Is
It wasn't an easy week following the lunch at my childhood home. I spent the entirety of Sunday going back and forth between channel-surfing and web browsing, not paying attention to what I was doing half the time but not knowing what else to do with myself. Eventually, I suggested to Niall that we catch a movie. It might have been because he felt bad for me – one of my cheeks was yellowish from my father's hand and he knew I'd had a rough day – but from the way his jaw dropped and a slow smile spread broad across his face, it was as if he was witnessing the birth of Jesus. Movie watching was his specialty.
The next few days, I went to work, feeling dreary and oddly out of place. It was like I expected to be cornered and asked who I thought I was and what I was doing. Callum and Vic noticed the discoloration of my cheek – Callum with a suspicious, raised brow; Vic with concern and skepticism – but I figured that as long as I had something to talk about around them, they wouldn't have the opportunity to ask.
Mostly, I felt lost. Aimless. Uncomfortable in my own skin. Refusing to model myself after my father left me without substance – substance that I could identify, anyway. I didn't know who I was or who I was supposed to be.
But there were times I felt happy. There were times I felt at peace. Times that I felt I could just... be, without worrying if I was doing it right or not.
Mostly, those times were well past midnight, when I laid in my bed and talked myself to sleep with Fitz talking back at me through my laptop.
The fact that it was she who lent me normalcy and self-assurance never once escaped my attention.
*
Late in the week, following work and a long run, I hopped out of the shower and left the bathroom in boxer-briefs. I'd planned to grab a pair of joggers from my bedroom before finding something to eat in the kitchen, but I saw Niall on his laptop at the kitchen counter. Over his shoulder, Fitz was on the screen, chattering away about the trip to Nicaragua for which she'd been approved at the end of November. Intrigued, I wandered over – Niall saw me approaching in the screen and looked over his shoulder.
"What?" he asked, obnoxiously chewing on a piece of gum with his mouth open.
"Who're you talking to?" I nodded at the laptop.
"Hello, Harry," Fitz said casually.
"Hello," I answered over Niall's shoulder, giving her a polite wave. "How are you?"
"I'm fine. How are you?"
"Pretty good. America treating you nicely?"
"Mm hmm. It's all right."
"Everything going well for you?"
"Yep. Going to Nicaragua, actually," she answered as if I didn't already know.
I raised my brows in mock surprise. "Are you? Wow. I'd be interested to hear more about that."
"Niall can tell you all about it later," she said, sucking her top lip between her teeth to contain her smile.
"I will definitely follow up with him," I assured her.
I glanced at Niall, who stared back at me with a bored expression. "Really?" he asked, not at all convinced by our pleasantries. "We're all going to pretend that you two haven't spoken for months?"
"Dunno what you're saying," I said with a shake of my head. "Niall, what are you on about?" Fitz asked. He rolled his eyes. "You don't think I knew the exact day you started talking to each other again?" He pointed accusingly at me. "You, with your happy fingers texting away—" he looked at Fitz "—and you, who suddenly didn't need to tell me every mundane detail of your life because you had somebody more important to talk to?"
"I've been texting Jamer," I joked.
"I've been talking to Macy more recently," Fitz added.
"And then you run into each other today on Skype and nothing's awkward, nothing's tense, everybody's just fine with it. Good act, guys," Niall snickered.
I shrugged, filling my cheeks with air before exhaling. "What's there to be tense about? Fitz is quite happy, so I'm happy for her."
"Harry, I'm glad things are going well for you, too."
I smiled at her over Niall's shoulder. "You look nice, by the way. I like the shorter hair. And it's lighter. From the sun?"
"Try highlights," she giggled. "Your hair's getting a bit long again."
I made a displeased sound in the back of my throat, bringing up my hand to ruffle my wet hair.
"No, it looks good. That length suits you," Fitz said.
Niall, whose eyes were darting back and forth, finally threw up his arms in exasperation and hopped off the stool wearing an unimpressed expression. "Okay, okay," he said, pushed to his limit. "You liars are just gross. You know that? Gross. And I'm onto you."
With that, he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged it on, leaving the flat muttering to himself.
Chuckling at his dramatics, I approached the laptop on the counter and rested my elbows on the tabletop, kicking the stool aside to stand and talk to her.
"I think he might know," I said with raised brows.
Fitz giggled. "I wouldn't put it past him."
"What do you think tipped him off?"
"Better question: why are you naked and wet?"
I had an instantaneous cheeky response: "It drives Niall wild. You know how he's been eyeing me for years."
She rolled her eyes and then squinted as she leaned closer to her screen to get a better view. Teasing her, I also leaned closer, pretending to be eyeing her fiercely.
"Your cheek looks better than it did last night." She sat back up, quite satisfied with her assessment.
"It does?" I brought my opposite hand up to pat it lightly with my fingers, wincing when I grazed a sensitive spot. "Just sort of aches now."
I had nothing else to say. It was hard to joke about it – it would always be hard to joke about it. Most of the time, I tried not to connect that the reason my cheek was bruised was because my father had hit me.
In good timing, Fitz swept in to change the topic and prevent me from dwelling. "Remember that time a cork flew into your eye and bruised you?" she asked.
I barked with laughter, my jaw hanging in offense. "Uh, remember that time you missed the most important part of the tale and failed to mention that the cork flew into my eye because you aimed the bottle at my face?"
Her nose crinkled in dislike, hating to be reminded. "Yeah..." she trailed off, taking her thumbnail between her teeth. "Remember that time I still felt bad about it?"
