize Spiderlegs lying naked next to the man of my dreams.
"That's why it's so difficult to imagine you and Harry getting over this," she pressed on, while I considered grabbing her cup out of her hands and draining its contents, too. "It must be so awkward living together now."
"Not really," I answered absently, even as images crossed my mind of a shirtless Harry eating breakfast at the counter or how we stepped around each other in the hallway, more polite than usual and carefully avoiding physical contact.
"You must be dreading it, though – the first time he brings home another girl, that is. I'd be agonizing over it every second of every day."
"I'm not like that," I said, looking down upon her in irritation. "Not the jealous type.
Besides, Harry brought girls home long before I was in the picture and he'll bring them home long after I'm gone. It's fine."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"You're not joking?"
"Of course not," I replied, leaning against the sliding door with an air of self satisfaction.
"So if another girl goes up to him tonight and captures him in some sort of seductive spell, it won't affect you at all?"
"Why would it?"
"Wow," Lola breathed. It was difficult to tell if she was amazed or unconvinced. "You're...
you're something, June. Very strong to take the high road like that." "Mm hmm. Yes," I agreed, eager to distance myself from the walking stick.
To give her credit, Lola may have sensed it. It was either that or she'd already had too much to drink. "I have to go to the loo," she said, pointing to the hallway as if I didn't know where it was. "But I'll catch up with you later, all right?"
"Can't wait." I flashed her what was probably the most terrifying grin I'd ever worn – but some things, like camaraderie, were difficult to fake.
As soon as she was out of my sight, I made a beeline out the door to the backyard. I pushed my way through the keg lineup with little resistance and thrust my empty cup into Niall's hand, demanding an instant refill.
"Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head in awe at me. "Fitz, has anyone ever told you that you drink like a fuckin' champ? You drank half my keg; I'm losing money on you."
Ignoring his complaints, I hissed through gritted teeth, "You. Invited. Her?!"
"Who?"
I smacked him in the arm. "Lola, you knob!"
He shrugged. "'Course."
"Why?!"
"She's a friend. Her roommate's in my film program."
None of this meant anything to me, so I went on, "Why do you hate me, Niall? Why?"
His shoulders sank as he filled my cup, brows furrowed in confusion. In true Niall fashion, lighthearted and chipper, he answered, "I don't hate you, Fitz. You're one of my best mates."
"Then why have you set out to destroy everything I've worked so hard to build?"
He shook his head, eyes on the cup. "I'm not destroying anything that was never there."
When I raised my arm to give him another slap, he deflected the blow with his forearm and continued, "Look, as a casting director, sometimes you assign someone to a role not because they're the best to play the part, but because of the chemistry they have with another already assigned character. In this case, I have to say—"
"Okay," I cut him off. "No, no, no. This is not a film, Niall. This is life."
His lips quirked as he shrugged. "Same thing."
"Opposite thing," I insisted. "Who do you think you are? Matchmaker? You can't just go around setting people up." That earned a derisive chuckle from him. "Oh, you mean like you did with Macy and Liam?
And now Macy and Harry?" When I recoiled in confusion, he added with a snap, "Yeah, Harry told me about that one."
"Unbelievable," I said, throwing up my arms before they fell limply at my sides. "You and Harry both. Who else is working against me?"
Niall handed me the full cup, no sympathy in his honest blues as he replied candidly, "Fitz, you're working against yourself."
*
After another cup of beer and catching Macy up on the fact that Lola had infiltrated the vicinity, Macy pointed out that perhaps Lola wasn't quite as torn up over Zayn as I'd assumed.
"I can't say for sure, but it looks like she's flirting with Harry," Macy said, looking grim.
"What?" I spat, whipping my head over my shoulder to see the two of them teamed up for a game of beer pong. When Harry successfully navigated a ball into the opposite cup, Lola squealed in triumph and hugged him from behind. Harry smiled, turning around to give her a high five. "What?!" I repeated, louder this time and to no one in particular. All that talk about how awkward it must be for me to be
around Harry since we'd 'broken up' – that was simply fishing for permission to make a move on him? I turned back to Macy, a fire burning in me that had never blazed before. "That boyfriend stealing letch!"
Confused, Macy asked, "Boyfriend stealing?"
I corrected myself quickly, saying, "Well, Harry's not your boyfriend yet, but he's about to be. This is exactly what she did to me with Zayn, and now she's doing it to you with Harry!
I won't have it!"
Knowing me all too well, Macy was one step ahead. Her fingers locked around my wrist before I could march over and break up the happy traitorous couple.
"Don't, Fitz," she pleaded. "I know you're only trying to help me, but I'm not in a position to be jealous. Besides, it could be completely innocent."
I glanced over my shoulder again, observing as Lola bent forward over the table to make her shot. There was no mistaking Harry's gaze as it strayed to her bottom.
Fuming, I said to Macy, "Trust me. If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that Harry Styles is not innocent. He doesn't have a virginal bone in his body."
Macy pursed her lips, lowering her stare.
"You know what? I am going over there," I said, more to myself than to her. "He could do better than some boring spidery bint like Lola, and you are going to be that better someone."
Macy tried to talk me out of it, but I was not to be persuaded. Once Harry and Lola had finished their game – which they won, by the way, in a shootout featuring Harry and a bulky bearded man on the opposite team – I approached Harry with a businesslike expression.
His cheeks were flushed and his eyes alight, a broad grin adorning his face at his victory.
"Pretty impressive, no?" he asked me, fishing for a compliment.
"Mm."
"I'm like the Beckham of beer pong."
I nodded, giving him a sarcastic close lipped smile. "Legendary, Harry. They'll be erecting a statue on campus in your honour any day now."
Perhaps I did a miserable job of feigning enthusiasm, or perhaps Harry, like Macy, knew me too well. Either way, he asked, "What's the matter?" "Oh, nothing at all." I paused, holding my plastic cup close to my lips and eyeing Lola as she passed us to greet another of her friends. When I was satisfied that she was out of earshot, I continued, "Just giving you a friendly reminder that out of all the girls here this evening, there's only one you can't take home, and her name is – can you guess? – Lola."
Still grinning, Harry's shoulders shook with a light chuckle, amused rather than threatened by my antics. "Why not?"
"Because," I spat, as if that should be enough. When he refused to wipe that mocking grin off his face, I added, "Because you promised you wouldn't see her again!"
"That was when we were fake dating," he pointed out. He shrugged. "I thought you'd be happy about it."
"In what demented way would this make me happy?"
"Well, for one thing, if she's with me, she's not with Zayn." I grumbled under my breath, unable to argue with that logic. Harry placed his index finger under my chin and encouraged me to lift my head and meet his eyes as he went on, "For another, you were the one who told me to start bringing girls home again."
Sighing heavily, I calmly maintained his gaze. "Yes, but not her."
"What's wrong with Lola?" "I don't like her! She's sneaky."
"So what?" Harry was much less perturbed about this than I'd anticipated. "How does it affect you? Jealous?"
"Not quite, Casanova," I snapped, swatting his hand away from my chin.
"Since when do I need your approval for my guests to the flat?"
I groaned. "Just please, talk to someone else!" I cried in exasperation. "Anybody! It doesn't matter who!" Either Macy had seen us arguing and had plucked up the courage to intervene, or she was merely passing by. Either way, I grabbed her arm and invited her into our discussion, exclaiming, "Macy! Hi!"
Harry glared at me in annoyance. At least Macy had the decency to appear surprised.
"Um... hi," she returned awkwardly.
"Harry needs another beer pong partner," I announced. "Can you step in?"
"Oh." From Macy's horrified expression, it was as if I'd asked her to give him a prostate exam. "Um... probably not the best idea. I'm not very good at beer pong."