I was able to re-hinge my jaw and gave her a smile and a nod. Before I could continue, a new caller emerged on the screen. Smile fading, I furrowed my brows as I attempted to deny the call. I was used to my own laptop, not Niall's, and I ended up briefly X'ing out of Fitz's window.
"Sorry... someone's calling... can't figure this out..." I murmured to myself, knowing that she was watching. "Damn computer."
"What's going on?"
"Bloody track pad is screwed up... no – no! I said close, not play!"
But it was too late. Niall's Skype windows were minimized and all that remained on the screen was a visual of the hallway. For a moment, I thought it was the running footage of his security camera just outside the door. The clip blurred, and all of a sudden, Finley materialized on a chair outside her door, guitar on her lap.
I stepped away from the laptop about to offer her our flat to practice, despite the fact that I was in my underwear. Just before I tore my eyes from the screen, the clip blurred again.
Another image. Finley was still playing her guitar, but she wore another outfit, her chair shifted slightly to the left. I was there, too. And Fitz.
Fitz and I?
We were walking hand-in-hand, nodding at Finley in acknowledgement and trailed by a scruffy Niall, who gave her an annoyed glance and couldn't help offering a snarky comment as he passed.
There was no audio. This was only his security footage, after all. But he'd arranged it somehow. He'd gone through it and found these pieces. Pulled them out.
Why? I didn't know.
The clip blurred again. This time, Niall was leaving the flat, ignoring Finley as he headed to the lift. She opened her mouth and said something after him, and he reappeared in the shot, unable to continue the silent treatment. While he kept a straight face, Finley couldn't fight a grin as they spoke – probably because Niall was getting so worked up.
"Harry?" Fitz asked.
"Yeah... one minute," I said, waving at the screen to beg for her silence.
Another hazy transition. Finley sat with her legs crossed on the chair, guitar in her lap as she strummed and sang. She was lost in her own world, but Niall leaned against the wall across from her, arms folded across his chest and staring. Not saying a word, just letting her play.
Blur. On a different day, wearing shorts in the summer warmth, Niall was prying the guitar from Finley's hands as she laughed and swatted him away. He won in the end and turned his back to her, slinging the strap over his shoulder as he strummed. Finley sat in her chair, resigning herself to his whim and unable to contain the broadest grin I'd ever seen from her.
In the next clip, Niall had dragged out a chair of his own and sat across from Finley, reading something to her from a piece of paper and making marks with a pencil as he went along. He paused to make a silhouetted rectangle with his thumbs and index fingers, as if he was setting up a shot of her. I wondered if that was when they were planning her video shoot.
I couldn't help chuckling when the next clip became clear – Niall had a pot in one hand and a spoon in the other and was drumming along to Finley's tunes, bobbing his head along to the beat.
"What are you doing?" Fitz asked.
"Niall made this video... I'll tell you in a minute," I promised, shushing her once again.
In the next clip, they were snogging. My eyes widened, but I realized it had been as sudden as that. Finley's guitar leaned against the wall as she and Niall met in the middle of the hallway, his hands going to her face and hers clutching his arms.
Next, they were back at it – this time, without the guitar, without a chair, without a reason to meet at all except to see each other.
The clip blurred, and they emerged from our flat separately only to grab each other and connect. Fitz and I had undoubtedly been inside, oblivious not to their spark but to their progress.
Then they were returning from McNally's, Finley's guitar case swinging at her side. There was no discussion, no need to check in with one another – she held open the door to her flat and Niall entered in understanding. She gave him a grin before following him in and closing the door behind them.
Next, she was pushing her way out of our flat, past Fitz and I, and fleeing to her apartment. She wore nothing but a blanket, holding it to her chest with one hand and covering her forehead with the other, utterly embarrassed.
Then they were walking back to the flat together in seemingly good spirits. Moments after entering, though, Finley was out again, horror written across her face as she stormed across the hall into her flat.
Then there was Niall, alone in the hallway, pausing before her door and holding up a fist to knock. Before he made contact, however, he thought better of it and stuffed his hand into his pocket, walking away with a scowl.
Another blur, and a man was trailing Finley to her door. A man with a goatee and a permanently unimpressed expression – her boyfriend. She opened the door and he followed her inside, and Niall was nowhere to be found.
In the next clip he was out there with her, sitting on a chair with a laptop on his lap as she played, not sparing her a single glance. Niall came out of the flat, his facial hair shaved down into nothing but a goatee, but the man didn't look up for a second. It didn't matter. Niall and Finley exchanged eye contact for a few seconds longer than necessary before he shut the door behind him and headed to the lift.
With her guitar case not swinging, but held stationary at her side, Finley and her boyfriend walked home after a night at McNally's. They didn't talk. Without smiles or kisses, she opened the door to her flat and entered without looking back. He followed at a safe distance.
And then she was out there again, sitting on her chair. No one was with her – not Niall, not her boyfriend. She sat by herself, summer clothing ditched for a thick sweater and leggings, legs crossed and singing to no one.
Except not no one.
Niall had stopped himself from filming her whenever she performed onstage. He watched her intently, but he never captured her on camera. Maybe it was because he loved her in these moments even more – the moments she wasn't performing at all. The moments she didn't realize there was a single eye on her.
The clip blurred again, but there was nothing more. That was the end of the story.
At least, so far. The security camera was still out there, after all.
"Harryyyyyy," Fitz whined, annoyed from being ignored.
Shaking myself out of it, I maximized her screen with minimal difficulty. "Hi. Sorry about that."
"What were you watching?"
"I clicked 'play' by accident. Niall organized all his security footage and dug out some clips of Finley. He put them together and he... he made a story."
"What story?"
"The story of them. Or her, I guess."
Fitz tilted her head, shrugging her shoulders as she contemplated this. "How does it end?"