"Harry will teach you. He's practically the Beckham of beer pong." I winked at Harry and imitated his shiteating grin, fairly satisfied to have thrown his own egotistical comment back in his face. Harry shook his head at me, neither surprised nor particularly pleased.
Placing a hand on each of their backs, I urged them toward the table and said, "All right, off you go."
And that was how it was done. Both were originally reluctant, but with some of my gentle meddling, I had Macy and Harry happily partnered and in a brilliant position for a romance to bloom if it was destined to be, just as I'd promised Macy from the very beginning.
I was a good friend. Truly, I was. I could finally say that I'd done everything in my power to help Macy – I'd restored the damage I'd done by temporarily claiming Harry as my own.
Feeling as though I'd been absolved of sin, I surveyed the overcrowded house and spotted Zayn leaning against the stairway railings in a breezy conversation with Liam. I headed over to join them, relieved that Zayn caught sight of me and offered a smile as I approached.
"How is it?" I asked, linking my arm around one of the rails next to Zayn.
"Not bad," he replied casually. "Busier than we thought."
"Really?"
"We always forget how many connections Niall really has until they're crammed into our house," Liam said, holding up his hand to count off his fingers. "Film students, theatre students, music students, stoners... it's a fairly extensive network."
"That's true," I agreed. "I suppose all it takes is a couple of kegs to bring everyone together.
That and a solid table for beer pong."
I hadn't meant to draw his attention to it, but as soon as Liam looked over his shoulder at the table, one would have assumed that Chloe had just sauntered into the room. His grip tightened around the flimsy plastic cup, his teeth clenched and jaw set, his shoulders tensed, his eyes iced over. All because Harry was poised behind Macy, speaking words of advice into her ear as she aimed the ping pong ball.
It served him right, in my opinion. If he refused to be a man and lock things in with Macy, then another man would step up to the plate. Even though I wished he'd loosen up because his rigidity was worrisome, I felt a small satisfaction in the reaction Macy had provoked
in him. It meant he cared after all – more than one might otherwise care for a one night stand.
"Fucking hot in here," Zayn said. It was true, but I wondered if he only said it to bring Liam back to Earth. It worked – Liam turned back around and downed what remained in his cup.
Pushing himself away from the rails, Zayn continued, "I'm going out for air. Want a refill?"
Liam shook his head, his mood soured as he set his cup on one of the steps and headed to the kitchen, in the opposite direction of Macy and Harry.
Zayn shrugged helplessly. He felt genuine sympathy for his friend. He must have known it wasn't worth chasing after him, however, because he turned to me and asked, "June?"
My own cup was nearly empty, so I offered to join him. We found our jackets and Zayn held open the sliding door to the backyard. I stepped out and waited for him to join me. He immediately gestured for me to hand over my cup, saying that because it was his house, we shouldn't have to wait in a bloody line for a keg refill. While he made his way around the line to join a bitterly frozen Niall, (who now wore mittens and a winter jacket), I sat myself on a tree stump near the back fence and waited patiently.
Zayn joined me a few moments later, handing me a topped up cup.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I lost track of which cup was mine and which was yours."
"That's all right," I replied, secretly hoping that we'd switched as I took my first sip. I scooted to the edge of the stump, holding my breath in anticipation as I added, "There's room for two on here."
Smiling, Zayn sat next to me, and we laughed as we awkwardly shuffled on the stump to get comfortable. Attached by our shoulders, hips, and thighs, a feeling of contentment washed over me. It wasn't much, in the grand scheme of things, but there was a perfectly good lineup of people waiting to get their cups refilled that would have been happy to converse with Zayn – and yet, he was on the stump with me.
He shuffled yet again to remove a cigarette from a packet stuffed in his pocket, holding it between his lips as he fished around for a lighter.
"You mind?" he asked. I shook my head, once again watching in fascination as he lit up.
After a brief inhale, I watched the smoke drift from between his lips as he asked, "This ever get old to you?"