"It ends..." I trailed, choosing my words carefully, "... abruptly. And sadly. Like you didn't see it coming so when it happens, it doesn't feel complete."
Fitz smiled, bringing a mug to her lips and taking a sip of tea. "I like that," she mused.
"You do?"
"Yeah." She nodded. "That means it isn't really over... doesn't it?"
*
"Would you honestly have done it?" Fitz asked me, doubled over and in stitches from our conversation.
It was well past midnight, and I had her on Skype giggling away. My computer sat on my lap with her window maximized on the screen. I was under the blankets, my back shifting lower on my pillows every few minutes so that I was nearly lying down in bed.
Somehow, we'd gotten onto the topic of sexual fantasies. I'd been quick to bring up that she'd lied to me the last time I'd asked, giving me a bullshit answer about a threesome with me and another man.
"I would have talked you out of it," I said, unable to stop my grin but refusing to laugh with her. The thought of a predominantly male threesome was no laughing matter.
But it was to Fitz, who couldn't stop laughing. "What if I couldn't be persuaded?"
"Eh... I could persuade you," I said quite confidently.
She rolled her eyes with a smile. "How smug you are."
"You're a devil woman."
"You were fine when you thought you'd have two girls."
"No I wasn't!" I spluttered, finally laughing at the accusation. "You put words in my mouth!"
"You were too busy fantasizing about other things in your mouth."
Giving her an odd look, I replied, "I don't even know what you mean by that."
She rolled her eyes again. "Harry the virgin. There's one I haven't heard before."
I grinned. "But don't you think it would be weird? I mean, we knew each other so well... to have a third party come in would just be awkward."
"To say the least!" Fitz agreed, eyes wide. She was still in her work attire, sitting at her kitchen table in her cramped San Diego flat. I watched her smear peanut butter on an array of snacks – crackers, apples, celery – and call it dinner. She'd cut her hair shorter and she wore makeup to work, but she was still Fitz.
"They'd be so confused when you sneezed," I laughed to myself while her smile vanished. "I'd lose it at the sight of their face. Roll over laughing, kill the mood."
The sun beamed through her window, which made it easy to see the rosy blush creeping onto her cheeks. "The sneezing thing stays between us, by the way."
"And Niall."
"God, I forgot," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Niall, too."
She was flaming red, and I smiled fondly.
"You know, a threesome would never work for us, guy or girl."
"No?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ears as she raised her head.
I shook my head. "I don't think you or I ever wanted to share each other."
Fitz nodded thoughtfully, forcing a small smile. An ocean apart, we lost our words in each other's eyes for more than a few seconds.
Eventually, she shook herself out of it, clearing her throat. "Let's not forget your fantasy."
"What?"
"A couple's bath? Really? That's it?"
"What's wrong with that?" I asked with an amused frown.
"That's rather tame. That's not even vanilla, Harry, that's like... off-white."
I laughed lightly. "So what? All the other stuff – role playing, tying each other up, whatever – I'd do it if you want and I'd get off, but it's not... you know."
"Is it the underwater sex you're after, or...?"
"No," I said, furrowing my brows as I shook my head. "There wouldn't be sex."
"It's all well and good for you; you're a boy—"
"Man," I corrected.
"—but for females, there's stuff that can get in there, you know? Bacteria or soapy or chlorinated water. We're like ten times more likely to get an infection from sex underwater."
My lips twisted. "Is that so?"
"Besides, water isn't a natural lubricant, and it actually strips the body of its lubrication which means that sex is—"
"Okay," I cut her off before she could go on further. "So much I never needed or wanted to know. You sound like a medical brochure."
"It's relevant knowledge."
"Is this what girls learn in Sex Ed?"
"I don't know," she said, holding her nose high. "I, for one, read up about it on Google."
I burst into laughter, forcing myself to bite on my knuckles so as not to wake Niall. "When?!"
"After you told me about the bath thing. I was going to try it with you once, remember? Until Beckett burst through the door and saw me practically naked."
"Yes. Definitely remember that," I said, twisting under the covers to contain my laughter. "Didn't know you'd read up on it, though. Huh. My little researcher."
Fitz refused to laugh, instead shrugging carelessly. "Doesn't hurt to know your facts."
"You're very knowledgeable," I agreed, forcing myself to keep a straight face. "I felt quite confident when I was with you, knowing that what we were doing was recommended by experts and backed by science."
"Good." Finally, I got a giggle out of her. "So... back to the bathtub, though."
"Right."
"If you aren't actually shagging, is it really a sexual fantasy?"
I pondered this for a moment, gazing over the laptop while deep in thought. "Fair point," I reasoned, "but you would have the bath with a sexual partner. It wouldn't be with your brother or some Joe Schmoe off the street."
Smiling patiently, Fitz asked, "How long have you been entertaining this fantasy of yours?"
"Dunno," I said with a shrug. "Since I was younger. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe."
I didn't mind talking about these things with her. In fact, I enjoyed it. I was aware, however, that we were hovering over unexplored territory – the intimacy of our past relationship and our sex lives today. Up until then, we'd talked about most things... except sex.
"Really?" Fitz asked. When I nodded, she voiced her train of thought: "I always thought teenaged boys just wanted it wetter and wilder."
"Crude," I said, pretending to be disappointed in her. "They do. I just thought the bathtub thing was sort of nice. Intimate, I guess."
"You like intimacy," she said matter-of-factly.
I opened my mouth to dispute, only to realize that she was right. Smacking my lips together, I nodded.
"I always found that very surprising about you." When my expression portrayed mild offense, she was quick to add, "In a good way – don't worry."