"Does what ever get old?"
He gestured to the keg's lineup. "This. Parties every week, dirty houses jammed with drunken bodies, striking up conversation with people you can't even be sure are sober enough to remember you the next morning?"
I took a sip of beer to stall and give myself time to think up a response, watching Niall shiver and dance in the spot as a cold breeze passed him by. Then the next person moved up in line, and he took the tap to their cup, easily making loud, laughter inducing conversation with them.
Uni was the place for him. We were alike in that way.
"I don't know," I finally answered, my voice distant. "I guess I don't think about it much.
Everyone says this is the best it's ever going to get, so I try to enjoy it while I can. Before real life begins."
Zayn nodded, taking another puff and then tapping the end of the cig with his finger so that the ashes fell onto the grass. "I'm looking forward to real life. Everyone says you get the shit kicked out of you, but I think I'm ready to have the shit kicked out of me. I don't know
– school, the whole town... it starts to feel small after a while. Like we're all living in this bubble where every person you meet is just gonna be a slight variation of the last one you met, and everything you learn is gonna fly out of your head before you have a chance to apply it to anything."
From my blurred vision as I watched the smoke leave his lips, I knew that I was drunk, and from his honest words, I knew that Zayn had had a decent amount to drink, too. These soulbaring conversations were what I lived (and drank) for, but I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed – and nervous – about the topic of discussion.
"You ever think like that?" he asked, still focusing on the hoards of people around the keg.
"No," I admitted, though if I was smarter, I would have agreed. "Too afraid to, really. I know who I am here in this world. This bubble. When I step out, I feel like I'll be lost."
"You?" Zayn asked in surprise, leaning back and turning his head to look me in the eye.
"Lost?" A sexy halfsmile crossed his face as he murmured, "I have yet to see the day."
I couldn't hide my smile, though I lowered my eyes in embarrassment.
"You're the most found person I know." "Found?" I asked into my cup before taking another sip.
"Yeah," he laughed. "Sort of intimidating, really. Hard to feel worthy of the girl full of purpose."
Full of purpose? Confidence wasn't easy to fake, but it seemed my act had worked on someone.
"You're more than worthy," I assured him, nudging him in the side with a smile. "And trust me – I'm not as pulled together as you might think." I pointed to my brain as I struggled to find the words. "It's extraordinarily... chaotic up here."
He chuckled, tossing his cigarette. "Good."
"Good?"
"Yeah," he nodded, lowering his chin to get a better look at me. "I like a girl who's a bit fucked for answers every so often."
I had to open my mouth to breathe – my nostrils seemed to have forgotten how to inhale.
Gathering myself, I held his gaze as I replied, "Well... that's me."
He slowed his nodding, golden brown eyes travelling to my lips. I studied him intently, and I was sure I knew what he was thinking.
We should kiss.
Oh, God. It was happening. I'd played it over so many times in my mind, but I'd never considered that I'd lose all sense of feeling throughout my body. Maybe it was due to the biting cold, or perhaps the fact that I'd had more refills in my red plastic cup than I could count, but I chose to peg this feeling on Zayn and his probing gaze. Instinctively, I tilted my chin and leaned ever so slightly toward him in anticipation.
And then he looked away, blinking hard as if he'd just been in a dream.
"I, uh..." he trailed off, glancing into his cup and swirling around its contents, "... I'd better check on Liam. Make sure he's holding the house together."
Without another word, he vacated his position and strode across the lawn, leaving me cold and alone on the stump.
... What?!
After all I'd been through that evening, I felt as though I deserved a kiss, even the tiniest peck on the lips. He had thought about it, too – I knew he had. We were so close, and then he walked away.
He walked away.
Suddenly I was frozen, both outside and in. He walked away. Nothing had interrupted us or prevented it from happening – he simply backed out. It was the closest we'd gotten in three years, and he left.
It wasn't good enough.
I wasn't good enough.
Maybe no matter what I did, that was the bottom line. Zayn didn't want me.
Numb from head to toe, I ignored Niall's shouted offers for a refill and walked back to the house. Sure enough, Zayn had found Liam and was attempting to distract him while Liam stared vacantly into the living room.
I followed his stare, seeing Macy and Harry leaning against the wall, deep in conversation.
Harry's arms were folded across his chest, but he stared intently at Macy as he spoke.
When he evoked a giggle from her, he smiled proudly. She made a gesture with her hands and had him laughing, too. This was her chance with him, and it looked as though the otherwise shy and awkward Macy was determined not to blow it.
Taking in the two of them was when I regained feeling in my bones. All of a sudden, I sensed what Liam must have felt – despair and helplessness and selfloathing, because Macy and Harry were a product
of my own doing and I realized that I hated it, the two of them together.
I hated it.
She was supposed to be retreating into her shell and he was supposed to be too impatient, searching for other conquests. They weren't supposed to work. In the back of my mind, I realized I'd always, quite selfishly, been counting on that.
If I wasn't already so upset about what had happened with Zayn, I might not have noticed at all. But as it was, I couldn't bear it. The sight of my flatmate and my best friend together made my chest constrict, like my heart wanted out.
So I walked alone to the stairs, flinging my coat on the rail as I made my way up, not really sure where I was going but knowing that I had to be anywhere else. My chest grew tighter and tighter with each step, breaths shakier and shakier still.
I'd visited this house plenty of times, but I'd never ventured to the second floor. Even so, I found Niall's bedroom straight away based on the sheer volume of technological equipment within. The bed was unmade, there were stacks of dirty plates and glasses on the nightstand, the dresser, and the desk, and unlaundered clothes were strewn across the floor. But I didn't care. I shut myself inside and collapsed on the desk chair, the only free surface in the room.
There, in the safety and solitude of Niall's bedroom, I finally let my tears flow freely. After a while, I stopped trying to wipe them away – they were streaming down my face too quickly to keep up. I simply sniffled and wept, wishing I'd had less to drink or Zayn had had more, wondering if I'd ruined our chances forever.
Minutes later, after I'd curled my knees to my chest and cried into my arms on the chair, Niall burst through the door, red solo cup in hand, buried in layers of clothing from the frigid night air. He ground to a halt as soon as he saw me; surprise, confusion, and maybe even a little bit of fear etched in his expression. I raised my head in shock, not having had time to wipe my tears or get my stilted breathing under control.
"I was just coming to get my..." he began, pointing to some arbitrary location, "... not really important, I can get it later."
Then he backed out of his room, closing the door with him. The backs of my knees sunk down to the edge of the chair, my feet flat on the floor. With every intention to get myself together and quit crying, I propped my elbows on my knees and promptly hunched over, continuing to sob into my hands as music and voices and laughter filtered up the stairs and through the floor.
I'd used up all my resolve, it seemed, and it only made the tears slide even faster down my cheeks. I'd tried so hard. I'd worked every trick in the book only to end up with nothing.
Zayn didn't want me, not even at his most vulnerable and least controlled. He wanted someone like Lola, which was exactly the type of girl I tried not to be. Harry's type of girl.
Or maybe not. Maybe Macy was Harry's type of girl – the type of girl he'd really settle down with in the end. Sweet and quiet, one who would adore him endlessly and follow him to the ends of the Earth if he asked.
I was somewhere in between those two girls, nobody's first choice.
As I wept a river of selfpity, the doorknob slowly turned. I raised my head to see it open, that curly mop of Harry's poking through the doorway and peering around. Once his eyes settled on me, he stepped in.
Embarrassed, I sucked my upper lip between my teeth and swiveled around on the chair, my back to him as I wiped at my eyes.
"Go," I mumbled into my hands. The latch clicked into place, and I assumed he was gone until the floor creaked underneath him as he moved hesitantly across the room.