"Why?"
"Well," she said, leaning back in the chair with a sigh, "you haven't told me much about it, but knowing your father, I have a strong suspicion that you didn't receive much intimacy growing up."
"No," I agreed slowly, narrowing my eyes as I wondered where she was heading. "None, really."
"I suppose I expected someone who grew up without it to be cold and physically distant. But you're not."
I raised my eyebrows in questioning. "No?"
"No." She smiled. "Whether we were out with friends or watching a show or making dinner or lying around, you were always touching me."
"What!" I whisper-cried, certain that wasn't true.
"You were!" she laughed.
"You were touching me, too!"
"I never said I wasn't!"
"You started it."
Still laughing, she rolled her eyes. "I started it. All the times, I started it?"
"No," I conceded, though I eyed her suspiciously. "But more than once."
Expectantly, she waited for me to go on.
"I don't know," I said with a shrug, remembering how we'd lie all over each other on the couch to nap or how I'd place my hand on her knee and hook my ankle over hers when we were out to brunch with friends. I hadn't thought about it while I'd done it, and I hadn't done it because I'd thought it was what I was supposed to do. I'd only done it because it felt right and I liked it. I liked having someone onto whom I'd pour affection. Even holding her hand in a light grip as we'd wandered down the street had felt comfortable and warm while electric at the same time. "I guess I wanted to be close to you," I admitted.
"Yeah," she said softly.
I ran a hand through my hair and ended up massaging the back of my neck. "When we were together, that was the first time I ever felt like someone loved me as much as I loved them. It was hard to stay away from you..." I trailed off. I bit my lip, knowing what I had to say next could shift our dynamic for better or worse. "You were it for me, you know that?"
My one. That sounded like too strong a word to say over Skype.
"I think I know, Harry." She nodded, though her grey eyes were imprinted with unspoken sadness. "I always found that remarkable about you."
"What's that?" I frowned, wondering if I could hear muffled sounds through the wall or if it was coming from across the bedroom, out my door.
"How loving you can be and how deeply you can love – more than anyone else I've ever met, to be honest – no matter how many times your heart's been broken by people you love and trust."
My smile faded, and as I stared at her through the screen, I was certain my gaze was rimmed with longing.
The muffled sounds grew louder.
"I don't know where you get that from," she said, shaking herself out of our stare and averting her eyes to her dinner plate.
Swallowing, I kept my stare on her.
"Sometimes I wish I wasn't like that," I confessed, taking my time to gather my thoughts. "I wish that I could be like my dad and close myself off, but I don't know how. I can do it for an hour or a night, but I don't know how to fully shut out everyone I care about. And besides, I don't... I can't find a reason why it would be worth it."
Fitz looked like she had something to say, but before she could say it, she was interrupted.
"The peacock fans his plumage, hoping to attract a mate to warm his den."
Her brows formed a line on her forehead. "Are you with someone?"
"No," I said, setting my laptop aside with a frown of my own.
"The cock faces the hen, proceeding to prance and strut to get her attention."
"One moment," I murmured to her, throwing my blankets aside and hopping out of bed.
Sure enough, as soon as I opened my bedroom door, I came foot-to-face with Niall's laptop. The animal subject he'd chosen to disturb my privacy this time was, for some reason, peafowl.
Niall was across the flat on the couch, pretending not to have noticed my presence.
"Really, Niall?" I asked dryly. "The animal mating documentary again?"
Bored, he looked over with the game controller in his hands. "Got a girl in there?"
I made a face. "It's Tuesday night!"
He shrugged. "I heard noises."
"Sorry."
"I thought peacock rituals would be helpful for you to get a girl," he added, his attention back on the screen, "because if you haven't already got one in there, you're definitely wanking off."
"Yeah, sure," I said, playing along without interest. "Fine. I'm going to bed. And I'm turning this thing off."
I bent down to shut off his laptop just as he replied, "I always prefer a bit of background noise when I'm going to town."
"I wasn't wanking off, you tosser!" I shot back, sure to give him a warning glare before I slipped into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. Apologetically, I rejoined Fitz at my laptop, falling into bed again. "Sorry. It was Niall. He thought I had a girl in here."
Fitz, who had been patiently waiting and undoubtedly craning her neck to listen, couldn't hide her momentary shock.
"Oh."
I tried to smile. "He was just being a moron."
She nodded, though she licked her lips and kept a blank expression. "Have you —" she started, immediately cutting herself off. Shaking her head as if the question was stupid, she tried again: "Have there been girls to your room?"
I chuckled lightly – both to ease the tension and because it was obvious that her smile was forced. "No."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Swear it."
A smile teased the corners of her lips. "I didn't think you had," she said with a shrug, visibly relaxing even through the screen. "You're not like that."
It was my turn to be taken aback. In all honesty, everything I'd ever done before Fitz came along proved along that I was like that. I couldn't deny it. My best friends – Louis, Niall – even thought that way about me.
"You're the only one who thinks so," I said with a snort.
She scoffed, not concerned. "So? I'm right, aren't I?"
"Yeah," I said, surprising even myself.
"I thought so." Pleased with herself, she brought the sole of her foot onto her chair and hugged her knee to her chest.
"Fitz, you might already know this," I said, bringing the laptop closer as if it was really her, "but ever since you, there hasn't been anybody else. I haven't..." I trailed off, shaking my head to confirm. "Not since the first time." I watched her expression change from self-satisfied to questioning. "Not even now," I finished.
She needed a moment to absorb this while I tried but failed to hear her breaths. Then she nodded sadly. "I know."
I gulped. "They say I should try, but it doesn't feel like trying. It feels like giving up."