The last time I'd seen him, he was deep in conversation with Macy. Harry wouldn't be up here just to explore – Niall would have told him that I was here. That I was crying.
And he came.
I wasn't sure what he intended to accomplish and I didn't particularly fancy him witnessing me in this decomposed state, but because he bothered to come, I let him swivel Niall's office chair back around without a fight.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice tender. Hands covering my face, I merely shook my head. "You were so happy."
Reminders of a more naïve and hopeful me elicited a trembling breath in which my shoulders shook.
"Hey," Harry murmured, squatting down in front of me. Gently, he took one of my wrists and pried my right hand away from my face. Knowing he'd come for the other wrist soon, I used my sleeve to dab underneath my eyes and lowered my left hand myself.
Harry's brows were set in a frown, confused but empathetic as his eyes studied me. They were a muted green, softer than usual, and he folded his arms across my knees to steady himself as he squatted.
I sniffled, pouting as I fixated my gaze on a tripod across the room. I felt like a veritable mess, all puffed up and despairing. For every couple of breaths I could regulate, another would be strangled in my throat, coming out in a series of gasps.
Harry didn't say a word, didn't even tap his fingers impatiently against my thighs. He just waited, staring unabashedly at me.
Still unable to meet his gaze, I sniffled again and asked, "Is your aim just tto wear me ddown with your stare until I ttell you what's wrong?"
"Well, that," he agreed, "and I'm also trying to figure out if I've ever seen you cry before. I don't think I have."
I shook my head, dabbing at corners of my eyes again with the back of my index finger.
"Probably not. I'm not the teary type."
"No. Me neither," said Harry. "That's why I'm a bit fascinated."
My tears stopped falling long enough for me to scrunch up my nose and repeat,
"Fascinated?"
"Mm," he said, the sound sliding like molasses from his throat. "As far as I know, June Fitzpatrick doesn't cry, which means that if June Fitzpatrick cries... someone's done something unspeakable."
Parting my lips, I released a shaky sigh, finally mustering the strength to look him in the eyes.
"Was it Niall?" Harry asked gently. "Was it when he got up on the table and started rapping to 'Diamonds Are Forever'? Because I sort of wanted to cry, too."
I gave a halfsmile through my tears, and Harry, proud of himself, bore his teeth in a fullfledged grin.
"No, it wasn't Niall," I said, tucking my hair behind my ears. "It wasn't anyone. I just... I realized that..." I trailed off, clenching my stomach and grimacing to prevent another sob from escaping. Harry waited patiently as I steeled myself with a deep breath. "It's not going to be. Me and him."
It was Harry's eyes that lowered this time, to his arms folded neatly across my knees. "You and Zayn," he murmured.
Lower lip quivering, I nodded.
Harry sighed, pushing himself off my knees and sitting at the edge of Niall's unmade bed, muttering to himself about the pitiful state of the bedroom. I was on the verge of tears again due to our harsh and abrupt loss of contact until Harry stretched out his leg, hooked his foot around the stem of the chair and wheeled me forward. Once I was in front of him, he nudged my ankle lightly with his foot and waited until he'd caught my eye before he spoke.
"He doesn't even call you Fitz, you know," he said slowly, carefully analyzing my reaction as the words came out. Apparently my expression portrayed confusion, for he felt obliged to elaborate, "You're Fitz to all your close friends, but you're June to him."
I frowned, pushing out my lower lip in another pout as I wiped my eyes. "Shockingly, that doesn't brighten my spirits."
"No, I know," he said, lines in the bridge of his nose as if it pained him to say it. "It's just..."
He gulped. "Why do you even like him?"
There it was. His question hit me like a brick, but I wasn't sure why – as soon as he said it, I realized that it had always been there, a ball of tension between us all this time. We didn't ask each other these kinds of questions.
At least, we didn't before. If he'd ever asked it before, I would have scoffed at him and refused to respond. But we'd crossed many bridges in the past few months, and I knew at this point, he deserved an answer from me.