With a slight frown and a pout, she tried to smile as she continued nodding, eventually resting her chin on her knee and gazing at me.
Lips shut, I inhaled and exhaled deeply through my nose. "I can't see myself wanting anyone else. Not the way I want you," I told her. My heart was alive and thumping in my chest, knowing without a doubt that these were uncharted eggshells I was walking on but forging ahead nonetheless because she had to know. "Even if you won't have me, I'll be yours."
She bit down on her lip, scrunching her face for a moment and then wiping underneath her eye. I watched in slowspreading confusion.
"Are you crying?"
"No," she answered, but her voice wavered and her lips pressed together in the least convincing manner.
"Don't cry," I said gently. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she insisted, using her index fingers from both hands to carefully wipe under her eyes so as not to smear her makeup. She sniffed, forcing a smile. "Just... you're not real."
I cocked an eyebrow. "I'm far away, but I'm here. I'm real."
"No, I mean, you're not real," she said again. "Everything you are is just... how are you real?"
"I don't..." I trailed off, at a loss for words. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not," she snapped, catching a tear on her cheek with her knuckles. She took a shaky breath, composing herself to say,
"You're everything that I want. You're everything that anyone could want and so much more. And it's not like there are millions of you, because there aren't. Nobody's like you, Harry. You've ruined everybody else for me."
Concerned by her tears but still perplexed, I spoke tentatively. "I... what do you mean?"
"Or maybe you've just ruined me," she said, forcing another smile and wiping away another tear, following her own train of thought. "Nobody feels like you do. Nobody loves like you do."
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. I was surprised I could even hear her gentle voice with my pulse thundering in my ears.
"And even with all that," she said, pausing to bite her lip and shake her head, "I ended it. You're perfect to me but it just... didn't work with us."
I had nothing to say. My pulse was pounding, but my heart, once lodged in my throat, was sinking.
She squeezed her eyes shut and I watched a tear slip out. When she opened her lids, her eyes were shining and clear. She tried to laugh, but it came out as nothing more than a sharp breath. "Isn't that the saddest story in the world?"
It was. It really seemed like it was.
And yet... it didn't have to be.
*
That Skype session with Fitz affected me more than she knew.
More than anyone knew, really. Including myself. Before I could process what I was doing – or, more accurately, what I had just done – I was walking out of Alison's office with a promise to deliver her a written resignation letter by the end of the day.
I shut the door to her office and paused, staring at my hand on the knob for several seconds in awe. I couldn't remember what I'd said or what I'd been feeling in the moment. All I knew was that I did it, and I hadn't been afraid. Having no set future was better than having a very specific future that I would dread for the rest of my life.
I didn't know how I'd quit, but I knew why: it was my father's vision, not mine. It was his idea of a job. His idea of a life. While I wasn't yet sure what my definitions were, I knew this job didn't fit in. It made me miserable, so it had to go.
I stared at my feet as I shuffled back to my cube. My stomach was swirling with nerves and excitement and fear and relief all at once. I didn't even see Callum slinging elastic bands at a target board on his cube wall as I passed. I didn't notice him at all, in fact, until he called my name.
"What's wrong, mate?" he asked when I joined him in his cube. It was still odd to enter his cube and not feel chills running down my spine – it had once belonged to Beckett, and it had been taboo to enter.
"Huh? No, nothing."
"You look out of it."
"Yeah. A bit," I agreed, taking my time looking around his cubicle. There were papers just about everywhere, all of them worn with curled edges, some with coffee stains. On his walls he'd littered various notices along with a gigantic chart next to his computer with his football draft picks and their progress. "You've set yourself up quite nice in here."
He shrugged. "I was planning on staying a while."
"That's good," I said with an affirmative nod. "Glad to hear it. I, um... I'm not gonna be around much longer."
Callum sat up in his chair, his eyes widening with concern. "Like... you're dying?"
...
Shutting my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "No, Callum," I sighed into my hand. "Please, God, tell me you don't sound like such an idiot when you speak to Alison. My reputation's on the line."
Satisfied that my life wasn't in danger, Callum sat back in his desk chair and shrugged.
"I'm leaving," I clarified. "Gave in my two weeks' notice."
"Ohhhh," Callum said, nodding in understanding. Unperturbed, he added, "Yeah, I knew that."
I frowned on instinct. "How could you possibly know that? I just quit right now."
"Yeah, I knew from my sister."
My expression was incredulous. "I haven't told her!"
"No, I know. She didn't tell me, either."
I held out my hands, gesturing for him to elaborate after a long period of silence.
When he realized what I was waiting for, he continued, "We speak on the phone a bit. She misses home, whatever. Lately, she's been hanging up on me whenever you call." He snorted at the reminiscence, adding, "What a bitch."
He hesitated, apparently for my laughter, but when I stared at him with a blank expression, he went on.
"Anyway, I figured if you were in touch again, it was only a matter of time before one of you got through to the other – and let's be honest, my pain-in-the-ass sister doesn't really budge, does she?"
I stared. He shrugged innocently.
"Ever since then, I've known it's only a matter of time before you leave this place," he finished. "You don't want to be here. You've got better things to do."
After a long pause as I sorted this out, I finally cracked a disbelieving smile. Warped logic was in Fitzpatrick DNA; I was sure of it. Even so... it made sense.
"What about you?" I asked. "Got better things to do?"
"Nah," he said, shaking his head with a lazy grin. "I'm stuck here until I repay a debt."
"Yeah." I reached out and playfully punched him in the shoulder. "You better be."
"Besides, I think the receptionist is into me," he said with a smirk. "Wouldn't say no to that. What's her name? Vic?"
"You call her Victoria to start," I told him with a stern expression. "And listen – don't fuck that up, you hear me? She's gonna be your only friend here. The only one who's gonna understand." I nodded matter-of-factly, thinking of all the times we'd ranted to one another in the break room and all the times we'd laughed about Beckett at her desk. She was the only part of the office that had kept me human. "So be nice to her, all right?"
"Yeah, okay. 'Nice,'" he said, using air quotes to stress the word.
I gave him a slap, this time on the back of the head. "Look, I know where you live, and I know you can't take a hit. You're the easiest target on the planet."
He laughed. "Fine, I get it. I'll be nice." As I left his cube with a nod, he added, "But I know where you live, too, and I know you bruise like a peach." He tapped his cheek in reference to my since-faded bruise. "So be nice to my pain-in-the-ass sister, all right?"
I turned around and pretended to be wounded, grinning as I backed out of his cube. Using air quotes, I repeated, "'Nice.'"
Then I slipped out of sight, wearing a fullfledged smile as I heard him curse my name. She was on my mind, and I couldn't get her out. I had to hear her voice.
I sped past Vic at reception, giving her a cheerful wave as I passed while fishing my mobile from my pocket. The line was already ringing by the time I stepped outdoors. The air was so chilly I could see my breath, but the sun was shining. It didn't bother me at all.
"Hello?" she asked, sounding tired but awake. She wasn't yet at work – she was probably eating breakfast in her tiny kitchen.
"Hey. I have to tell you something." I spoke quickly as I walked around the side of the building and stood in the direct light. I didn't allow her the time to guess before I blurted out, "I quit my job."
I heard her expel a breath of shock. Afterwards, the silence that stretched out before us was endless. I gulped, wondering if I should have waited until she was more awake so as not to bombard her with news.
"What?" she asked weakly, in sheer disbelief.
"I'm leaving. In two weeks. It's over."
"Are you serious?"
"I'm serious, Fitz," I said with a light laugh. "I told Alison today. Just now, actually."
Another pause as she absorbed this information. "Why?"
It was my turn to sharply exhale. "Do you have to ask?"
"No," she breathed. "But what made you do it?"
"I don't know," I answered, though I was quite aware that our last Skype conversation had had something to do with it. "I don't think I'm supposed to be my father. All my life I modeled myself after him, but maybe I'm someone else. I don't know where that leaves me, but at least I don't have to pretend anymore."
"Harry," Fitz said in a breath, swallowed in awe and affection. "I can't believe you did that."
"I wouldn't lie to you."
"I know," she said, and I could hear her smiling over the phone. Funny, that – to hear a smile. "I'm so proud of you, bunny."
Grinning ear-to-ear, I stood tall in the carpark, puffing out my chest even though there was no one to see me. Her term of endearment was the most miraculous thing I'd ever heard.
"And there was another reason, too," I said.
"What?"
I gulped a breath. "Last night you said we didn't work as a couple. Well, if we don't work, that's one thing. But it's not gonna be because I was trying to be somebody else. Because I wouldn't give up on a vision somebody else had for me. That's not gonna be the reason we're not gonna be together. I won't let it be the reason. All right?"
She breathed softly through the line, conceding, "God, Harry."
"What?"
"I'm just really glad."
"Good."
"I don't know what to say," she said with a chuckle. "I had something to tell you, too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
I grinned. "On with it, Fitzpatrick."
"I was thinking I might move back to Brum when I return after all."
...
I wasn't sure if it was possible, but I could have sworn the sun brightened. My heart soaring, I said, "That is good news."
"For me, too. It makes sense. More job opportunities in the city and all."
"Of course. Yeah."
"Amongst other reasons."
"Other reasons," I repeated under my breath, my heart rate accelerating.
"Will you kick Callum out of your flat?"
"I could. He has more money than me now. He can find his own place."
I snorted. "Yeah."
"But I didn't really like it there."
"I know you didn't."
She paused. "I suppose I've got two months to figure it out."
"Mm hmm. I can help," I offered.
"Okay," she agreed, chipper as ever. "Good, then."
"Good."
"I'm glad you called."
"Me too. I always am."
With a boyish smile, I realized how true it was. If I could go back in time, there were so many things I'd approach differently. So many alternatives I would pursue. So many things I'd hope would change.
But the one thing I'd never change was her. Not our past, nor our present. And as for our future... well, I had hope.
*
I wasn't sure what possessed me to do it, but that evening, I took a detour home from work. I parked on a side street and walked down Adelaide, not even realizing what I was doing until I was already in the familiar shop staring at baby products and accessories and asking myself if one more stuffed animal would really hurt him. Then I crossed the street, went to the barber shop, and got a haircut.
*
I almost didn't live to see my two weeks come and go. One night, settled in my bed in the dark with my laptop next to me, Fitz materialized on the screen wearing a very familiar plaid button-down.
I nearly had an aneurysm on the spot.
"Nice top," I remarked, recalling that the last time I'd seen her in it, it had been the only thing she was wearing. For more than a moment, my imagination drifted away with me.
Cheeks turning pink, Fitz glanced down and realized she was in my shirt. Her hair was untouched with product and lay soft and wavy over her shoulders. Her face had been wiped clean of makeup from the day. She was just herself, bare as could be with a piece of me. And even if I was staring at her through a screen, I gazed on just as adoringly, certain I'd never found her more beautiful.
"It's comfy," she said with a small smile, hugging herself.
"I wouldn't know," I said with a smirk. "You stole it from me."
She shrugged. "I figured you wouldn't miss it. Not as much as I would."
Thoughtful smile on my face, I nodded.