The problem was, I didn't exactly have one.
"Because," I mumbled. "I just do."
Harry's frown faded, his lips pursed in unamusement. "Come on, you're smarter than that," he said, pulling the chair closer to him with his ankle. "Why?"
I shook my head in refusal. "You'll laugh at me."
A wounded expression crossed his face, as though it pained him to know I could think such a thing. "No, I won't," he promised, and from the anguish in his tone, I believed him.
So I hugged one knee to my chest, resting my chin there as I spoke. "You know that feeling... the one where you've had too much to drink so your speech is a little slurred and time moves a little faster, but not so much that you lose sense of it all?" My voice grew softer as I continued, "It's that sort of drunk where you start to see people in a new light –
'oh, maybe he's more attractive than I gave him credit for,' or, 'oh, she and I could be great friends if we only ran in the same circles'. The sort of drunk where you don't feel compelled to get up and dance or shout. The sleepy sort, more like, where you can just sit and talk with loose lips and complete surety that nothing bad can come of exposing your innermost thoughts." I raised my eyes to meet Harry's, asking with hesitance, "You know?"
Slowly, he nodded.
I shrugged, hugging my knee even tighter. "Ever since first year, I've had those moments with Zayn. Moments where I can say anything, because you never think it matters when you have a few drinks in you, and moments where he'd say anything, too. And those are the moments – when we're both honest with each other, for no reason other than being honest –
that I know." Wetting my lips, I locked eyes with Harry again and cleared my throat, asking, "Have you ever felt that way about anyone?"
"Yeah," Harry answered quietly with a nod. "All the time. About almost every girl I've ever taken home from a bar."
Frowning, I asked, "So you've been in love a hundred times?"
"No." Harry chuckled lightly, dropping his chin to his chest as he stared at his hands.
"Because that's not love. Thoughts and feelings that escape you when you're buzzed...
they're not real. Or maybe they are, but they're not accurate. Doesn't mean your heart's more open."
Normally, I would have shot a retort at him and told him he was wrong, but I didn't much feel like it. So I chewed the inside of my lip, considering his words before saying, "It does to me."
I could tell that Harry had more to say. More reasons to convince me that I was wrong. But he held his tongue, nostrils flaring in frustration as he took a deep breath, and several agonizing moments of silence passed us by. When I glanced at him, he was transfixed by Niall's closet doors, chest evenly rising and falling whilst deep in thought.
"Did Niall tell you I was up here?" I asked, if only to break the silence. I already knew the answer.
"Yeah," Harry said. I figured as much – that meddling prat.
"What made you come?"
He stretched his jaw as he contemplated an answer. Straightening his back with a deep breath, he said with a brave smile, "Niall's scheduled to imitate the Soulja Boy routine next to his keg dressed like a snowman in five minutes. Didn't want you to miss it."
I giggled, reaching forward to pinch his cheek in affection. "Aw. That's sweet of you, bunny,"
I cooed, letting a vomit worthy pet name slip out before I could stop myself. Harry didn't seem to mind, returning a broad grin with dimples. "These are just drunk tears, you know,"
I assured him. "I'll be fine in the morning."
He nodded. "I know. So, do you want to stay?"
"What?"
He stood up, stretching his back and offering me his hand. "I'll walk you home if you want."
I paused. "What about Macy?"
His smile faded, and a moment passed between us. He lowered his eyes, shaking his head.
"Come on, Fitz."
Normally, I would have demanded a better explanation, but I could sense he was reluctant to talk about it. So I accepted his hand, allowing him to pull me up before smoothing down my shirt. "Don't be silly. I don't want to make you leave early because of me."
Harry shrugged, checking his watch. "It's late, actually."
I rolled my puffy eyes. "You know what I mean."
Still smiling, he threw an arm around my shoulders and ushered me toward the door.
"Come on, sprinkle," he said, jokingly using another pet name, "there's a jar of peanut butter at home with your name written all over it."