"Sorry for stealing," she added.
"It's all right. I might have kept something of yours, too."
Her face brightened with curiosity. "What?"
Somewhat reluctantly, I leaned to the side and swept an arm under her pillow, producing a very girly pair of knickers. Balled in my hand, I held them up so that she could see. She leaned closer and scrutinized, but when she realized, her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged.
"Harry!"
I laughed at her reaction. "What?"
"Those are mine!"
"That shirt is mine!"
"Why did you keep those? Please don't tell me you wear them."
I threw my head back and laughed. "You wish, Fitzpatrick. I don't really do anything with them. They just stay under the pillow."
"That's boring."
"What do you want me to do with them?"
"Well, why did you really save them?"
My smile faded as I slid the knickers underneath the pillow once more. "Because I hated to think that someone else might take them off of you someday. That you would be as vulnerable with somebody else." I paused, unsure if I should say the rest but saying it anyway: "That was what I loved most about you – how you trusted me. How you let your guard down."
She nodded in understanding, never tearing her eyes from mine. "Sort of like right now?"
The corner of my lip tugged upward in a half-smile. "Yeah."
"There's a group going out for drinks, but I just wanted to stay in tonight," she said. "A guy from my office keeps bothering me to get me to come."
"He's into you."
"Yeah," she agreed with a chuckle. "He asked me on a date once. Couple of weeks ago."
"Did he?" I asked, my chest constricting. This conversation may have been easier over the phone – I was finding it difficult not to appear stern.
"We were out for drinks and the others had gone home. He said he'd give me a ride, and in the car he said we should do it again – just the two of us."
"Huh."
"He wanted to come up, too, but I said I was tired and hopped out of the car. He's been pestering me about the date ever since."
"So... think you'll go out with him?" I tried to keep my voice airy, but Fitz and I both knew it was a poor act.
She gave me a look, sadly shaking her head. "He's not you."
My stomach flipped. "Yeah. I know what you mean." I hesitated, wondering if I should mention it, but since we were being honest with one another... "By the way, Finley kissed me once."
In milliseconds, Fitz's eyes were narrowed. "What?"
"Yeah," I said, shaking my head at the memory. "She was on her way out of McNally's a few weeks ago. I basically told her she and Niall were both idiots."
Green, Fitz said, "And that was a romantic segue... how?"
"It wasn't," I assured her. "There was no lead-up. She just went for it and I sat there. Said she was doing a comparison."
With her arms folded across her chest, Fitz asked, "Comparison of what?"
"I don't want to say," I replied, fighting a smile. Chuckling to myself, I admitted, "But she decided Niall was better."
It was easy to read Fitz's jealousy and disapproval, but even she couldn't hold up her walls after that. With a small smile of amusement, she laughed, "Really?"
"Wouldn't lie about that. Trust me. My ego's taking a beating."
"She thinks Niall's a better snogger?"
"The nerve of her." I shook my head, pursing my lips and frowning deeply. "I don't know what sort of etiquette's commonplace in America, but that's just rude to say to my face."
By the time I was finished, Fitz's giggles had waned. She was left smiling thoughtfully, her lips forming a pout as she considered this.
"That's interesting to hear," she said slowly. "I always thought you were surprisingly good at snogging."
I'd only been joking before, but with that comment, I couldn't help a real frown from forming. "Wha – surprisingly good? What's so surprising about it?!"
"Well, you know," Fitz said with a shrug of nonchalance. "Before we were together, it was girl after girl in a lineup for a quick shag. You don't assume those sorts of people are good at snogging."
My frown of offense deepened. "Why not?"
"Dunno. They never have to hone their snogging skills because they're always straight to the point."
I entertained this notion for a moment, eventually scratching my head in confusion. "So, just to clarify... up until the first time we kissed – in the three years that we knew each other – you assumed I was a terrible kisser?"
"More or less," she agreed.
"You thought about this?"
"Not actively. Just passing thoughts. Underlying judgments."
I huffed, suddenly paranoid about how I'd been perceived before we really knew each other despite the fact that it no longer mattered. "If you thought I was bad at it, then what made you kiss me the first time?"
It was Fitz's turn to be offended. Shooting daggers, she exclaimed, "Excuse me! You kissed me."
"Uh... I don't think so."
"Yes, you did!"
I stroked my chin, pretending to think about it. Eventually, I determined, "Nope. No, I didn't."
"You absolutely did! You were coming on to me!"
"What?!" I cried with a laugh. "You were plastered out of your mind and depressed about another bloke. You initiated it. I may have taken it a step further, but you initiated it." She opened her mouth, but I interrupted, "As the more sober of the two of us that evening, I'm qualified to make this judgment."
Her jaw dropped at my dismissal. "Harry," she said warningly.
Mocking her, I retorted, "June."
She rolled her eyes. Groaning under her breath, she huffed, "Whatever. I allowed you to kiss me because I was drunk and I knew I'd forget about it the next day."
"Mm hmm. And by 'allowed me to kiss you', you mean you jumped me."
"No, I—"
"Moving on," I interrupted. Her eyes widened in annoyance, but I only grinned. "What about the second time, then?"
She shrugged, not at all apologetic as she said, "Also drunk. And trying to make somebody else jealous."
I ignored that Zayn had factored into her decisions to kiss me and asked patiently,
"Third time?"
"What was the third time?"
"We went out to dinner with my father and Muffy. You violated me under the table. Then you got me drunk and made me sing karaoke with you. All in all, an absolutely horrific evening." She burst into laughter, slapping the table in front of her at the memory. Calmly, I finished, "Then, back at the flat..."
Once her laughter had subsided, she smiled fondly. "Oh, that night," she said, her voice low and steady. "That night, I wanted you."
I wondered if she was thinking of what I was thinking: how I'd pressed her up against the wall outside her bedroom, our mouths hot and yearning, hands grasping like we couldn't get enough of one another. I'd cupped her breasts and felt her heart hammering, shocked to learn that confident, sexy Fitz was just as scared as I was.
The tone in our dialogue had changed, and after a few moments of heavy silence in which we stared longingly at our screens, I cleared my throat.
"I always thought you were rather good at snogging."
Fitz brushed it off, smiling wryly. "Oh, I know."
I chuckled. "Do you, now?"
I suppose you never really know – but I always figured I was."
"Why is that?"
Flashing her teeth, she said, "Had lots of practice."
I grinned.
"Harry, maybe I taught you everything you needed to know so that by the time we weren't snogging drunk, you were decent at it."
I scoffed. "Psh. I don't think so."
"Why not? That's a strong theory."
"No," I said, shutting her down immediately. "I brought my A-game with you."
She laughed, snuggling into my shirt and hugging her knees to her chest. "I believe that."
I gave her another boyish grin, raising my eyebrows suggestively.
"Hmm," she said, lost in a thought, "come to think of it, it's hard to imagine that Niall's a better snogger than you."
"Thank you. I'll be sure to tell him you said so."
"Of course, I've never snogged Niall. For all I know, he could be brilliant."
"Spare me. Niall couldn't snog you like I could," I joked.
"How would you know? The only one who can really say is Finley. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think she favoured you."
"First of all, I wasn't expecting her to kiss me. Second, I didn't even kiss back, so it's not a fair comparison. Third, even if I did, she'd still side with Niall because he's the one she fancies. Trust me: as far as you're concerned, I'm miles ahead of Niall."
"Ha!" she cried, laughing at my rationale. "What's this about your ego taking a beating?"
"Be honest with yourself," I urged, giving her a slight nod as I implored her to agree. "Niall couldn't... he doesn't... not the way I..."
He doesn't love you like I do.
I hadn't said it, but she knew. Her smile slowly disappeared as she murmured, "Yeah. I know."
We were silent again, neither of us doing anything but staring. I didn't know about Fitz, but I wanted her next to me so badly that there was an ache in my chest and a lump in my throat and hot tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away, but the ache remained.
"Sometimes it feels like you're right in front of me," I said softly. "Like I could reach out and touch you."
Her tongue swept over her lips. She'd unrolled the sleeves of my shirt and had her hands buried inside, hugging them to her chest. "What would you do if you could?"
"I might kiss you," I said before I could stop myself, adding quickly, "you know, to prove Finley wrong."
Fitz swallowed. "Of course. Yeah."
"Or maybe just because." I expected her to smile, but instead, she wore an expression of sadness. I knew, then, that she felt the same way I did.
Never had I yearned for something so unreachable. Never had I physically ached for anyone – not only sexually, (although there was that), but in terms of her physical presence. Just to have her lying next to me. For her feet to slip under my legs for warmth. For her fingers to rake comfortingly through my hair. For her soft, even breaths to be my lullaby into sleep.
"Would you hate me if I did?" I asked, quiet because I feared her response.
To my relief, she shook her head. "It feels real to me, too," she said. "Sometimes I think you really are just sitting across from me at my table. Or that I'm in your bed and you're falling asleep. Then I reach out to touch you and it's just... cold air."
"At night, sometimes, I swear I can feel the bed dip. I slide my hand along the mattress to feel you, just to realize I was only dreaming," I confessed.
"I got used to sleeping next to you," she said. Her voice was distant, as though she was imagining it inside her head.
"So did I."
"It still feels strange to sleep alone, even after all this time."
I nodded. "I know. It doesn't feel right."
She forced herself to laugh lightly. "Sometimes I even tuck myself in quite tight just to keep warm. But it's never as warm as you."
"I want to warm you up again. God, I really do."
Closing her eyes and dreaming, she nodded.
Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair and hung my head, raising my eyes to gaze at her through the screen. "I miss you, Fitz."
"I miss you, too," she said. "Half the time I want to forget what I'm doing here and get on a plane so I can fall asleep next to you again."
My lips parted in surprise, but I wasn't far behind in admitting, "I've looked up flights in moments I've been really desperate."
"Me too. The moments I'm sure I'd leave everything behind and just be with you. Nothing else."
God, I wanted that. To run to her and never look back. But we'd talked about it briefly, agreeing that we wouldn't make any decisions about where we stood until we were in the same place again. If she left her placement or if I went to her, the idea of us might influence her decisions. As much as I wanted it to just be us from here on out, I knew there would always be more than that. She needed to know who she was by herself.
So did I. Truthfully, I had no idea who I was or where I stood. Without my father, I felt like no one at all.
"But... we can't do that," I said, sad but earnest.
"I know," she said softly.
"So I settle for Skype."
She smiled weakly. "Me too."
I slid down until I was nearly on my back, saying, "I should probably sleep."
"Yeah."
"But I'd rather just talk to you."
Fitz thought about this for a moment. Sure of herself, she instructed, "Put me on my side."
"Of the bed?"
"Yeah."
I did as I was told, setting my laptop gently in front of her pillow.
"Lie down," she said.
I shuffled under the blankets, eventually rolling onto my stomach and sliding my hands under the pillow. I rested my cheek against the pillow and stared dreamily at her, certain that her image in my flannel would be etched into my mind as long as I lived.
Satisfied, she said, "I'll stay until you sleep."
With a lazy smile, I nodded.
True to her word, that was what she did.